Reckless

“I’ll join you in a week. Or as soon as either of us finds something.”

THEY SAID THEIR GOODBYES and agreed to meet the next day at noon. In the intervening hours, Tracy would come up with a suitable cover story to tell her bosses at the CIA, and Jeff would do the same with his British paymasters.

Jeff waited until Tracy was completely out of sight before jumping into a cab and heading to a different, equally nondescript bistro in another quarter of the city.

Frank Dorrien greeted him warmly.

“Well done. You did it.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said without enthusiasm. Reaching under his shirt he ripped off the tiny recording device stuck to his chest and handed it back to the general. “I did it.”

“You strayed from the script once or twice,” Frank said, still smiling. “I’m not sure there was any need for all that ‘Julia Cabot doesn’t trust the president’ business.”

“It’s the truth,” said Jeff.

“I daresay. But Tracy Whitney didn’t need to know it. However, I’m not complaining. You got the job done. She trusts you.”

Yes, Jeff thought. She trusts me. And I just betrayed her.

Reading his thoughts, Frank said firmly, “You’re doing this for her, Jeff. Don’t forget that. You’re saving her from a very dangerous situation. She thinks she can handle this but she can’t. We’ll protect her. ”

“Will you?”

“Of course.” Frank sounded almost impatient. “You have my word.”

Your word.

The two men looked at each other. Tracy’s words echoed in Jeff’s head: Dorrien’s using you, Jeff. He’s in this up to his neck.

“I have to go.” Jeff pushed back his chair. He was feeling more like Judas Iscariot by the minute.

“Why did you tell Tracy to go to Belgium alone?” Frank asked suddenly. “You said you’d follow her later.”

“That’s right. I need a break.”

“A break?” Frank’s face darkened.

“Yes. I need some time off. Alone. A week should do it.”

Frank looked at him incredulous. “A week? Have you gone mad? This is no time to take a holiday, Stevens. We are this close to getting Drexel. We need to stay on Whitney now more than ever.”

“Stay on her, then.” Now it was Jeff’s turn to get angry. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“I’m serious. You can’t leave.”

“So am I,” said Jeff. He didn’t like that “can’t.” “I’m taking a week, Frank.”

“And just what, exactly, do you need this week for?”

“It’s personal.”

“That’s not good enough! This is a matter of national security. A matter of duty.”

Jeff shrugged, as if to say not my problem.

“There’s something I need to do, that’s all. I’ll be in touch.”

Frank Dorrien watched Jeff Stevens leave the café. Beneath the table, his fists were clenched so tightly that the muscles in his fingers began to spasm.