21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter twenty-one
Trevor tossed his only bag into the trunk of a red Alfa Romeo in the airport parking garage.
The rental would come out of his own pocket.
He could have rented something cheaper, something more economical, and put it on his expense report.
But he’d splurged on the Alfa Romeo. Why not?
It was his first field operation and he felt like the king of the world.
He closed the trunk with a bang and took in a deep lungful of Serbian air as he circled to the driver’s side.
That air smelled like freedom. That wasn’t office air.
It had none of the musty manufactured scent of air conditioning, or stale coffee, or printer toner.
It smelled, in fact, like exhaust and engine oil, but to him it might as well have been roses and pine.
He eased into the soft leather bucket seat, settled his hands on the wheel, and hummed a little snatch of theme song.
A smile spread slowly across his boyish face.
He thumbed the starter, felt the Italian sports coupe come to life with a gentle shake, like the engine had woken up excited to meet a new friend.
Shifting into gear, Trevor started to back out and the Italian engineered automobile leapt back.
Trevor’s heart shot up into his throat. He eased off the gas, applying the brake with his other foot and drove with both feet on the pedals.
It was a skill they teach at Camp Peary.
Using one foot for the gas and the other for the brake, lets you respond faster to sudden changes in driving conditions.
It also eliminates any possibility that you’ll mistake the gas for the brake and drive your car through the front of your own house.
Teenagers should be taught to drive that way from the very start.
Just like the Dvorak keyboard is more efficient than qwerty.
Unfortunately, efficiency is rarely the qualifying standard when it comes to schooling or society at large.
Trevor got the car under control and eased it along the silent lanes of the parking garage, following signs toward the exit. The Alfa Romeo had a lot more power than the Hyundai he drove back home. It also handled better.
His phone was still turned off. Trevor started to reach for it, then remembered the man in the middle. It was another tactic the CIA teaches new recruits at the Farm. Never use your phone in an airport unless you have no other choice.
Spies, like everybody else in the world, travel by plane.
And while you are in the air your phone has no service.
The moment the plane lands, your phone starts searching for, and connecting to, the nearest available service.
In foreign countries, that service is going to be a specially built tower that will automatically track your phone.
Smart operators wait until they get away from the airport and into the city proper before powering their cell back on.
If his phone got hacked on his very first field operation, he’d never live it down.
Trevor put the device into the seat beside him and concentrated on navigating his way out of the airport.
He followed the signs as best he could, and used his recently acquired knowledge of Belgrade obtained from the handy guide, to get himself onto the highway headed into town.
Hard to believe people used to navigate with nothing but paper maps before the invention of mobile smart phones.
But Trevor managed to make it work. He was cruising through the heart of Belgrade before he remembered his purpose, and his phone.
At a red light, he reached over and powered on the device. It started to ring the moment it had signal. Sam’s number flashed on the caller ID. A tickle of fear went tip-toeing up his spine.
He knew Sam. He’d been working with her long enough now. She wasn’t the type to call looking for an update the moment he landed. Something had happened. Trevor’s brows pinched.
He thumbed the talk button, put the phone to his ear, and answered, “You’ve reached Trevor Langencamp.”
“That’s a terrible legend,” Sam said.
His instincts had been correct. Something was wrong. Trevor could hear it in her voice. She sounded close to tears. His natural protective instincts as a man kicked in. Whatever was wrong, he wanted to fix it. “What’s happened?”
Sam sniffed. “Kearns spotted the flight request. She knows. She’s ordered you to return to Langley immediately. I’m due in front of the DDI’s desk first thing in the morning for disciplinary action. I’m sorry I got you into this Trevor. It’s all my fault.”
“Sam?” Trevor said, raising his voice. “Sam? That you? You’re brea… ing… up. I must be… out … range. Have to call you back.”
He hung up and winced. It was a desperate, maybe a foolish, gambit. He’d heard every word but sometimes faking ignorance is the best weapon in a spy’s toolbox. Another tip he’d picked up at the Farm.
Trevor didn’t need Sam to lay it out for him.
Kearns had spotted the flight log and ordered him back to Washington.
It meant Sam was in hot water, him too for that matter, unless he actually found something worth reporting at the small village outside Belgrade.
The only way to do that was to buy time.
The phone started to buzz again.
“Sorry, Sam.” Trevor held down the power button and a moment later the phone went silent.