Welcome to the first chapter of book twelve in the Operation Quickline series, Amateur Theatricals. Lisa, Sid, and Nick go undercover as the Devereaux family at a university in Kansas to find out who’s killing beginning KGB agents on campus.
This was it. After three full months of strategizing and preparation, Sid pulled the UHaul truck into the driveway of a modest ranch-style house of yellow stucco and red bricks on the bottom. It was barely nine a.m.
“Well.” Sid turned off the engine. “It’s show-time.”
I smiled at him, then looked at our son, Nick, who was sitting between us, grinning nervously.
For the next however many months, we would be the Devereaux family, teaching and going to school at Collins State University in Collins, Kansas, a small town somewhere between Topeka and Kansas City. Sid and I originally planned to go undercover as a pair of older students finally able to take time off from their careers to finish their educations. But then, a history professor had unexpectedly gotten sick, and we and our coordinating team had decided that Sid would come in as a visiting professor hoping to land a permanent job. I’d take classes as a theatre student. Nick would go to the university’s special school run by the education department.
Going undercover is scary. Sid and I had agonized over bringing our thirteen, almost fourteen-year-old, son. After all, what parents in their right minds would want to risk their kid’s neck in an undercover counter-espionage investigation? We sure as heck didn’t. But that is the problem Sid and I have as members of Operation Quickline, a shadow agency under the auspices of the FBI that is so secret that mostly only its members know it exists. Nick hated the idea of us being gone for so long and reminded us he was just going to be worried and upset the whole time, which would not help with our cover at home. He also pointed out, quite rightly, that having a kid around would make us look a lot less suspicious. Then there was the reality that Sid and I didn’t want to be away from him that long, either.
We had been training Nick for the past eighteen months since we’d taken custody of him in the summer of 1985. It was almost shocking how good he was at things like tailing suspects without getting made and getting information out of people. So, Sid and I had made the difficult decision to include him in the operation.
We got out of the truck. Sid had seen to lightening his and Nick’s hair and cutting Nick’s hair short. He also cut and darkened mine. Sid wore his glasses and Nick wore contact lenses, which both really hated. The two look so much alike, it’s almost eerie, with bright blue eyes and cleft chins. They’re both very nearsighted, although Sid usually wears contacts and Nick wears glasses. However, the idea was to change our appearances just in case our cover got blown.
There was a small Toyota sedan hitched to the rental truck, and we all pulled suitcases out of the trunk. Nick started running to the door of the house.
“Careful, son!” I yelped. “It’s probably icy.”
The snow was piled at least three feet deep in the front yard, with slightly higher berms on the yard’s edges. Nick slid, and I rolled my eyes.
Still, we got inside the house with no more problems. Sid winced. At home, we are independently wealthy and live in a large house in Beverly Hills. Here, the front door opened onto a small living room. A hall on the left led to three bedrooms and the one bathroom in the place. To the right of the living room was a dining area and small kitchen with appliances that looked like they’d been there since the ‘Fifties. At the back of the kitchen was a door that led to a dank basement which held the washer and dryer and the house heater and fuel bin.
“It’s not bad for an associate’s salary,” I told Sid.
“I know. It’s just one of those details,” he grumbled.
When you’re undercover, it’s those details that make all the difference. Technically, Sid’s title was visiting associate professor, but that also meant a lean salary and we’d decided it was better to live within those means than our own.
“At least, we’re not poor,” I said.
“No. I’ve been poor. This is not poor. It’s just not rich.” Sid much preferred being rich, and I couldn’t blame him.
Our first job was to double check for listening devices, of which there were none, and to install trip wires on all the windows and doors on the place, so that we’d know if anyone had come in besides us or if we’d been bugged. All three of us carried small bug finders that were linked to the trip wires and could alert us to a listening device. Mine looked like a face powder compact. Sid’s and Nick’s looked like part of a key chain.
Our next job was to unload the rental truck and return it. After that, we’d contact our coordinating team, then get some food in the house. Sid and I had gone over all the likely chores and had divvied them up between the three of us. Nick was not enthused. At home, we have a housekeeper, Conchetta Ramirez, who was currently taking care of our dog and three cats. Here, if the toilet was going to be kept clean, we would have to do it. Or, rather, that one was Nick’s job, along with the rest of the bathroom and his room. I had dusting and laundry. Sid was going to take on cooking, thank God, [I wasn’t going to let you cook. – SEH] and keeping the place swept and vacuumed. We all were responsible for cleaning up after meals, and there was no dishwasher. I was glad that Nick was going to get some basic training in life skills, but was not happy about the dusting. I hate housework.
Fortunately, it didn’t take that long to unload the furniture, the boxes of books and kitchen equipment, and other things we’d decided were essential. The upright piano was the toughest thing to get inside, but since it had wheels on its base, it turned out to be a lot easier to move than you might think.
At the truck rental center, I made the phone call to the coordinating team, and we agreed to meet at a local diner for dinner. Now, one reality of working in a top-secret organization is that no one is supposed to know who you are, and the vast majority of the folks we work with do not know our real names or where we actually live. That doesn’t mean we don’t recognize people. If you’re passing secrets to the same people over and over again, you get to know what they look like. Or if you’ve worked with them before on a case. You may not know their real names, but you recognize them.
I started laughing quietly as Sid, Nick, and I walked into the diner where our meeting was. Sid chuckled as well. Nick sighed.
“What are you laughing for?” he asked softly.
“It’s a long story,” said Sid.
Nick sighed loudly, but seemed to understand.
The other couple waiting for us looked puzzled, at first. We didn’t look the same way we had the last time the couple had seen us, although we’d been told they knew we’d have our son with us. They were sitting in a booth in the back corner of the room. He was a medium-sized, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses. She was a petite brunette who blinked a lot.
As we got closer, his eyes opened wide, then he nudged her and whispered in her ear. They both got up quickly, and he held out his hand.
“Dr. Charles Devereaux, it’s good to see you,” he said, shaking Sid’s hand.
She blinked and hugged me. “Linda, I am so happy to see you.”
“Son,” Sid pushed our boy in front of him. “This is Dr. Randall and Dr. Irene Garrett. This is our son, Ryan Devereaux.”
Randall and Irene Garrett were not the names we’d known the couple by, nor were Charles and Linda Devereaux the names we’d used at that time. Nick shook hands with Irene first.
“He’s such a cutie!” Irene said to me as Nick shook Randall’s hand.
“Nice to meet you guys.” Nick’s smile was polite, but he was not thrilled with being called a cutie. Well, he was a little over a month shy of his fourteenth birthday and already as tall as me.
We settled into the booth, forcing Nick to the outside seat with his back to the door. Irene almost had her back to the room, but Randall, Sid, and I all made sure we could see the whole restaurant from where we sat. Irene leaned over to me.
“We heard you two got married,” she said softly.
“Yeah. Last year.” I smiled.
“Where was the boy when you were in Wisconsin with us?”
“With his mom. I adopted him last year.”
Irene blinked and giggled. “Linda, I can’t tell you how happy this makes me that we’re going to be working together. I meant it when I said I hoped we’d see each other again.”
“I know.” Grinning, I nodded. “I was hoping I’d see you again, too, but we don’t have a lot of control over things like that.”
“Well, Randall asked specifically for you guys when the situation came up. Only they said they were giving us Big Red/Little Red, and Randall said they had quite a reputation.”
I chuckled. “Apparently, we do. I don’t get it.”
“We had no idea that those were your code names.”
I rolled my eyes. “They didn’t tell us you were the coordinating team, which is, of course, one of the bigger pains in the butt about this business.” I grinned. “But I’m glad.”
The waitress came by and got our order and we chit-chatted until the food came. Irene taught communications, although it was out of the social sciences department rather than the marketing or journalism departments. Randall smiled at her happily, but you could tell his mind was somewhere else. Irene explained that after we’d known them, Randall had gone back to teaching chemistry (he’d been teaching history in Wisconsin) and had discovered it was his first love after all. Nick, who loves chemistry, looked like he wanted to talk to Randall about it, but then our dinners showed up.
“We’ve got a lot to go over this evening,” Randall said, snapped back to life. “We’re establishing that Linda and Irene are old friends from your undergrad days at University of Wisconsin, Madison.”
“And obviously, our cover is that we’ve been married a lot longer than we have,” said Sid, doing some math in his head. “So, I guess that’s where Linda and I met before we moved to Los Angeles.”
“That works,” I said, mentally making a note of that.
“As far as the rest of our team is concerned,” Sid continued. “We have Nancy and David Lemon. Nancy’s got math/sciences as an engineering grad student. David is taking the music department going for his master’s in music.”
“Got that,” said Randall.
Sid nodded. “Karen Crombie is working in the financial aid department.”
“That will get her a lot of access to the students and their records,” said Irene.
“Her husband, LeShawn Pile, is taking on a master’s in journalism.” Sid looked over at me and I nodded.
“Exactly.” Randall nodded eagerly. “We made them all grad students, except for Crombie, so that they can take your section of Research Techniques and Resources.”
“That’s good.” Sid swallowed. He wasn’t showing it, but he was pretty nervous about that class. “How did you set that one up?”
Randall laughed. “Nobody wants to teach it, but it’s required for first quarter grad students, no matter what their discipline.”
Sid glanced at me. “Not my strong suit.”
“You’ll be fine,” Randall said. “We’ll work on the course outlines this week and for your other history sections. Those are basic first year stuff, so that won’t be a problem. You’ll be lead on the investigation since you have a visible reason for knowing all of us. Linda, of course, is right in the middle of it all.”
“About that,” I said. “How am I in the middle of it?”
“Because of Fedor Andreyevich,” Randall said. “You’ll know him as Earnest Kaspar. He’s the directing professor. Well, he’s an MFA, so if you want to call him a professor, that’s up to you.”
MFA is Master of Fine Arts, which is based more on practical work rather than the theory and academic focus of a regular master’s degree. It does, however, entitle one teaching at a university to call oneself a professor, no matter what Randall said. But then, Randall is a dyed-in-the-wool academic with PhDs in both chemistry and history.
“He’s the KGB agent running the finishing school,” I said, suddenly understanding.
“That’s him,” Irene said, her eyes blinking even faster than normal.
Randall sighed deeply. “I should have known those assholes from The Company had something else up their sleeve when they set Irene and me up here after we went into Witness Protection.”
The Company is the CIA. Randall had been recruited as a young man and was a known operative. At least, he was by his real name. Assuming I’d known him as his real name on that case in Wisconsin, where Sid and I had met him and Irene.
Randall rolled his eyes. “I spotted the finishing school operation almost as soon as I stepped on campus. I had a kid who was flunking his training in one of my classes, and another who was almost there, but not quite.”
Randall was talking about a program the Soviets had to finish training KGB agents to blend into American society. Our side didn’t know how many such programs they had, but we knew about a few of them. Oddly enough, instead of rooting the programs out, we pretended we didn’t know. That way, our side could keep an eye on the KGB agents, keep them away from the critical stuff, and even feed them some bad intel every so often.
“The problem is, we’ve lost four of the students since last summer,” Randall continued.
“Four?” Sid asked. “I thought there were only three.”
Irene sighed. “We lost number four right before Christmas.”
“We’re probably looking for some rogue agent on our side,” Randall said. “The problem is, Irene and I are the only people on our side on campus that we know of. All the other shadow agencies say they’ve accounted for all of their personnel.”
“Could it be one of the other KGB agents?” I asked.
“Possibly.” Randall shrugged. “But why? There is absolutely nothing for the KGB to gain by killing their own people.”
“True.” Sid shook his head. “It might seem crass, but why are we worried about someone killing KGB agents? I would think The Company would be handing out medals.”
Irene snorted. “If it had been their idea, they would.”
“The problem with rogues is that you can’t control them,” Randall said. “This guy may be going after the other side now, but he could turn against our own as easily as not.”
“And we know how much The Company loves giving up control,” I sighed.
Randall shook his head. “Even if it is one of the KGB moles taking out his colleagues, we’ve got a significant problem. Local law enforcement won’t be that effective at finding the killer because they can’t know about the victims being moles, and we can’t have them finding out about the moles because that would give away that we know about the finishing school.”
“Any chance we can look at the police reports?” I asked. “It would probably help to stay on top of what the cops are doing about the murders.”
Irene pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to me. “We’ve got the initial reports on all four. It’s just tough getting in and out of the police station all the time and if we have to keep asking the FBI to get the reports, then the local cops are going to wonder.”
Sid glanced at me. “We should be able to do something about that.”
“There are three remaining students. I still have contact with Clayton Webster,” Randall said. “He’s a chem major and in a couple of my classes. Rita Kominski is an electrical engineering student. And Greg Grimsbacher is studying journalism.”
“Well, that sounds like everything,” Sid said, finishing his chef’s salad.
Nick and I had already grabbed the ham slices Sid had set aside.
“We do need a visible reason for Charles and me to be spending some extended time together this week,” Randall said.
“Do you have a lab?” Nick asked suddenly.
He’d been so good about staying quiet during the meeting, something that was incredibly difficult for him, as hyperactive as he was. So, Sid and I just smiled at the interruption indulgently.
“Of course,” Randall said. “I’m a chemist.”
“Can Dad and I meet in your lab? I’d like to see a real chem lab.”
Sid grinned. “Our boy is a budding chemist.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, trying to look severely at my son. “Things in your lab at home have a nasty habit of going bang.”
Nick attempted some chagrin as he laughed. “I really like blowing things up.”
“I know a lot of folks who do, too.” Randall laughed deeply, as if he was one of them. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do too much of that. But I think we can keep you occupied while your father and I are working.”
“Keep in mind, son, you have school tomorrow,” Sid said.
“I understand you enrolled him at the university test school,” Randall said.
“We thought we’d give it a shot.” Sid grinned again at our son. “Ryan is pretty gifted and has ADHD. It has not been easy keeping him challenged and settled.”
Nick/Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t mean to get into trouble. I just do.”
Randall and Irene both laughed, and Sid and I shook our heads.
Randall smiled again at Sid. “Most of the kids at the test school are children of faculty, so the school encourages all of the faculty to offer enrichment programs. I’ve got about four kids from the school who are my Lab Rats. They come over after school every day. I can take on another. Gifted education is one thing we’re noted for at Collins. Ryan should do well there. You can pick him up at two-thirty and bring him right over to the lab.”
“One other thing.” Sid winced. “Exercise facilities? We’ll need to keep up on our workouts and we can’t go running in the snow.”
Irene and Randall looked puzzled for a second, then Irene nodded.
“The exercise center is on the first floor of the Physical Education building,” she said. “It’s open for everyone, including family of faculty.” She rolled her eyes. “Some of the faculty wives use it as their base of operations. In fact, Linda, there’s a little wives’ club. They are the most petty, insipid idiots ever spawned. Randall and I were at some big faculty bash the year we started here, and they wanted me to join their group since my husband was the new chemistry professor. I pointed out that I was also a professor in communications studies. That didn’t count. Women faculty don’t have husbands who are also faculty. One of them wanted to know why I would endanger Randall’s chances of getting tenure by trying to teach here as well.”
Randall waved for the check. “Oh, I almost forgot. We’re down the street from your house, about four houses down. Practically that whole subdivision houses faculty. Sebastian Lovegood, the college president, owns your place, and ours, too, come to think of it.”
“That’s good to know,” said Sid.
“More important.” Irene suddenly blinked faster. “It’s the faculty wives again. You’re across the street and a house down from the Howards. Raylene is the wives’ ringleader, and she is a real stickler for property maintenance.”
Sid shrugged. “So? It’s winter. There isn’t much we can do with snow on the ground.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” Irene shuddered. “It doesn’t matter that you’re renting. As a resident, you are responsible for snow removal on the sidewalk in front of your place. You have twenty-four hours after the snow stops to clear your sidewalk or you will get a citation. Raylene knows to the second the time the last flake fell, and she will call the city at twenty-four hours and one minute afterward.”
“What if it snows and we’re away for the weekend?” I asked.
“According to Raylene, that’s no excuse.” Irene laughed. “However, most of us renters notify the management company when we head out of town during snow weather. It just costs to have them take care of the removal. And to be honest, almost everyone on Faculty Row screws up once or twice a season and the city Public Works will almost always waive the fine because they know Raylene and can’t stand her. Still, it’s a major hassle to get the fine waived, nor does anyone want to get on Raylene’s bad side.”
“Why not?” Sid asked.
“Her best friend is Isabel Lovegood,” Irene said. “As in the college president’s wife. Also, Raylene’s husband is Dr. Carl Howard, chair of the history department, and Dr. Lovegood’s particular pet.”
“Howard is a genius at fundraising,” Randall said, blinking back to life after fading out for a minute. “He’s also a suspect, but not much of one. He was the classic oxymoron in Korea.”
Sid laughed. “Army intelligence?”
“And he exemplifies the oxymoronic part of it.” Randall shook his head. “He’s not a complete idiot, except where Raylene’s concerned, and he tends toward a Bible Belt mentality.”
“Now, honey.” Irene put her hand on Randall’s. “His scholarship is solid, never mind his religious inclinations. Even you admit that.”
The waitress brought the check by, and Randall insisted on picking it up. Sid, Nick, and I then drove over to the supermarket Irene had recommended. The interesting thing about Collins, Kansas, was that the entire town seemed to exist to serve the state university. As we later found out, that wasn’t that far off from the truth. There was little in the town that dated back before the 1950s, when the university was built. There were lots of apartment buildings for students. Even the test school that the university ran was the primary school for the area.
At the supermarket, Sid was not thrilled with the produce selection, but did not complain. We both sighed when we saw the total at the check stand. Nick’s appetite had backed off a little since he’d begun his big growth spurt the summer before, but he still ate a lot. Given that I do, too, food was going to be a major part of our budget. When we finally got back to the house, I got out of the car to open the garage door. Flurries of snow drifted through the air. Sid pulled in, but Nick ran outside to look at the snow in wonder.
“Awesome!” he yelped. “It’s snowing!”
Nick had been skiing with Sid and me often enough that snowfall wasn’t a complete novelty. Still, neither he nor Sid had really lived with snow. Sid had been mostly raised in San Francisco and then had moved to Beverly Hills. Nick had been raised by his mother and grandmother in Sunnyvale, a suburb of San Jose (which was a little ways south of San Francisco). Me, I had grown up in the mountain region of South Lake Tahoe and knew from living with snow.
“We’ll see how you feel about it snowing when we get up tomorrow,” I said darkly.
Sid just sighed. Inside, the place was such a mess, we decided to put the police reports we had aside until we could get settled in and concentrate. It wasn’t as though we’d be doing any active investigation right away. We had beds to assemble, first, and the boxes with the sheets in them found. All three of us were exhausted by that point and went to bed soon after.
Thank you for reading. For more information about the Operation Quickline series, click here.
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