Dangerous Web Page 3

  “Nothing you told me that day was true?”

  “Not even my name. I’d been trained to improvise. In the bookstore, I was standing next to a Webster’s dictionary. Craig was a childhood friend of mine.”

  “You’re kidding?” His eyes told her he spoke the truth. “If you’re not Webb Craig, who are you?” She remembered the name on the bottle of pain killers. “Ethan Lancaster?”

  Silence.

  “You fib to strangers. You lied to me from day one?”

  “It comes in handy sometimes. I worked, still work, for a black ops group. We’re employed by the U.S. government. We’re off the books, under the radar, doing the bidding of the U.S. when deniability is needed.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you ever wondered how western democracies get rid of problems discreetly? How they take their enemies out, or monitor what’s going on in countries where there is no embassy?”

  “Not really.”

  “Most people haven’t. They go about their lives with business as usual. Oh, they understand lone wolf attacks, bombings in foreign countries, and the like. But people don’t know all the wars, terrorist assaults, internet hacks on our voting operations, banking systems, that were averted. Something that didn’t happen is hard to quantify.”

  How many nights had she seen him bent over the keyboard of his iPad? She stared at the handsome man sitting before her and realized he was a stranger. He appeared calm, normal, but he must have lost touch with reality. “You don’t work with computers?”

  “I can if I need to. I’m trained in IT, but that’s not my mission.”

  She blinked and shook her head. “Mission? Like Mission Impossible, the movies?”

  He stared at her.

  “Webb, I don’t believe you for a second—what does any of this have to do with me?”

  “I’d hoped you could understand my position during our marriage and give me some slack.” He rubbed his chin then looked her in the eye. “You’re right. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s not necessary for you to appreciate my motives, just understand I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Really? You lie to me, marry me under a false name, then disappear without so much as it’s been fun. Now, you want me to believe some bullshit story about secret missions?”

  “Emmy...”

  “Is that the best you can do? Invent some crazy ass story about being a super spy.” She groaned. “Give me a break. Are you saying you’re hiding until you can get to your secret home base?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Shit, Webb, I’ve seen that movie. Do you have a secret ring and a hand shake?” She wanted to laugh, but under the circumstances it was hard to find humor when anger swelled in her. “When you walked out, I spent days calling the police departments and hospitals looking for you. Do you have any idea the horror I went through thinking of you bleeding somewhere in a ditch waiting for help and it didn’t come?”

  “I—no.”

  “And you think I should believe you?

  “Emma, what do you want from me?”

  She faltered. How could she answer? Did wish he’d declare his undying love and beg her to let him return to her arms?

  He walked to the stove and picked up the coffee pot. “Want a cup?”

  “No.”

  At the table, he sat heavily onto a chair, still favoring his right side and sloshing coffee onto the knotty pine table. He moaned softly, his skin tone turning pale.

  Not wanting to see his pain, she glanced out of the window. She wasn’t going to empathize with him. “Why are you at the cabin?”

  “I needed a place to rest and recoup. I’ve paid to have the place kept in order and stocked with food in case I needed it. Em, you haven’t been back in years, so, I thought it was safe from you.”

  “You’ve come here before?”

  “Once. I was informed, by a reliable source, you never visited.” He finished his coffee and went back to get more. “Want some?” He held up the pot.

  She shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve been on the property since you left me.”

  “Why now?” he asked, consternation in his voice.

  “I’m selling the place. I came to get it ready.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that expression sadness, or could he be upset there’d be no hideout from his imaginary enemies? “Did you expect me to keep this place as a remembrance of you?” It was her turn to stand and move away from the table. She carried the dishes to the sink, thought about washing them, but instead she set them down.

  “Ok. I’m going to bite. Why did you have to hide?” She adjusted her T-shirt and sat down.

  “I have a link to a list someone wants and I’m not about to give it to them.”

  “Call your boss. Take the note to him? Why come to the middle of nowhere?”

  “It’s not a note, and I need to recoup first—it’s a long story.”

  “Yeah, I bet it is. Need more time to make up the fairytale?”

  “Hey, I admitted I was a jerk, but I’m leveling with you. It’s the least you deserve.”

  “You got that right.” She hated to agree with him about anything.

  He groaned and his skin had a sallow hue to it. How much blood had he lost from his wound?

  “I can’t use a cell phone to call my boss. It could be monitored. I don’t use tech, too easy to leave a trail.”

  “So, you use carrier pigeon, no doubt,” she scoffed.

  “You laugh at me, but anything on a computer, a cell phone, or a cloud can be hacked. The Russians have gone old school as well to protect their info and their agent’s names.”

  “How would you know what the Russian government does?” She tried but couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. “Call the police, FBI, CIA, or whatever.”

  “You don’t get it. I can’t call anyone because I don’t exist. My history has been expunged, wiped from the records. I was never born. The Task Force went to extensive efforts purge my accounts to make sure I don’t.”

  “The Task Force?”

  “A branch of RAT, Rapid Advance Task Force.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  Then they’ve done their job. No one should be aware of their existence.”

  “But what about Ethan Lancaster? Is he’s real?”

  “Emmy, I’m on my own right now.” He ignored her question. “I can’t take the chance of contacting the team until I understand more about what is going on. I tell you because you could be in danger, because you’re involved with me.”

  Their eyes met. “You’re certifiable, Webb. I don’t buy any of this for a second.”

  “Emma, I’m going to get cleaned up.” His annoyance at her statement was marked by the slamming of the kitchen door when he left.

  She startled, but resisted running after him to yell something rude.

  ***

  The rest of the evening, she spent vacuuming and dusting the living room. She plugged in the vintage AM radio, found tucked away in the second bedroom closet. It surprised her when the thing came to life with a crackle of static. An oldie station, broadcasting miles from the cabin, came on. She turned up the volume as she cleaned the bathroom and washed the kitchen floor. With the vacuum and cleaning items stored on a shelf on the back porch, she made a mental list of what else needed to be done before the place was put on the market.

  The whole time, Webb didn’t come out of the master bedroom.

  Later that night, she made pasta with red sauce and set a bowl of it in the fridge for him. She was tempted to peek in the bedroom to check if he needed anything but decided against it. They hadn’t spoken since he’d slammed the kitchen door behind him. No need to start the argument again.

  Alone in the guest bedroom, she wondered if anything he told her could be true. With a shake of her head, she lay down on the double bed and stared into space. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling making shadows in the dimly lit room. A harmless spid
er hung from an open rafter. The creature was unaware it would be homeless when she finished cleaning the house tomorrow.

  The rain continued and lightening lit the sky. She shivered and counted the seconds until thunder struck. You’re not a scared kid anymore. The storm can’t hurt you. Even so, the memory of her father’s death, lost in a tornado, was dredged up with every strike of thunder. She struggled to control her rising fear. With Webb back in the picture, she missed having her father even more acutely. The loss of her parent haunted her even now, years later.

  ***

  The next morning, showers threatened and mist hung in trees, but she grabbed a windbreaker and hat, then went to pull up the dead perennials planted two years earlier. A symbol of her enduring love for her husband, they had withered and now lay rotting in the cold rain.

  With too much time to think, she’d begun to wonder who she’d married, Ethan, Webb? Was he the young man who’d grown up in a series of foster homes? A kid who found it too painful to talk about his past so he didn’t say much about it? Was that true or another story invented to get her sympathy? Maybe his real family still lived somewhere in another state. Did it really matter now? She shrugged and took the pile of weeds she’d pulled to the compost barrel and tossed them in.

  Her hands were muddied, her nails broken, and yet she continued to work. She yanked every flower and weed out until only mud remained in the garden in front of the cabin. Finally, exhaustion and the increasing rain sent her inside.

  When she entered there was evidence Webb had been in the kitchen, most likely waited until she was outside, so he didn’t have to see her.

  She sighed, relieved. What could she say at this point? Better not to talk at all. Sharp words sprang too easily to her tongue. If left unsaid, she wouldn’t regret them later. Her plan was clean up the place, put it on the market, and move on. Simple to say, she hoped to have the strength to accomplish the plan.

  Once the cabin was sold, half the money belonged to Webb, if she knew what name went on the bank check and where to send it. If he didn’t tell her, she’d deposit the funds into a high interest savings account and wait until he came thru with the information. It wouldn’t be said she’d kept his fair share, regardless to his betrayal of their marriage vows.

  With that settled, she took a deep breath. The windows needed to be cleaned, the stove as well. She went to work. The goal was to be worn out so sleep would come uninterrupted by nightmares if the thunder returned.

  The cupboards were scrubbed, the stove, the oven, and the bathroom. She cleaned anything else she could think of, then rearranged the furniture in the living room and set logs in the fire place. A homey touch showing what a family cottage could be, something she’d never experience again. She swallowed slowly and tried to avoid the sadness brought on by the demise of her life with Webb. It was gone years ago, no point in reliving the agony again.

  In the days that followed, she continued to make food for each meal and leave it in the fridge for Webb. He took it but avoided seeing her. He too must be grateful not to carry on obligatory conversation.

  On the fourth day, the rain stopped and the sun came out. It was a welcome sight as she was coming down with cabin fever. The small radio had stopped working and though the only station it received hadn’t delivered any real news, it had been some company. Until now, she hadn’t realized how reliant on electronic equipment her life had become. Out of touch with the world and her friends, she longed to check Facebook and look for tweets or talk to friends on her smart phone. Not to mention, it was getting harder to avoid Webb in the small cottage.

  Though she dreaded the idea, they had to talk and come to an understanding on how to move forward. He had to agree to a divorce. Even if it was a union made under a false name, all her legal documents were under his name, valid or not.

  His 1967 British Racing Green Austin-Healy sat in her garage. At the time of his disappearance it had been proof something terrible had happened to him. He might leave an inconvenient wife, but he’d never leave his sports car—his baby.

  Wrong.

  “Hi.”

  Standing tall, eyes clear, chin without stubble, and hair combed back, Webb entered the room looking like the man she’d fallen in love with years earlier. Her heart stumbled, then began to beat faster.

  Chapter 4

  Jon Lancaster glared out the window of the rented eighth floor condo in San Francisco, and noticed how small the cars appeared from this vantage point. Soon the lights would go on, turning the city by the bay into a jewel.

  Frustration gnawed at him. It wasn’t like Webb to stay out of touch for this long. He’d checked his private email for messages. Nothing. They worked independently but always maintained contact even if it was only a random text. Time was of the utmost importance and for days he’d had no word. A deadline loomed and the two of them had to formulate arrangements.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled under his breath, “Call, damn you.” He tried but couldn’t stop worry from spreading through him.

  Clouds filled the sky, changing the deep blue to a pale gray. Rain was on the way just in time for the commute traffic, making it impossible to get out of the city quickly. Forget the Golden Gate Bridge; it was gridlocked by now.

  He couldn’t prove it, but the tension in his back, and his training told him he’d been followed when he arrived here. If he was going to search for Webb outside of San Francisco, particularly in the North Bay, a decision must be made as to how to leave the city and not be tailed. He’d head south to throw off anyone following him and cross the Dumbarton Bridge, go back up the East Bay to the Richmond Bridge, and on to Marin County.

  It would be a pain in his rear to add miles to his journey because traffic would be at a standstill, but a good idea to be on the safe side. Easier to lose any tail in the congestion, something he was good at, particularly in the East Bay. There had to be some reassurance he didn’t lead anyone to his brother’s location. Even though it was risky, they were both convinced, they had to meet.

  His cell rang. He didn’t know the number, but that was often true when Webb called. He grabbed for it too fast and almost disconnected the call. With the recovered fumble, he shouted, “Webb?”

  “Well, you’ve answered my question, Jon. No word from him yet?”

  He recognized his boss and the slightly higher pitch of irritation.

  “No.”

  “Shit, he had a simple job, track the group’s movements when they crossed the border and report back. He must have blown it. If this all goes to hell, it will be on his head.”

  “I…”

  “Get your ass out there and find him. I need the information or his body—yesterday. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  No one was better than Webb at finding, tacking, infiltrating terrorist, criminal, and other groups who entered the U.S. illegally. Why his silence?

  Jon was damned concerned. He left the window and searched the pocket of a jacket in the closet for the car keys. Ready to leave, he wondered if he’d find his brother dead or alive.

  ***

  With Webb in the passenger seat, Emma drove the old sedan to their small west coast bungalow and parked in the driveway. A memory of the first day she saw the home, with the for sale sign out in front lawn, taunted her. Would he remember too? She didn’t dare check to see if he appeared moved by the sight. What difference did it make now?

  There was an almost imperceptible pause when he entered the place. Yet, his stoic expression didn’t change as his hand raked through his thick dark hair. He scanned the room, pausing on the Danish furniture they’d picked out together. However, his deep brown eyes gave no indication of his thoughts. He stood tall, strong, and in command and she couldn’t help admiring him. Damnit.

  “You know where everything is. I’m going to take a shower. It was a long hot drive.”

  She rushed to the master bedroom before he could answer. Why did she bring him to their home? Too many uncontrollable
feelings were bubbling to the surface.

  What would he think when he noticed his clothes were the way he’d left them? She’d kept telling herself it was time to throw them all out or donate the bunch to a needy cause. Somehow, she hadn’t been able to do it.

  Before long, he’d pick out some of his things from the dresser and maybe take items from garage, then walk out. The marriage would be over. It couldn’t come too soon. She’d been able to manage her emotions while they were at the cabin, but being near him in their house threw her off balance. Without equilibrium, her life had tilted out of control. She had to get her day to day life in balance, ASAP. Their relationship was dead and she’d carved out a new fulfilling existence. She had to hold on to that realization.

  In the bathroom, she undressed and tossed her clothes into the hamper.

  The spray of cool water lowered the temperature of her heated body, and the aroma of the coconut shampoo soothed her. She closed her eyes to enjoy the fact she was okay, and he’d be gone soon. When he left, everything would return to the “new” normal.

  Out of the shower and wrapped in a pink bath-sheet, she dried her hair with a hand towel.

  “I don’t mean to get into your private space, but I need a bandage. I’m bleeding again.” Wearing only boxers, he came into the room appearing way too appealing even with the wound in his side.

  “Shit.” She held the bath towel tightly to her. “Uh, I think there are some in the plastic box under the sink.”

  “You don’t have to protect yourself so carefully. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

  She bent down as he came forward. Her line of sight was at his crotch. Involuntarily, she caught her breath and quickly searched for the first aid container.

  “Here’s some gauze and tape.” She cleared her throat. “That should do.”

  Was it the steam from her recent shower or could he be making the room hotter?

  “Thanks, Emmy. If you don’t mind, I’ll get cleaned up now.”

  She was barely able to grab the hairdryer, when he dropped his boxers. She ran into the bedroom, but heard him chuckle as she slammed the bathroom door.