Objekt 825 (Tracie Tanner Thrillers Book 9), Allan Leverone [books to read for 13 year olds txt] 📗

on a weekend morning, Mrs. Stallings was still asleep, or at least still in bed. Tracie had thought that might be the case, so she’d only knocked twice, rather than ringing the doorbell.

After the second unanswered knock she began rummaging through her purse to find the key to his home Stallings had given her more than a year ago. That had been at the end of a tense meeting following her firing from the agency for refusal to follow orders.

He had invited her to his home a week or so after her dismissal, and she’d almost told him to take his meeting and shove it up his ass. What the hell could they possibly discuss? The notion of a terminated operative being rehired into the ranks of the CIA was unthinkable. Tracie had never heard of a single instance where that scenario had occurred.

But she’d reluctantly agreed to meet with Stallings, mostly out of a sense of curiosity as to what he could possibly want, combined with an eagerness to tell him what she thought of his leadership methods.

She’d sat in front of his desk in a little metal chair that made her feel like a schoolgirl who’d been sent to the principal’s office, listening in near-disbelief as he laid out his job offer. She would not be welcomed back into the Central Intelligence Agency, at least not officially. Instead, she would continue her career as a covert intelligence operative, but it would be on an unofficial basis, reporting directly to Stallings himself. She would receive the benefit of CIA resources, but would never appear at Langley and would work under cover in some of the most dangerous locations in the world, largely without backup. Her paycheck would be funneled through the General Services Administration.

It was an audacious offer, insane really, providing the cagey old CIA director with his own personal black ops specialist at virtually no risk to himself. Should Tracie be captured operating inside, say, Moscow, there would be no way for the Soviets tie her in any way to the agency. All official records would show she’d been terminated in early 1988 and had since had no contact with Langley.

The proposal was as one-sided and unfair as they came, and yet to Tracie Tanner it had felt like a life preserver being thrown to a drowning woman. Intelligence work was her calling. It was the only career she’d ever known and could ever imagine herself doing. It was her reason for getting up in the morning and for putting one foot in front of the other every day.

She’d accepted the offer without hesitation, and had been working directly for Aaron Stallings ever since.

Finally she located her key at the very bottom of her purse. She’d never had occasion to use it before and felt uneasy doing so now, like an intruder, despite the fact Stallings had given it to her for this exact situation. After entering the home, she climbed the stairs to the second floor, following the route she’d long ago memorized.

She paused outside Stallings’ office and raised her hand to knock on the closed door. Before she could, though, he hollered from inside. “You’re late. Stop wasting my time and get in here.”

Tracie chuckled softly. Working for Stallings was such a treat.

***

“Tell me what you know about nuclear submarines.” Stallings spoke without taking his attention off the usual mountain of paperwork piled atop his desk as Tracie crossed the room.

The only time he’d ever offered her a comfortable chair was during that awful meeting following her father’s murder, and this morning was no exception. She eased onto the metal seat, crossed her legs and smoothed her hands on her slacks, saying nothing.

“Well?” He finally looked up in annoyance. “This is where you start speaking. That’s how it works. I say something, and then you say something, and then it becomes my turn again. Like a verbal tennis match.”

A conversation with you is usually more like a circular firing squad, she thought as she raised her hands and spread them. Instead of verbalizing that thought, she said, “I just told you everything I know about nuclear subs. Would you like me to repeat it?”

Stallings sighed. Pushed his paperwork to the edge of the desk and plopped his head onto his hands, using his elbows to form a tripod on the surface.

“I figured that was probably the case,” he said. “Who the hell knows anything about submarines unless you’ve had occasion to work on one, right?”

It seemed to be the kind of rhetorical question that didn’t require a response, so Tracie remained silent.

“I like your hair,” he said suddenly, catching Tracie by surprise. “It’s very different. Makes you look younger.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure looking younger is to my advantage in this line of work. Honestly, I thought changing things up might make me feel better, but it didn’t. The only thing that will accomplish that goal is working.”

She paused for a moment and then said, “I’m so glad to be here. You have no idea.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face and then was gone. “Oh, I think you might be surprised.”

“Anyway,” she said, “From your question, I gather my assignment somehow involves our nuclear submarine fleet?”

“In a roundabout way, yes,” Stallings answered. “Since we’ve already established your knowledge on the subject is…limited…”

“I know nothing. Zero.”

“As I was saying, since we’ve established your knowledge on the subject is nonexistent, let me give you a quick rundown on submersible radio communications.”

“Sounds exciting,” she said.

“Oh yes, it’s every bit as exciting as you might think. Apparently, communicating with ships operating beneath the surface of the ocean is problematic. Since radio waves travel poorly through seawater, early subs were forced to surface and raise an antenna in order to receive orders, subjecting them—obviously—to detection by anti-submarine warfare forces.

“To combat