Page 59 of Code Name: Reaper
She looked me up and down. “Whose clothes are those?”
“My dad’s. My mother wasn’t shy about letting me know I needed to shower and change.”
She sat up straight. “I should do the same, then we need to leave.” Amaryllis looked me up and down a second time. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I laughed out loud. “No. Definitely not. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. They make you look older than Briggs.”
Perhaps a tad harsh, but that was okay. If Amaryllis was giving me shit, I took it as a good sign.
We hittraffic on the way, which wasn’t unexpected, but still arrived in Old Town Alexandria with a few minutes to spare. The building was located on the waterfront and had an intercom for access. I was about to press the call button when Jason Briggs met us at the front door.
He looked every inch the three-star general he’d once been. Silver hair, ramrod posture, and a handshake that could crush bones. He led us up a staircase to an office that took up most of the second floor. As was typical with retired military, particularly at his rank, the space served as a monument to hiscareer, with photos and commendations covering the walls and credenzas.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to chairs facing his massive oak desk. “I understand you’re both with the UN anti-trafficking coalition.” He began.
I let Amaryllis take the lead, focusing on his facial expressions and body language.
“We got your name from two colleagues who thought you might be willing to consult on our current investigation. They both spoke highly of your expertise.”
“Oh?” Briggs leaned against his chair. “Who might that be?”
“Eleanor Aldrich and Suzanne Henning.”
For a fraction of a second—maybe half a heartbeat—his facade cracked and recognition flashed across his features. He recovered, and his expression became unreadable again.
“I don’t recall either name. But I’m sure you understand; I’ve worked with countless operatives through the years. It’s hard to remember them all.” He paused. “You mentioned they were colleagues. Within the coalition?”
“No,” I replied. “Aldrich and Henning—code names Prism and Mercury—are the cofounders of an elite international intelligence organization called Minerva Protocol. I’m sure you’re aware of it.”
His face tightened, but otherwise, he had no discernible reaction.
“The coalition is currently working with them on an investigation of SMO Romanov,” I added.
“Romanov, you say?” He shook his head. “I have to question your intelligence, if you’ll forgive the expression. I’m a preeminent expert on Russian affairs. If such an enterprise existed, I would certainly know about it.” The arrogance in his tone was unmistakable, but so was the tremor in his hand when he reached for a glass of water.
“Our sources report Nikolai Vasiliev leads it.”
“I’m not sure I can help. I operate at a higher level, not with bad actors attempting to turn themselves into oligarchs. However, I have some free time presently and would be willing to look into this group if you forward me the details along with your proposal.”
“Of course,” said Amaryllis. “When should we expect to hear from you?”
“I’ll need a minimum of forty-eight hours. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have another meeting.”
We thanked him and walked out of his office. Rather than go down the stairs, we took an elevator to the street level. From there, we walked in silence until we were several feet from Briggs’ building.
“He’s definitely our guy,” I said quietly.
“Agreed. Let’s see if he makes a move,” Amaryllis suggested.
Instead of returning to our parked car, we positioned ourselves at a coffee shop across the street, with a clear view of Briggs’ building entrance.
“There he is,” she whispered.
I watched as Briggs came out the same door we had. Gone was the relaxed confidence he’d displayed earlier. His posture was tense and his pace hurried. “He’s walking in the opposite direction.”
We followed from enough of a distance to avoid detection. Briggs walked three blocks then entered a small café overlooking the Potomac River. We took position in another across the way.
