Welcome to the Thirteenth Operation Quickline story, Paths Not Taken. When a sting operation is set up on the resort owned by Lisa Wycherly’s father, she and Sid Hackbirn find themselves revisiting their high school jobs. And hoping their covers don’t get blown.
“I’m done!” I hollered into my truck’s cell phone. “It’s over. I’m done.”
Sid, my darling husband, chuckled. “We knew that, sweetheart.”
“Yes. But it’s official now. I finished Casey’s exam and got my paper back from Barber. I am done for the semester.”
“Great. Stella called just before you did.”
Stella is Sid’s aunt. She raised him, so she’s more like his mother than an aunt.
“Oh?” I asked.
“She’ll pick Nick up from school, along with Darby and Josh. She got tickets for the game tonight.”
My gut clenched in spite of my earlier glee. “Will she take them overnight?”
“I, um, may have made that a condition of her taking them.”
Nick is Sid’s and my son. Darby and Josh are his best friends, although Darby is also my nephew and Josh’s mom is one of my closer friends. All three boys were in the last few weeks of their freshman year of high school and were devout baseball fans. They had in Stella not only a fellow fan, but one willing to indulge them endlessly. Given Stella’s leanings toward Communism on the political side, it had completely surprised Sid and me that she loved baseball as much as the boys did. The problem is that when you indulge three adolescent boys to the extent that Stella does, the result is frequently wired teens with tummy aches.
“Is it safe to say that Mae and Lety are on board with that condition?” I asked.
Mae is my sister and Darby’s mother. Lety is Josh’s mother.
Sid laughed. “Hell, yes. How long before you get here?”
I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. “Probably another half hour or so. The last traffic report didn’t mention any problems between here and there.”
Such is driving in the Los Angeles region. I had the news station on my truck’s radio mostly for the regular reports of what accidents were where, not to mention all the other congestion that regularly clogged the freeway, in the hopes that I could avoid those spots. [And people wonder how we got so dependent on Google Maps. – SEH]
“Okay,” said Sid. “I’ll see you then. I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, too, darling.”
I grinned, giving my shoulders a quick roll as I hung up the phone, then concentrated on weaving my way through the lines of cars on the freeway.
“…The House Committee on Intelligence announced a plan today to increase penalties for people convicted of selling American technology to the Soviet Union,” the announcer on the radio said. “Congressman Dale O’Connor, speaking on behalf of the committee, said that sales of computers to the Soviets have escalated in recent years and need to be stopped.”
“It is absolutely critical to our interests to stem this tide,” O’Connor’s voice said. “Stiffer penalties will make it less attractive to sell our technology to our enemies.”
I rolled my eyes. If I weren’t so worried about missing news of the latest accident, I would have turned the radio off. What Dale was spouting was pure nonsense. Nobody in the intelligence community gave a rat’s patootie about the Soviets getting their hands on a few IBM PCs or Apple Macintoshes. Nuclear secrets? Satellite technology? We were concerned about the Soviets getting a hold of those, but more because they’d sell them to Iran, China, or India. Thanks to the chaos going on in the Soviet Union, there wouldn’t be much they’d be able to do with it, and Dale knew it.
Sid and I know Dale O’Connor, although we’re hard-pressed to call him a friend. One of the reasons he’s on the House Intelligence Committee is that he’s a member of the U.S. Intelligence community, overseeing covert operations going on in both the CIA and the FBI. It also makes Dale one of our bosses.
Within the structures of the FBI and the CIA are several smaller agencies, so top secret that only their members and a few key liaisons know they exist. Sid and I belong to one such agency called Operation Quickline. We’re mostly couriers, but Sid and I and our team often get pulled into investigations that are too hot to handle by local law enforcement.
As annoyed as I felt by the news, it didn’t do much to dim my cheerful mood. When I got home, I hurried through the house to the office I share with Sid. He was waiting for me and kissed me soundly.
I grabbed for his belt buckle. I was a little surprised when he caught my hands and held them.
“As much as I want to celebrate the end of your semester with you right now,” he said as he winced, because he really did want to celebrate. “You’ve got to call Dr. Clemmins.”
“What?”
“He said he needs to speak to you today before five and it’s after four-thirty now.”
I groaned. With Nick out of the house, Sid and I wouldn’t need to worry about where we messed around. And I was certainly more interested in messing around than calling Dr. Clemmins back. However, Dr. Clemmins was one of the members of my graduate committee and given the trouble I was having with the head of that committee, I couldn’t afford to blow him off.
I picked up the phone and dialed. Dr. Clemmins, fortunately, picked up right away.
“Lisa,” he said, awkwardly. “I, uh, have some bad news. Dr. Barber is recommending that you be put on academic probation.”
“I see.” I pressed my lips together. “And what is he basing this on?”
“Your last paper.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” My temper flared. “I did what you told me to do, to the letter. You saw it. It was exactly what he asked me to do.”
“I know. You’re— You’re absolutely right.”
“Dr. Clemmins, I’m sorry. This is not about me being a dilettante. This is about me being a woman.”
“Well…”
“Is he recommending Miriam Parsons for probation?” I had a strong suspicion that Dr. Barber had.
“Uh… I’m afraid so.”
“What about Dave Robbins?”
“Uh… No.”
“Then this settles it. I have to call the Dean’s office.”
“Eh, Lisa, he is a preeminent scholar in the field. You told me he was why you came to this school.”
“That was before I found out that he’s also a sexist jackass. How many dissertations by women has he passed in the last ten years? Like none?”
“I appreciate the research you did in that respect.”
“I just wish I’d done it before I got there. Well, thank you, Dr. Clemmins. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re not going to leave us?” He sounded very anxious.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure.”
I put the phone down as Sid shook his head.
“Probation?” he asked, sliding his arms around my shoulders.
“Barber’s recommending that I be put on academic probation.” I blinked back tears. “It’s the first step to kicking me out.” I shook my head quickly to clear it. “I’ve got to call Miriam, then we’ve got to call the Dean’s office.”
Miriam had already heard about being recommended for probation and was fit to be tied.
“But, Lisa, what can we do? I mean, do we really want a reputation for causing trouble? You know how hard it is to get a job.”
“How are we going to get the jobs we want if we can’t get our doctorates? And you know that son of a sea horse is not going to pass our dissertations. He’s counting on us not wanting to cause trouble in the hopes we’ll pass, then he’s going to screw us in the end. Miriam, that’s why he gets away with this nonsense. He’s got to be stopped.”
“Not by me.” She sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. I need a job when I’m done.”
“I get it. But you’re not going to be able to get your degree.”
“I’m transferring to another school. I’m already accepted. It will put me behind, but I should be able to land on my feet. If I don’t make trouble.”
“That’s great. Really.” I grinned in spite of my anger. “Their enrollment numbers are going way down. Clemmins is worried that I’ll take off, too. Best of luck to you. I’ve got to call the Dean’s office.”
“I’m glad, Lisa. You’re right about reporting Barber, but you’re about the only person who can do it.”
So, I called the Dean’s office. Miriam was right. I was about the only person who could raise hell about Dr. Elias Barber’s sexist behavior, because I am, in fact, a dilettante. I was not working on my PhD in English Literature, with an emphasis on Shakespeare, because I needed a new job.
Sid and I need to have some sort of occupation to cover what our actual jobs are, and that’s been freelance writing. But we really don’t need even that. To be blunt, we are independently wealthy. The writing thing has come in handy when we need to ask people questions without looking suspicious, but we don’t have to do it for a living.
Even so, I was going back to my original career plan of being a college professor, which had been interrupted when cutbacks at the community college where I’d been teaching put me out of work. Then I met Sid, who recruited me into his spy business. Then he got me into freelance writing, as well. Then we got married.
As far as my life aspirations and plans were concerned, being married with a kid was pretty far down on my list. But Sid and I had to fall in love with each other, and I ended up adopting his son, and there I was. Married with a son in high school. Not a bad situation, by any means, since I deeply love both Sid and Nick. It was just not at all what I’d planned for my life. The doctorate was.
I hung up the phone after my conversation with the Dean’s office, feeling completely let down.
“Hey, Lover,” said Sid softly. “It will be alright.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what’s bugging me.” I winced as I slid into his embrace. “It’s that I don’t have to do this. Why am I putting myself through this torture? Half of it’s boring as spit. Then Barber being such an ass.”
“Well, maybe that’s what you need to be thinking about over the next few months. You’ve got ‘til the end of August before school starts again. It’s possible you’re in the wrong program. Or maybe you just didn’t want to be a college professor as badly as you thought you did.”
“Possibly.”
I reached over and kissed him, my hands again sliding toward his belt buckle.
“And as much as I wish we had time.” Sid grabbed my hands again. “We have to get out of here for dinner with your parents. It’s just after five and we’ve got to be in Burbank by six or so.”
I groaned, but he was right. Fortunately, I was wearing a denim shirt dress, which meant I didn’t have to change for dinner. Sid had on his usual dark two-piece suit with a snowy-white shirt and a colorful tie that I’d made from a Liberty cotton. Sid is not a big man, only about three inches taller than me, and I’m average. He has dark, wavy hair, gorgeous bright blue eyes, and a cleft chin. I couldn’t help smiling at him.
“Alright,” I said. “Let me get my purse.”
We got to the restaurant in Burbank closer to six-thirty. It didn’t matter. My parents had flown down from their resort in South Lake Tahoe earlier that afternoon and had rented a car. They were ensconced in the restaurant’s bar, a chain steakhouse with a kitschy Western flair, sharing a plate of appetizers with another couple.
There’s only one way to put it. When Sid and I saw the other couple, our blood ran cold.
I’m not going to say that we regard Dale O’Connor as Evil Incarnate. He’s hardly that and believes in keeping the U.S. safe from enemies and so forth. But Sid and I do not like him for a lot of reasons, and one of those reasons is that Dale is one sexist pain in the backside.
Sid had known Dale, though not well, for years before I met the man. We later got to know Dale when we’d been promoted to our current position two years before. Not only did he oversee a lot of covert activity, he was also a key liaison between Quickline and the rest of the intelligence community. Dale is also the congressional representative for the district that includes my parents’ home in South Lake Tahoe. [Funny how we accepted that initially as a coincidence when it turned out to be anything but. – SEH]
Sid and I had wondered in the past whether my parents knew Dale. Sadly, that night, we were confronted with the fact that they obviously did.
“If it weren’t for your parents,” he grumbled.
“Even with them,” I said. “I am not up to dealing with Dale tonight. Let’s leave— Shavings!”
Mama had seen us and waved us over. I glanced at Sid, who shrugged.
“Will it blow our covers if I smash his face into the table?” I asked, as we threaded our way around the tables.
My parents didn’t know about Sid’s and my spy business. Sid just chuckled, but once we’d hugged and kissed Mama and Daddy, and shaken hands with Dale and his wife, Adrienne, Sid made a point of seating me next to Daddy and as far away from Dale as possible.
“Looks like there’s a good, long wait for a table,” said Dale jovially. His reddish gray hair, what was left of it, sat in a ring around his bald spot, and he held himself ramrod erect like the former military man he was. “What do you two want for a drink? Sid? Scotch and water, right?”
“Bourbon and water,” Sid said quietly.
Adrienne blinked at us sleepily from where she sat next to Mama. She looks a lot like a former model still keeping herself up, with full brown hair and perfectly made-up face. She doesn’t generally seem tuned in to what’s going on around her, but the last time Sid and I had talked to her, we’d gotten the impression that she was a lot more alert than she acted.
“Lisa?” Dale asked, waving for a waiter.
“A glass of white wine, thank you,” I said.
Mama had a glass of what was most likely white zinfandel in front of her that she wasn’t drinking. She’s short and pert and usually bubbling over, although she wasn’t that night. Daddy, who is as tall as Mama is short and as laconic as she is talkative, smiled, but had a wariness to his usual reserve. Not that Dale or anyone else would have noticed the wariness. Daddy plays poker insanely well and taught me to play. We’re about the only people who can read each other’s tells.
Sadly, the dishes holding the onion rings and shrimp cocktail looked very picked over. When the waiter showed to pick up our drink orders, Dale requested a second appetizer platter, and ordered scotch and water for Sid and a white zinfandel for me. Which explained why Mama had the white zinfandel, which she really doesn’t like.
“Excuse me,” I said to the waiter. “Actually, I’ll have a white wine, my mother will also, and my husband will have bourbon and water.”
“Uh, chardonnay okay?” asked the tired-looking young woman.
I glanced at Mama, who nodded. “Perfect. Thanks.”
I smiled at the waitress kindly.
“I’d like a glass of the bourbon, too, please,” Daddy said.
He pushed away the short tumbler with something amber in it as the waiter scurried away.
“Well, Lisa,” Dale said. “Why haven’t you told your folks that we’re all friends?”
I glanced over at my parents and shrugged. “It just never came up.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes, Dale,” Mama said, her usual Southern drawl getting just a touch icy. “We never mentioned to Sid and Lisa that we knew you and Adrienne.”
“So, what brings you to Los Angeles, Dale?” Sid asked.
“I’m coming home to Tahoe for a few days,” Dale said. “I’ve got a couple of meetings with constituents. Flew in this afternoon and met Adrienne here.”
She smiled and blinked. “I left early to get some shopping in.”
Dale chortled loudly. “And how much of my money did you go through today?”
Sid gave me a quick once-over to be sure I was still in my seat. I really hate Dale’s big joke about how much his wife spends.
Mama jumped in. “Dale told us a month or so ago that he and Adrienne are part of that travel club you two belong to.”
The travel club existed. It’s just that a good two-thirds of the members are also members of various intelligence organizations around Europe and the U.S. It’s a way of making sure the people who supervise the four different routes that make up Quickline know enough about what’s really going on so that they can get packages and information where it’s needed.
“Anyway,” Dale said. “When I found out I was flying in, I checked in with your parents, Lisa, and found out they were coming down tonight, and I suggested we meet. Looks like your father and I might be going into business together.”
Daddy shrugged. “Well, you have an interesting idea about the resort restaurant.”
“Sid, you used to be in the restaurant business, right?” Dale asked.
“I write about it, but it’s been quite a few years since I last waited any tables,” Sid replied.
We paused as the waiter brought our drinks and the extra appetizers.
“Still, you should join us,” Dale insisted. “It’ll be great. I mean, I can’t be actively involved, so you won’t have to worry about that. And I’ll bet you’ll be able to get this plan up and running in no time.”
“I’ll have to talk it over with Bill first.” Sid glanced my way. “And with Lisa.”
“Dale,” Adrienne blinked and stood. “I’m done eating.”
Dale glanced at his watch. “Yeah, and we’ve got a flight up north to catch. You think about that plan, Bill. Lisa, Sid, good to see you.”
There was almost an audible sigh of relief once the pair were gone, and a moment later, the hostess told us our table was ready. Sid grabbed the appetizer plate and his drink as he got up.
“You don’t have to do that, sir,” said the hostess.
“It’s no trouble,” Sid replied, pasting a nicely sensual smile on his face.
The hostess smiled back. “Oh, and your friend has already put his card through for your dinners. In fact, we could have seated you a few minutes ago, but he asked us to wait until he left.”
The four of us looked at each other but followed the sweet young thing to a table in the main dining room.
“So, Dale is coughing up,” I said as we got ourselves settled and looking at the menus. “Should I go for the surf and turf or the double prime rib?”
“Now, honey, you don’t want to take advantage,” said Mama.
“Oh, yes, we do,” Sid replied. “And it’s not like Dale hasn’t seen Lisa eat before.”
“You don’t seem to like the congressman,” Daddy said.
“As one of our other friends in the club put it, some of the members are an acquired taste,” Sid said. “And we’re not acquiring one for Dale.”
“Adrienne is not so bad,” I said.
The dinner waiter, a young dark-haired kid with classic actor features, came up to get our order. I got lobster and prime rib. Sid opted for roasted chicken. Daddy went with the double prime rib. Mama had grilled salmon.
“Anyway,” I said after the waiter had gone. “You’ve met some of the others from the travel club. They were at the wedding.”
Sid and I had gotten married two years and some months before.
“I’m trying to remember now,” Mama said.
“There’s Hattie Mitchell, who used to be one of our editors,” I said. “Lillian Ward. She’s the one who got Uncle Leonard in the choke hold.”
“I’d like to shake her hand,” Daddy said with a grin.
Leonard and Steven Caulfield are my mother’s twin older brothers and they’re… Well, they make Dale look pleasant.
“And Marian and Andrew, the British couple,” I finished.
“They were quite charming,” Mama said.
Daddy grunted. He didn’t take to Andrew flirting with Mama. Mama hadn’t noticed the flirting and couldn’t understand why Daddy had taken such a strong dislike to Andrew.
The waiter came by with our salads and offered us ground pepper. Sid and Mama went for it. Daddy and I didn’t.
“So, what’s this big deal that Dale is trying to pull off?” Sid asked.
“He wants to invest in improvements to the restaurant,” Daddy said.
I gaped. “You’re not going to let him buy in, are you?”
“Oh, hell no.”
“William,” Mama hissed at him. She does not like foul language.
“But he sure seems to want you involved, Sid.” Daddy looked at us curiously.
Sid just shrugged, and we chatted a little about the project, then moved on to other subjects. But something was up, and I had a really, really bad feeling about it.
Thank you for reading. For more information about the Operation Quickline series, click here.
Please check out the Fiction page for the latest on all my novels. Or look me up at your favorite independent bookstore. Mine is Vroman’s, in Pasadena, California.