Spy High Page 5

  “Sorry,” I added. “I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s quite all right.” Stemp’s tone was as emotionless as always. “As I mentioned before, my parents and I have fundamental ideological differences.”

  “Uh, yeah…” I hesitated, wondering whether I should ask the question that was burning on my lips. I should probably just shut up about it.

  Nope, I had to know.

  “Uh, about that. Um… your mom is the sweetest person ever, but… do you think she can really see auras?” I asked.

  I had expected him to dismiss the idea with contempt, but Stemp’s momentary silence surprised me.

  “I… believe… she perceives… a great deal,” he said slowly. “If she chooses to name that perception ‘aura’, I’m not inclined to argue.” A hint of humour warmed his voice. “She always knew when I was lying as a child.”

  His unexpected flash of humanity shocked a laugh out of me. “Most mothers do. But… what exactly did you tell her about me?”

  His tone resumed its clinical detachment. “Exactly what I reported in the dossier I gave you. That you were a personal friend who had suffered a traumatic experience and needed a peaceful environment in which to recover.”

  “Did you tell her about my hysterectomy?”

  “No, of course not. Even if it had been in your personnel file, which it wasn’t, I certainly wouldn’t provide that level of personal detail about any of my agents. Not even to my mother.” His voice grew dry. “Especially not to my mother.”

  I knew that was the truth. He wouldn’t give out the time of day without a signed affidavit and a need-to-know.

  “Well, then, I’m feeling really creeped out,” I said. “Because she said she could see it in my aura. So either she really reads auras or else somebody is feeding her personal information about me.”

  “What are you implying?” His usual detached tone had morphed into something a little cooler and stiffer.

  I sighed. “Well, I seriously doubt she’s a spy, and if she was, she’d be too smart to let something like that slip. So I guess I’m implying that your mother really reads auras.”

  A groan escaped me and I pounded my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I can’t believe I just said that. I’ve been here far too long. When can I leave?”

  “Soon. All the suspects from the Fuzzy Bunny case have finally been incarcerated and intel indicates the situation is settling down. No new threats to my cover have been identified, so presumably that means the danger to my parents is diminishing, too. If nothing else develops there at the commune, you may be clear to leave in a week or two.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying for the last two months.” I scowled at a giant banana slug oozing along the shoulder of the road. Just as slimy as Stemp. “That audit cover is starting to wear thin,” I added. “One of my friends from Calgary questioned me about it today. And what about my bookkeeping clients back in Silverside?”

  “Your clients are well taken care of by the temporary bookkeeper I engaged. And I realize this has taken longer than we had originally hoped, but I truly believe we’re nearing the end now.”

  “Thank God.” I hesitated, balancing my heartfelt desire to escape the commune against the guilt I’d feel if I didn’t provide a full report and something bad happened to Moonbeam and Karma.

  I sighed. No contest there. “There are a couple of other things.”

  “Yes?” His voice sharpened.

  “I’ve discovered there’s a group renting the commune’s land across the river, and one of their members has me worried. He seems to have a violent temper. I’ve named him Ratboy because I don’t know his real name. Orion doesn’t know I saw him and Ratboy talking, and when I asked Orion about Ratboy later he acted as though he didn’t know him. It just seems… off.”

  I repeated their conversation as close to verbatim as I could remember, and silence hummed on the line for a moment before Stemp spoke.

  “But this is the first time you’ve noticed this Ratboy anywhere on the commune or near my parents.”

  “Yes. Orion has been around your mom and dad, but no more so than any of the other commune members. And his behaviour around them hasn’t raised any red flags for me.” I sighed. “I’ll keep watching him, though. And one more thing: I’m suspicious of Skidmark.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think he’s as stoned as he pretends to be. I haven’t really paid much attention to him up to now, but I’ve noticed lately that he’s making inflammatory remarks and getting people stirred up. I’m afraid he might be trying to sow discord and cause trouble for your mom and dad.”

  “I see.” Stemp sounded thoughtful. “What sort of inflammatory remarks?”

  “Racial slurs, offensive stuff about religion, gay-bashing in front of the gay guys, homosexual come-ons to the straight guys…” I trailed off, dumbfounded by the unprecedented sound of Stemp chuckling.

  When he spoke again, I could still hear the smile in his voice. “Skidmark is harmless. For decades he has been a constant irritant to everyone except Mother and Father. Sowing discord seems to be his sole raison d’être. That and partaking of cannabis at every possible opportunity. Throughout my entire childhood, I never saw him sober.”

  “You grew up on the commune?” Somehow I couldn’t reconcile Stemp’s suit-and-tie stiffness with Moonbeam’s rainbow caftans and Karma’s sarongs.

  “Yes.” The flat word was obviously intended to discourage further discussion. He changed the subject. “What else do you know about the renters?”

  “Nothing yet, but Orion says they’ve been there nearly a year.”

  “That land has been rented to various groups since before I can remember, so that’s normal. If they’ve been there that long they’re unlikely to be related to our current concerns, but keep an eye on Moonjava and Ratboy just the same.” Stemp hesitated. “And if Moonjava is engaging you, respond as you deem appropriate.”

  “Okay. By the way, do your mom and dad know about your… job?”

  “No. They believe I’m a high-level manager with the oil and gas research division here at Sirius Dynamics.”

  “All right, that’s what your mom said, but I wasn’t sure if it was a cover story or what she really believed.” Now it was my turn to hesitate. I really wanted to ask him one more thing. It was none of my business, but…

  “Is that all?” I inquired, the three words invoking our secret code.

  No one else would have noticed the tiny edge of tension that knifed into Stemp’s voice. “Yes.”

  We disconnected, and I turned to trudge back to the commune in the rain.

  Chapter 6

  When I arrived at my tent, I glanced at my watch. Now that I’d uttered the code words, Stemp would be waiting anxiously for me to contact him via the secret communication protocol he’d installed on my laptop. Not for the first time, I wondered how much trouble we’d be in if anybody discovered we were circumventing the official department reporting system.

  Damn, the guy was paranoid. Even though his parents’ existence wasn’t a secret like his wife and young daughter overseas, he still forbade me to discuss any personal matters during my official check-ins just in case someone in the chain of command accessed the phone records.

  I hesitated, debating. He’d be worried and expecting a report as soon as possible, but I was chilled under my still-wet hair and the power would only stay on a little while longer.

  Screw it.

  I hurried up to the main building to find an electrical outlet and blow-dry my hair, then back to my tent to change into relatively dry clothes before firing up the laptop.

  I sighed as I watched the system boot. I didn’t even like Stemp. I didn’t want to be the repository of his personal secrets, and I especially didn’t want the responsibility of being the only other person in the world who knew about his little daughter overseas.

  As soon as I plugged the laptop into one of the burner phones to connect to the internet, the tiny white s
quare began to blink onscreen. I pressed Alt-Shift and clicked on it, and the text window bloomed into existence.

  The cursor zipped across it. “Report.”

  I immediately typed, “Your family’s fine, don’t worry.”

  I imagined Stemp’s tension easing, and unwilling sympathy touched my heart. He was a ruthless bastard, but that single-minded dedication to his job was only exceeded by his devotion to his wife and daughter. He would have been worried sick waiting for my message.

  But the first part of this wasn’t about Katya and Anna; it was just embarrassing and I didn’t want to discuss it over official channels.

  I hesitated, my fingers poised over the keys.

  Well, just say it.

  I typed, “Your mom thinks you’re in love with me because you sent me to the commune. I tried to discourage her but I don’t know if I succeeded.”

  I waited for his response, half-wishing I could see his expression just now. Was he choking with laughter the way I had done?

  When his reply appeared on the screen, it was as emotionless as Stemp’s best poker face. “Understood. Continue to discourage.”

  This was where it got tricky. My fingers hovered over the keys again. Really none of my business.

  But Moonbeam would be such a wonderful grandmother, and she wasn’t getting any younger.

  I drew in a deep breath and typed, “Your mom wants grandchildren. Are you ever going to tell her?”

  The cursor blinked on the blank screen while moments stretched. I tensed at the crunch of footsteps on the path outside, but they didn’t come as far as my tent. Must be Orion returning after his shower.

  At last the cursor moved again. “Someday, I hope. Was there anything else?”

  I typed “No” and the text screen vanished.

  Flopping back on my cot, I stared up at the canvas ceiling. What must it be like to be separated from your wife and child for months at a time, unable to even mention their names? No photos, no phone calls, no childish scribbles taped proudly to the refrigerator. No spontaneous hugs and sticky kisses. No bedtime stories. No little voice calling him Daddy. Just an empty house and the constant fear that any message might contain news that would rip his heart from his chest.

  My eyes misted and I closed the laptop and hurried out into the rain, suddenly needing something to do.

  Tugging my hood up, I wandered aimlessly down the path. Same activity choices as earlier, minus one. I’d completed my report to Stemp so I was back to reading, scrubbing clothes by hand, or working out.

  Or…

  I smiled and headed uphill.

  All was silent when I strode into Skidmark’s gravelled clearing. The vehicles still sat where they had been parked, and the stream of rainwater from the gutters of the garage sounded like Niagara Falls.

  I poked my head inside, gratified to find the work bay empty except for a few tools strewn on the floor. Perfect.

  After a quick tidying, the bay was ready for use. I hauled the overhead door up and hurried out to pop the hood on the truck. Surprisingly, the ignition wire was secure on the distributor cap so I jumped back in the cab and fired up the engine.

  I had just closed the garage door behind the truck when Skidmark staggered out of the woods to prop himself against the wall, his ever-present joint smouldering between his fingers. He surveyed me from half-closed eyes, and I braced myself for insults.

  Instead he surprised me with a civil question, only slightly slurred. “Gonna work on it?”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Yeah. I noticed you have a pair of valve-cover gaskets hanging on the wall over there and I thought I’d just pop them in and clean up the engine a bit. Looks like it’s been blowing oil for a while.”

  Skidmark considered that with the aid of a deep drag on his reefer. “Yep,” he said finally.

  I turned away in relief and began gathering grimy tools from their scattered heaps on the blackened workbench before turning my attention to the truck.

  Absorbed in the soothing mindless work and pleasant smell of grease and motor oil, I had almost forgotten Skidmark’s sleepy presence when he spoke again as I bent over the engine some time later.

  “Yeah, girlie. Bend over and I’ll slip you my tool.” His wheezy laughter made me smile in spite of the repulsive double entendre.

  I straightened and eyed him with as much seriousness as I could muster. “Too bad marijuana destroys your reproductive system. By now you must have nuts the size of lima beans and you probably couldn’t get your tool up even with that engine hoist over there.” I nodded at the hoist in the corner. “Otherwise I’d totally go for it,” I said straight-faced, and batted my eyes at him.

  He wheezed laughter until he began to cough, clinging white-knuckled to the workbench until the paroxysm passed. “Far out,” he croaked at last. “Girlie, you’re gonna kill me.”

  “That’s okay,” I reassured him. “You’d have a heart attack and die anyway if I jumped your bones.” A sense of inevitability filled me as Ratboy stepped through the door at the precise moment I uttered the words.

  Of course. It had to be the one person in the whole commune with absolutely no sense of humour.

  His face contorted with rage. “What are you doing, you filthy whore!” Fists clenched, he strode toward me.

  In the instant it took for me to decide whether to blow my cover by pulling my gun or defend myself with the ratchet in my hand, Skidmark sent a trolley jack rolling in front of Ratboy with a well-aimed push of his foot. Ratboy tripped and went down in a flurry of unintelligible words that were probably violent invective.

  By the time he regained his feet, Skidmark had a tire iron in his free hand, and I was gripping a breaker bar I had snatched from the jumble of tools behind me.

  I dodged as Ratboy spat at me. “Whore!” he snapped. “Stupid, worthless whore!” He turned his ire toward Skidmark. “You said it would be ready by two o’clock! Why do you let this stupid-”

  “…whore,” Skidmark supplied helpfully.

  Ratboy’s eyes narrowed in fury. “You are…” he hissed a string of incomprehensible words in Skidmark’s face. “Both of you! Have it ready by three o’clock! Or else!” He whirled and stalked out.

  “Hey, be cool, man,” Skidmark mumbled to his receding back.

  I drew a deep, slow breath and laid down the breaker bar with a shaking hand, keeping it close just in case. “So…” My voice trembled slightly, and I swallowed to steady it before continuing, “What did he call us this time?”

  Skidmark eyed me for a moment before sucking on his cigarette. Then he offered it to me, his hand as steady as ever. “Toke?”

  “No. Not now, not ever.”

  He blinked. “’Kay. That’s cool.” He took another drag, but I noticed he didn’t relinquish the tire iron in his other hand despite his apparent nonchalance. “Dunno,” he added. He shrugged, yawning. “Defilers or something. That is one uptight dude.”

  I snorted, hiding my still-hammering heart. “Defilers of Dickwads. I like it. It sounds like a rock band. We should get T-shirts.”

  Skidmark wheezed amusement and began to drift toward the doorway.

  “Not so fast.”

  He froze at the threat in my tone, then turned slowly to face me. “Aw, come on, be cool,” he wheedled.

  “I am not cool! I am pissed! Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d promised him the truck for two o’clock? I wouldn’t have started this job if I’d known.”

  Skidmark blinked at me in silence. Then he sucked in a lungful of smoke and let it out again in a leisurely trickle. “You didn’t ask.”

  Fighting the urge to pick up the breaker bar and introduce it to his kneecaps, I gaped at him in outrage.

  I drew a deep breath, then another. Anger management. Thank you, Dr. Rawling.

  “Fuck you, old man,” I said at last.

  He winked. “Any time, girlie.”

  My reassembly of the engine wasn’t enjoyable. I rushed thr
ough the job, made sure everything was in working order, and vacated the premises by ten to three.

  Wandering down the path behind the garage, I took slow breaths, trying to ease the tension from my shoulders. The rain had finally stopped, and when I discovered a bench perched at the edge of the hill I spread my waterproof jacket over its wet surface before sinking down on it.

  The ground fell away steeply and the heavy clouds had lifted enough that I could see the entire commune spread below me, small figures moving around oblivious to my surveillance. A fitful ray of sun braved the clouds and I sought its warmth, closing my eyes.

  Ratboy’s enraged features filled my memory and my muscles tensed in reaction, my eyes popping open.

  If I’d been alone, I could have shot him. Killed him without a qualm and stepped over his dead body on my way out. A bullet was an instant and permanent solution to problems like Ratboy.

  I drew a shaky breath. God, how fucked up was I to even think that?

  Below me the commune looked like a dream, gently wreathed in streamers of dissipating mist. Its peace and harmony seemed unreal and unattainable, a world I could no longer inhabit. What kind of sicko had I become?

  The sound of footsteps made me jerk around to look behind me, my fist knotting around a heavy branch I’d picked up from the trail. A moment later I slouched back and closed my eyes again when the reek of pot smoke and body odour accompanied Skidmark’s arrival.

  “Fuck off, old man,” I growled. “Unless you’re standing there with a cold beer and an apology, you’ve got ten seconds to leave before I play a drum solo on your ribs with this stick.”

  After a moment of silence his footfalls receded, taking his foul miasma with them. I drew a long breath and returned to my dark contemplation.

  Several minutes later Skidmark’s stench assaulted my nostrils once more. I was about to snap at him when an instantly recognizable pop-hiss jerked me upright to see him extending a beer can dripping with condensation.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I stared open-mouthed for a moment, then accepted the peace offering, its blue metal icy-cold in my hand. Kokanee. At least the old goat had taste.