Wednesday: I will be interviewing JESSICA BELL. Interesting interview from an interesting woman. Be sure to stop by what she has to say about growing up as a daughter of Rock musicians, her furry baby, Holly, and what she's working on next.
TODAY: I have another holiday story for you to enjoy. Crime doesn't take a holiday and neither does tragedy but the moments of joy still prevails in this world and that's a good thing.
Carol Kilgore contributed this Christmas suspense story. Carol hails from San Antonio, Texas and writes a fun blog, Under The Tiki Hut. She writes mysteries and suspense novels with a nice dollop of romance.
Enjoy the story, I sure did!
The
occupants of the dark house had gone out for an evening of fun at Syntagma
Square--the place to be in Athens the week before Christmas. Greek Christmases
were nothing like what Katia Marengo had grown up with on the South Texas
coast, and she loved the excitement. The air frosted her breath. Her coat and
cloche hat offered a little disguise, and the chill allowed her to wear
close-fitting leather gloves. All were perfect for breaking and entering.
The
small house was home to a minor Turkish diplomat and his family. Kat had become
friends with the diplomat's wife, the chatty and careless Yagmur. The test came
now. Kat inserted the key she'd made from an impression. She'd aced that class
during training, but each time she used an impressioned key in the field, she
experienced a moment of panic. The key turned. Yes!
The
aroma of mint greeted her. She pressed on the tiny LED lights fitted into the
brim of her hat. As long as no one had changed the alarm code she was home
free--7, 6--crap. The edge of her glove hit the 3. Clear. Once again, this time
more controlled--7,6,9,1. Green light. Thank
you, Yagmur.
Yagmur
had said Ediz had two safes. He thought the first was too obvious. She didn't
say where they were located. Kat would search first in the master and second in
the kitchen, the two most likely locations.
She
found one safe set into the master bedroom wall behind a painting. Obvious.
Where would she install a second? She'd want easy access without a hint of
anything different from the surroundings. The tiled floor. On her hands and
knees she explored each exposed tile and all the grout, then the ones under the
bed, chest, and chair. Nothing.
"Oh!"
In the chair or chest. By having the safe in his personal belongings, Ediz
would need to install it only once as it would travel with him from posting to
posting. She found the second safe, with a keycard lock, in the bottom drawer
of the chest. The CIA prepared its officers well--she came ready for any type
of device and withdrew a plain black card from her messenger bag.
She
inserted the card into the slot. "Do your magic, Houdini. Spring that
lock."
While
the software on the card worked to unlock the newer safe, she exposed the older
safe behind the painting. That one looked as ancient as the house. For grins
she tried the old lever handle. It didn't budge.
Kat
studied the single old-fashioned combination dial, memorizing the setting. No
smudges, threads, or other alerts. She pulled a stethoscope from her bag. It
trailed a USB plug that she plugged into a handheld computer.
She
spun the dial a few times to the left and twice to the right. Then she placed
the stethoscope monitor to the metal near the lock and turned the knob one
number at a time. Her fingers felt the first tumbler fall. The computer beeped
and recorded the number. She turned the knob to the left and concentrated. The
computer beeped again and recorded the second number.
Her
shoulders ached. She stretched and relaxed her fingers before going for the third
number. Houdini emitted a soft trill. She checked the safe in the drawer.
Empty.
"Ediz,
you are a clever fox. But I'm going to find your secrets."
Kat
returned Houdini to her bag and went back to the old safe. "Okay, baby,
Mama's back. Show me your stuff." She turned the dial and hoped the old
safe wasn't booby-trapped. Maybe Ediz had a third safe.
An
eternity passed. Inside her gloves, sweat formed on her palms. Her mouth grew
dry, and she tried to swallow. Beep.
No boom. Kat breathed again.
"Ediz,
you better not have booby-trapped the handle."
She
pushed down. The door opened to Ediz's secret stash. Papers typed in Turkish.
Four Greek passports with photos of Ediz, Yagmur, their children--his safety
net. Yagmur's jewelry. A man's Rolex. She removed the watch with her left hand
and pulled its twin from her bag with her right. She studied them under the
light.
Ediz's
timepiece was more worn than the replacement, but not by much. Nothing her
little hammer and pick couldn't replicate with a few minutes work. The same
number of links filled each band. The back of Ediz's watch bore no engraving
for her to match. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Kat
placed Ediz's watch in her bag and its replacement in the safe, closed the
door, reset the dial. Her return visit on New Year's Eve would take less than
five minutes.
Outside,
she walked to the nearest thoroughfare with a confident stride, her head held
high. She hailed a taxi. "Syntagma Square."
The
driver nodded, and started the meter. She would arrive early for her meeting
with Dave Krizak in front of the carousel. Amid the noise and bustle, she would
pass Dave the Rolex.
Dave
would be the case officer to take the watch into the Embassy for the
installation of the stealth transmitter. Ediz was to be part of a delegation to
Tehran in January. The transmitter would give the U.S. ears without outside
embellishment.
The
taxi screeched to a stop. Kat paid the fare and stepped out. Ahead she saw Dave
paying his driver.
The
world exploded in a fireball.
Kat
hit the sidewalk.
When
she came to and sat up, chaos reigned. People shouted and screamed. Sirens
wailed. Her bag still hung around her neck. Houdini, the tiny computer, and the
Rolex still rested inside. Dave. Where was Dave?
The
stench of burnt rubber and flesh hung in the air. Several bodies lay motionless
on the blackened street and sidewalk, curled in the fetal position, charred.
Kat threw up in the gutter.
Worst
case, she was a target. But the explosion had made it her responsibility to get
the watch to the Embassy. The Hard Rock Café was a few blocks away, and she
would find taxis there.
- - -
The
next day, Kat arrived at Langley. In the two years since the bombing, she'd
been back to the Agency once--on this date last year--to touch Dave's star on the
Memorial Wall. To tell him goodbye.
Technically
she was on long-term leave, still paid but not yet working. As she'd fought her
way back to the living, she'd leaned on Remy Sonnier, the instructor who had
taught her--as he said--stealing for fun and profit.
He'd
called her one day, said he was moving to Corpus Christi, and would like her to
help him find a place. Not for one minute did she think his presence was
coincidence. The Agency was keeping an eye on her. She'd gone from Remy's star
student to his current assignment.
She
pulled into his driveway and got out. Along the South Texas coast, the balmy
mid-December weather was nothing like Athens. It matched her happy mood. She
was getting better. It felt good to smile, to laugh. Kat pushed the front door
open and stuck her head in. "Remy! Are you home?"
"In
the kitchen, cher."
She
passed a Christmas tree decorated with Mardi Gras beads and ornaments shaped
like shrimp, crab, and alligator and giggled. Her Cajun friend brought the
bayou to Texas with everything he did.
"What
smells fabulous?" She entered the large square room centered with a wooden
table and benches.
"Gumbo.
It's not ready." Remy returned the lid to the pot and wiped his hands on
his apron. "How you holding up?"
"I'm
good. Really good."
"I
knew you would be, cher. I have
something for you. I'll be right back."
Kat
walked to the window. Sun diamonds danced on the green water. Kat's stomach
growled at the pungent aroma of the gumbo. "Remy, you want me to stir the
pot?"
"Don't
touch it."
A
minute passed, and she heard footsteps behind her.
"Merry
Christmas, Kat."
She
spun around. "Dave?"
He
nodded. "It's me."
She
touched his face, the scar that traveled from his hairline, in front of his
left ear, and down his neck beneath his collar. "I can't believe you're
alive. I was there, I--"
"Sshh."
His finger touched her lips. "I read the debriefing. I know."
"But
your star--" Burn scars mottled Dave's hands.
"Belongs
to another officer."
Another
family, other friends saddened by death. Life wasn't fair, but in the last two
years, Kat had learned to accept and-- "Remy?"
"He
didn't know until last week. He said he's going fishing for a little bit so we
can catch up and I can tell you what's new."
The
old excitement returned. "We're working again?"
Dave smiled. "You and me, babe. Remy also said for
you to keep your hands off his gumbo."
Kat
laughed. "Merry Christmas, Dave."
~*~*~*~
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