Page 105 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
Cayman Island CIA office
Ellie foldedher hands on the conference table, keeping her expression neutral as the station chief, Tom Whitaker, addressed the employees at this hastily called meeting. His voice was measured, but she sensed the undercurrent of concern beneath his words.
“The Cayman authorities have reached out to me,” Whitaker said, adjusting his reading glasses while looking down at his notes. He didn’t look like a typical CIA boss. Most wore a suit and tie. He sported slacks, a beach shirt, and a deep tan.
“They have questions about an execution-style killing near the marina,” he continued. “Middle Eastern male, no ID, single gunshot to the head. Sound familiar to anyone?”
Ellie kept her breathing steady. She figured the authorities would sniff around their office. The murder was all over the news. It made sense they’d contact the CIA looking for answers.
They wouldn’t get them. The body had been left behind, yes, but everything else—the man’s phone, wallet, passport were already in her father’s hands. Nothing tied back to her.
Silence stretched in the room. She let her gaze drift across the table, scanning the faces of her colleagues.
Actually, one thing could tie it back to her.
Luke, seated two chairs to her right, shifted in his seat, his knee bounced under the table. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, and the slight sheen of sweat on his brow told Ellie everything she needed to know.
He was barely holding it together.
Whitaker scanned the room and frowned slightly for effect before he continued.
“That’s not all. Two Middle Eastern men rented a boat from the marina two days ago, using fake passports. That boat never returned. It vanished without a trace. Authorities aren’t sure if the boat was stolen, or if those men were victims of foul play.”
Ellie wouldn’t call it foul play. That insinuated something unfair happened to them. Those men got exactly what they deserved.
“As you know, Cayman averages four murders a year. Almost all of those are related to domestic violence or some kind of dispute.”
Whitaker looked up from his notes. “I think all the men are dead. Three on the same day seems connected to me.”
Three, they thought. Four actually. Ellie felt a twinge of satisfaction that she had equaled the island’s annual murder rate in the span of a week.
When she killed the first man, she felt deep regret. Her mother said that would pass. It had. While she still didn’t want to kill anyone, knowing the four men could never hurt anyone again sent bursts of exhilaration through her and made her want to find more of them to kill. This mission has helped her realize what drove her parents all those years.
“So, let’s speculate,” Whitaker said. “The execution at the marina? The work of a professional lying in wait in my opinion. The kind of thing the CIA might want to do.”
It warmed Ellie’s heart that he called her a professional. Elementary spycraft in her mind. She figured the man would go back to the marina, desperately searching for his friends. She had hidden in the shadows as she watched him, patient, calculating. When the marina emptied out and the sun set, she hadn’t hesitated.
Whitaker scanned the room, locking eyes with each person. Searching for clues. He wouldn’t consider her. Even though she was new in the office and none of this happened until she arrived on the scene, in his mind, she was wet behind the ears. Incapable of such a feat. As far as she knew, he had no idea she was Jamie Austen’s daughter.
Unless of course he was the mole.
Her dad had dismissed that possibility after looking into it. He didn’t suspect anyone in the office. She looked around at them once again and had to agree. They looked like nothing more than staffers doing a job.
The CIA didn’t send their best field operatives to the Cayman Islands. Those in that room were folks who drew a nice paycheck and thanked their lucky stars every day they weren’t in Beirut, Lebanon, or infiltrating terrorist organizations in Syria.
Still, she wasn’t going to rule out anyone until she had the mole identified. If Whitaker were the mole, he’d play it like this, calm, curious, but not too curious.
“Whoever did this,” Whitaker said, “has the police on edge. They want to know if we have any knowledge of these incidents. I already told them that no one in our office knows anything about it. I’ll ask again. Has anyone here made me out to be a liar?”
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Luke’s tension was noticeable. She wondered if Whitaker would pick up on it.
Luke wouldn’t meet her gaze. He could barely keep his hands still. She could practically feel the pressure building in him, his uncertainty gnawing at the edges of his restraint.
Would he cave? Would he make a mistake? A single wrong word could unravel everything. Ellie needed him to keep quiet a little while longer. Maintaining anonymity was critical until she could complete her mission.
While four dead terrorists were a win as far as her parents were concerned, they were after the big prize. The mole. And Ellie intended to flush him out.
Finally, Whitaker exhaled noticeably, clearly frustrated. “All right,” he said. “If anyone learns anything, I expect to be the first to know. Dismissed.”
