Page 122 of Silver Fire
“No…no…I did this. I killed them!”
“Sophie, wake up!”
She was breathing hard when her eyes shot open and focused on Derek’s worried face.
“I killed them…the little girl…Beth,” Sophie whispered raggedly.
“It’s just a dream, baby,” Derek said soothingly, gathering her into his arms and rocking her gently.
Sophie felt her body spasm, her tears flowing freely.
“There was an explosion, I caused it—”
“Just a dream,” Derek said firmly. He set her away for a bit, and cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheek, and wiping her tears away. His own eyes were tortured, and Sophie’s heart splintered with the knowledge that her own messed-up life was causing Derek such anguish.
“What if we can’t stop it?” Sophie mumbled. Her mind seemed to finally accept the fate of the zee bomb’s destructive inevitability, which her subconscious already knew.
“We’re going to stop it, Sophie,” Derek assured her. “We can’t fail.”
* * *
“Who are you?”Marissa asked her.
“I’m Linda Brooks, I’m a tax accountant with Enoch and York. I’m here on vacation with my girlfriend, Susan Halloway. I’m 28-years old, grew up in Charlotte North Carolina. Both parents deceased. Unmarried. I currently live in 205 Bleaker Street, Vienna Virginia,” Sophie droned on. Their rental car was exiting O.R. Tambo International Airport located northeast of Johannesburg. Marissa, aka Susan Halloway, was driving.
The team had been divided into smaller groups and were all given inconspicuous covers. Marissa’s cover was a buyer for a high-end retailer, and she clearly could pull it off with her expensive clothes and shoes—working the polished look with no problem. Who would suspect her of leading a CIA Black Ops team?
“Great job, Sophie,” Marissa said. Sophie watched her maneuver the vehicle to the M1 thoroughfare that would lead them straight to the heart of Johannesburg. It was 9:00 a.m. Johannesburg time, Saturday morning. Their hotel was located on St. Andrews road in the district of Parktown—a place well known for street cafes. They were going to meet up with the rest of the AGS-CIA team during the regular Saturday night street festival in Melville. It was also a beer festival, so there would be lots of people, making it easier to hide and rendezvous for a final mission briefing.
An advance reconnaissance team that included Derek had left two days before. Her man was not pleased at all with the plan to separate them, but being the team player that he was and not wanting to be taken off the mission, he went along with the playbook. An inner room at one of the drinking dives was going to be used as the meeting place. The location had been vetted by the CIA station in South Africa and had been used frequently for secret drops. Such was the life of a spook: false identities, secret drops and secret rooms.
Marissa pulled into a quaint boutique hotel, La Belle Epoche. Two African men in khaki shorts and loose white polo shirts immediately met their vehicle to open their doors. Sophie stepped out and stretched. She couldn’t wait to take a nap. According to Marissa, everything would happen fast. The team planned to go on the offensive at zero dark thirty, Sunday morning. Once they left the hotel this evening, they wouldn’t be back until the end of the mission. Everything they needed would be at the briefing room: clothes, weapons and other gear.
Marissa checked-in while Sophie hung back. What had she gotten herself into? When had she become a spy? This was crazy. Of course she couldn’t tell Stephen and Beth where she was. She told them she was taking a vacation to some tropical paradise somewhere with Derek. Crazy.
“Linda.”
A hand grasped her elbow tightly. “Linda. You seem to be extremely jet-lagged,” Marissa said meaningfully, her green eyes narrowing in disapproval. “Focus, Linda.”
Oh yeah, that was her name. Sheesh. This was going to be difficult. Jet-lagged and under an assumed identity.How do spies do it? Really.
* * *
It was a sea of humanity—theSaturday night market at Melville. It was raunchier, Sophie suspected, because it coincided with a beer festival. Vendors lined the street hawking their wares of South African heritage souvenirs. There were tables of gorgeous ceramics and beaded artwork, cape Dutch antiques, impressive wood carvings and an array of endless costume jewelry. Loud music from every corner vibrated through the air infusing it with carefree revelry. She shook her head at how small she had allowed her world to be by shutting herself away in her lab.
Sophie gravitated toward the food vendors; heavenly curry aromas assailed her nostrils. She wondered if there was time to grab something to eat. Maybe they could pack some food for the team. God knows what they would serve at the beer joint they were meeting at. She quickly glanced around for Marissa. Shit. Where was she?
Her hunger forgotten, Sophie quickly pushed through the crowd. Some people glared at her because she had jostled them while they were drinking their beer, spilling the liquid.
“Hey, watch it will you?” Disgruntled folks barked at her.
“Sorry. Sorry,” Sophie muttered. She was so stupid. This was not a sight-seeing trip. The one instruction Marissa had hammered into her was to stick to her and not let her out of her sight and she couldn’t even do that. She let her curiosity and awe of the place distract her and boy, was she easily distracted. She mentally crossed out “CIA agent” from her list of future professions.
Thankfully, she was tall enough to look over the crowd and spot Marissa maybe twenty feet from her. “Mari…Susan!” Damn it. Trying not to lose track of the brunette, Sophie became more aggressive in weaving through the crowd. Unfortunately, some folks were not too happy to have their beer sloshed on them. One of them shoved Sophie back.
He also looked to be a tourist, college-age. “Watch it!” And Australian.
“Sorry, but I’m trying to get to—” Sophie craned her neck. Damn. Marissa was out of sight again.