Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?
Triumph
Tripoli arrived home just as Triumph was about to go into his problem, or rather, G’s problem.
His friend handed Francesca a wine glass as he slid into the breakfast nook where Francesca camped, placing his own glass and an open bottle on the table in front of them.
Once again, his jacket was unbuttoned, his tie untied, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
He’d always been a snappy dresser, but Francesca once made the mistake of telling him that the “post-work discombobulation” look was her favorite on him, so the man always made sure that, before he left the club, he was “dressed appropriately” for his welcome home.
Grabbing her husband’s tie ends, she pulled him in for a kiss, whispering something against his lips.
He replied, too quiet for Triumph to hear.
Blushing, she refocused her attention on Triumph through the screen after adjusting her glasses on the end of her nose, which had been bumped askew by her husband’s greeting.
“So,” she began, “what sort of trouble are we talking about? Maybe you should go somewhere you can’t be extradited from.”
Tripoli poured himself and Francesca each a glass of wine. “And is your trouble going to visit us afterward?”
He grimaced. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, so I really can’t answer that.”
Waving him off, Tripoli took a sip from his glass. “Oh, it wouldn’t stop us from helping you. I just wanted to be prepared.”
“Speaking of extradition… where the hell am I anyway?”
Tripoli smirked, and her laugh was infectious. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you.”
“Fuck you both,” he said with no heat.
“You booked your own trip. I’m guessing you used your phone to board the plane. Check your damn phone, bro,” Tripoli reminded him.
This was what he loved about his friends.
Tripoli and Cosmos were ride-or-die types, and not only that, they’d help you bury the body afterward if necessary.
In high school, there had been six members in their little group—Tripoli, Cosmos, Fereh, Panama, Elyxandre, and himself.
Most of them had scattered across the country after graduation, but now some had drifted back.
If you needed something, it was like they’d seen each other yesterday, and shit got done.
He also knew if he called the ones who hadn’t come back, they’d do whatever they could as well.
“So what’s going on, Triumph?” Francesca asked, seriousness reflected in her gray eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Hear me out. This goes back a ways. So you both know that in high school, I got arrested for hacking into some government files.”
Nodding, she replied, “That’s what led to your job at the NSA. You were too good at what you did, so it was better to use you for your skills than to let you rot away in prison somewhere or let someone more nefarious snap you up.”
“I was there until nine years ago. My job was as a specialty liaison to CIA operatives. I wasn’t a handler, but I was a gateway for select ones who needed my help with computer systems, security rerouting, stuff like that.”
He stopped. “Look, what I’m about to tell you is classified.
I would never tell you, but… I’m out of the game, which means I can’t help her by myself.
I’m smart enough to not even try.” He ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair.
“My last job was an agent named G. We just went by first initials. I helped create her legend, so I was assigned to her at the start of her operation.”
“Legend?” Tripoli asked.
“Her cover story,” Francesca supplied. “Like Fleur was my legend at The Library. We would create the entire history, including tax returns, social media presence, and even things as mundane as grocery store rewards cards. Whatever was needed to make the agent look real.”
Triumph added, “Occasionally, I was asked to do those, the more dangerous ones that needed depth beyond depth. We had to do way more once everyone’s lives went almost completely digital.”
“So how does this G fit into your emergency?” Francesca asked.
“I got a series of texts tonight on a phone I’ve had for, Christ, probably fifteen years? Ancient thing. One of the first non-flip kinds of phones. It was her. She told me that she’s stuck in South America and needs help getting out.”
“You’re sure it’s her?” Tripoli asked. “Nine years is a long time to wait to reach out for help.”
“No, it’s her. She used all the code and everything. She believes she’s been burned—otherwise, she would have reached out to the CIA, not me.”
He could almost see Francesca putting the pieces together in her head. “So regular channels are unusable, and that’s why you may have committed an act of treason against your country.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Yes. Me being melodramatic, I’m sure, but… Last I knew, she was trying to make inroads with the Colonel Cartel. Operatives always had names and numbers they would commit to memory and never write down. These were for last-ditch efforts if they got into a mess.”
Tripoli’s eyes bored into his. “Interesting that she’s attached to that mess. And you were one of her numbers? You never said you knew anyone in that world.”
Triumph had helped Tripoli and some mutual friends take down Hector Colonel almost a year ago.
“She didn’t factor into our business, and honestly?
I never dreamed she’d still be attached to that.
Figured she would be long gone. But yes.
I gave her my number unofficially. I didn’t have a good feeling about her operation. ”
“She knew it was unofficial?”
He nodded. “I’m sure that’s why she called me. Knew it wasn’t an NSA channel.”
Francesca stared at him. “That’s not all of it.”
“No,” he admitted. “She’s why I left the NSA.
It’s long and complicated, but basically, I questioned the ethical nature of her assignment when I should have been part of the hive mind, and it meant my walking papers.
I’ve never regretted leaving. That place is soul-sucking.
But I did regret leaving her with no one in her corner.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do.
She had my number, but I didn’t have hers. ”
“You’re a hacker.”
“Yes, but she had already refused my help, which is why I went to her superiors, so I was out of options.”
“So something happened to blow up a decade-old assignment, and she calls you?”
“I can’t say for sure it’s the same assignment, but…” He nodded. “I think it was. It explains why she thought to call me. If she was under that long, she probably doesn’t have any other contacts she feels she can trust. Even calling me is probably a Hail Mary pass at this point.”
Francesca studied him.
He felt like he was back in grade school, when his fourth-grade teacher thought he’d done something naughty, so she’d just stare at him until he confessed.
He felt his face flush at the scrutiny. “G was… There was something about her when we talked. Don’t ask me what.
I’ve never met her, so it wasn’t like we were friends or anything. ”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t move. Just kept staring.
“What?” he asked.
Tripoli, his eyes never leaving Triumph, leaned his head toward Francesca’s.
He grinned, and his fake whisper sealed Triumph’s doom.
“See his face? That’s his I-just-got-caught-with-crumbs-on-my-shirt look, and somewhere there’s an empty cookie jar.
We always knew when he was holding back on us when he got that look. ”
“Asshole,” he muttered. “Gonna start telling your secrets soon.” He looked at Francesca. “Fine. I liked her. She was funny. Irreverent. Sarcastic.”
“Those are all Triumph triggers,” he whispered again. The jerk sounded like he was one of those journalists on a nature show, keeping his voice low so as not to spook the videographer’s subject matter.
“I was in a dark, digital cave sixteen-plus hours a day. Her voice was easy to listen to.”
“So she gave good phone?” Now there was a twinkle in the man’s eye.
What the ever-loving fuck? “Now you’re being twice the asshole.
It was ten years ago. She’s been the girlfriend of a cartel jefe.
That’s got to have her all kinds of jacked up mentally.
While I’m willing to help her get home, I am not getting involved in someone else’s trauma. Not doing that again.”
“Maybe if you said that a little louder and a little more forcefully, all three of us would actually believe you,” Tripoli sassed.
The trio fell silent, and he violently shoved thoughts of Tilly out of his head. Not now. Not the time.
Tripoli sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I get it. I do. No one blames you for how you feel.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you never got rid of that phone,” Francesca said.
Triumph nodded absently. “I couldn’t even tell you why I kept it.”
“Because she gave good phone,” Tripoli whispered to Francesca as he attempted to lighten the moment again.
Sweet baby Jesus, the man just couldn’t help himself, could he?
Her nose wrinkled, and she backhanded Tripoli’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t tease him,” Francesca admonished. “The NSA didn’t confiscate it when you left?”
“It’s a personal phone.” He wondered how much to say. “Me, being the paranoid individual I am, I always have several phones, all for different things, and I rotate them regularly. For some reason, I gave her one of my burner numbers.”
Tripoli grunted. “Sounds to me like you didn’t get rid of this particular phone because you subconsciously knew she was out there swinging in the wind and might need something one day.”
“Maybe. I never kept any of the other burner phones, and now that she’s called me, I got rid of this one.”
“How are you going to contact her if you destroyed your phone?” Francesca asked.
“Memorized the number. Never make more than two calls to the same number on a burner phone. If you do, try not to call the same number back-to-back. Our method was you call somebody, they take the call, then they destroy the phone. When they call you back, you note the new number, take the call, then destroy the original phone you were talking on. Most operatives will buy burners at gas stations, bodegas, stuff like that, in batches so they always have new ones.”
Francesca frowned, and she looked like she was staring down at the keyboard, studying it.
It was her FBI face, the one he’d seen a few times while working the Elysium murders.
Narrowed. Focused. He could almost see her create paths of information, neatly laying them out, brick by brick, while she analyzed each piece, determining whether information was viable, sketchy, or a downright lie.
If she weren’t so perfect for Tripoli, he’d probably find it sexy. But he also had to admit, she scared the fuck out of him when she looked like this.
Worried she was about to discard him as unhelpable, he rushed to continue. “She called me. A veritable stranger, someone who might not even be at the other end of that number anymore. They’ve cut her off, Fleur. She’s desperate.”
Her eyes fluttered up to look at him through the lenses. He could literally see her making the choice. “Where is she?”
He jumped in quickly before she could retract the question.
“I’m going to try hacking into her reports, but I’ve got to tread carefully.
You don’t just break into the CIA’s files.
” Elbows on the table, he ran both hands through his hair.
“All I know right now is South America, which would make sense if this is in connection to the Colonel Cartel. That most likely means Argentina. Wherever she is now, she’s hiding, but she doesn’t feel like the location is particularly secure. ”
Her fingers drummed on the tabletop as she looked at Triumph. “What are you planning to do? Go get her?”
Shifting in his seat, he nodded. “The thought crossed my mind. If she’s still in Argentina, I could make a reservation at a hotel somewhere, fly in on my passport, and meet up with her. She’s going to need paperwork to get over the border, though, and I don’t have any contacts to help with that.”
“It would be less invasive to get her exit contacts,” his friend murmured while sipping his wine. “Safer too.”
Triumph ignored the man’s fishing expedition.
“I figured, FBI agents have to work along the same lines as the CIA operatives. You have connections in various places. People who owe you favors. I thought maybe I could persuade you to help me get her a passport under another ID so we can get her back home quietly. In exchange, I could grant that person a future digital favor.”
Francesca and Tripoli shared a look.
He tipped his wine glass up to his mouth. “You want to call Lobo, that’s your call,” he said to her as he took another swallow.
“Not yet,” she murmured. To Triumph, she said, “I’m not sure I can help you. Any contacts I have are domestic.”
He felt his insides deflate. He did not want to text Glennon back and tell her he’d struck out.
The idea was reprehensible to him. You didn’t cut people loose simply because they became inconvenient, and he didn’t want to fail her the way her employer had.
“You think I should call Cosmos? Maybe he has a lead?”
The couple shared another look.
“What?” Triumph asked.
Francesca bit her lip. “How time-sensitive is this? I mean, obviously, it’s an emergency, but what kind of time frame are we working with?”
“I told her I’d call her within five hours. We’re coming up on the two-hour mark.”
“Cosmos’ contacts would be more along the line of formal channels, which we’re trying to avoid,” Tripoli pointed out.
Francesca picked up her cell phone. “Put him in our back pocket then.” She dialed a number from memory as she spoke. “No promises, Triumph. There’s only one person I can think of to call, and at best, he’s someone who can put you in touch with someone else.”
“I’ll take it. Thank you, Francesca. I appreciate you even trying.” He could hear the phone ringing on the other end of her call. “Out of curiosity, who are you calling?”
“You wanted FBI help, I’m getting you FBI help.” When the call picked up, she put the phone on speaker and set it down on the table.
A groggy voice slurred out, “Frankie, it is the middle of the night, so unless you’ve been stabbed again, call me after eight a.m.”
“Cruz. Time is crucial. I’m calling in a favor.”