Welcome to Paths Not Taken, the thirteenth Operation Quickline story. 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. You can read the first chapter here.
I can’t say I was in the best of moods that Thursday afternoon. I had been looking forward to our trip to Bordeaux that year for the annual Travel Club meeting. Dale O’Connor notwithstanding, Sid and I like the other members, and it is kind of fun to talk about the spy biz with other folks who know what you’re talking about and who aren’t going to kill you.
But that morning, before we left for the airport, I got a call from Dr. Clemmins, then another call from my parents.
Apparently, Dale’s big plan for the restaurant at my parents’ resort was to upgrade the service and make it fancier. Daddy had hired a new chef back in February, a youngish woman champing at the bit to upgrade the dinner menu. Which doesn’t sound all that complicated until you consider the upgrades to the china, tablecloths, and flatware, pulling together a wine list, and a bunch of other things that I had no clue about.
Sid and I had checked in with Lillian Ward, the head of Quickline, right after that dinner with my folks in May. Lillian told us she didn’t know exactly what was up, but that Dale had some sort of plan and he expected us to be part of it. Which meant that we didn’t have much of a choice but to work on it.
Then Sid got interested in the project. We’d gone back and forth to Tahoe several times and, after we’d talked, Sid told Daddy that we’d be there through July and most of August. Sid even got Nick hired as a busboy, much to Nick’s dismay.
That morning, however, Daddy called with some bad news. Neff and Mary Nelson were this elderly couple that had worked as caretakers and managers at the resort. However, Neff had died the previous spring. Mary had stayed on, supposedly supervising the housekeeping staff. Only Mama had taken that over, because Mary was not even close to being able to do it.
The problem was that my Grandma Caulfield (Mama’s mother) had decided it was time to finally clear her house out in Southern Florida and sell it and wanted Mama to go help her do it.
“Why now all of a sudden?” I asked Daddy. “She’s only been letting it go for the past two years since she moved in with you.”
“Stephen called this morning,” Daddy grumbled. “He and Leonard and your aunts are going to be here next week. They want to take your grandma back with them. Only she said she isn’t going without your mama to help, and your mama said she’d better or that house will never get packed up.”
“This time of year?” I groaned in shock. “Mama hates being in South Florida in the summer.”
Daddy chuckled. “She hates being in South Florida, period. Anyway, Mary’s son finally convinced her to move to a senior’s home near him. But that means I don’t have anybody to fill in for Lourdes on her days off, and you are going to be up here starting next month.”
Lourdes Manusco was the housekeeping manager.
“Me?”
“Honey, you did it back when you were in college that one summer, and worked the store, too.” Daddy had also owned a souvenir and sporting goods store that he’d recently sold to the man who’d been managing it for him.
“But what about Mira?”
Mira Arguello was the assistant manager for housekeeping.
Daddy hesitated. “She, eh, takes off on her own and that upsets Lourdes.”
I sighed deeply. Suddenly, it felt like smashing Dale’s face into something wasn’t enough.
“I haven’t managed housekeeping for a lot of years, Daddy.”
“Hasn’t changed that much.”
I sighed again. “Alright. I may as well. I’m pretty hopeless on the restaurant side.”
Sid had already tried training me during a couple weekends that past month. It was a disaster.
[You are one of the most competent people I have ever met. That you couldn’t handle taking orders and getting them served correctly shocked me to my core. – SEH]
Later, I told Sid about the two phone calls while we waited for the plane to Paris. He sympathized, but was glad that I had something to work on while we were at my parents’ resort.
Nick wandered over from the window where he’d been watching the planes. He’s got Sid’s dark, wavy hair, cleft chin, and near-sighted blue eyes, although Nick prefers wearing glasses. Fifteen years old, he had all the ranginess of a growing young man. Not to mention a few dark hairs on his chin, with the occasional whitehead.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, flopping into the seat next to me. “You okay? You don’t look too happy.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll just be doing more work at the resort this summer than I thought.” I smiled. “I may as well. In the meantime, I just want to forget all that and focus on enjoying myself in Bordeaux.”
“And Paris,” said Nick with a grin. “That’s going to be a blast.”
Hours later, on the plane as it began its descent into Orly airport outside of Paris, Sid woke up. He sleeps on planes and rarely wakes up until right before we land. I was looking out the window when he woke and didn’t realize that he had a little early.
“You’re looking a little pensive,” he said. “What’s going on?”
I jumped, then winced. “Nothing I should be worrying about.”
“Dr. Clemmins’ call, perchance?” He smiled softly, then got his contact lenses and the wetting solution out of his jacket pocket. Sid hates how he looks in glasses.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I just can’t help wondering about what you said that last day of school, that maybe I don’t want to be a college professor that badly, and never did. I feel like I’ve shot myself in the foot by filing that protest over Dr. Barber.”
Sid shrugged. “It’s possible. But it’s like you said, the reason Barber keeps getting away with that nonsense is that no one will hold him accountable. And in a way, Clemmins is just as responsible for the problem because he’s using fear of rocking the boat to keep you and other women like you in line.”
“But the rest of the committee?”
“Them, too. You’re just lucky you take good notes and do the research.”
“I suppose.” I shook my head as Sid blinked to make sure he’d inserted the lenses over his corneas correctly. “Between school and working the resort this summer, I almost feel like I’m moving backwards. How much longer before I’m a moody teenager writing bad poetry again?”
Sid chuckled. “That would be the two of us, lover. We’re both going back to our teen years, in a way. I’m pretty sure I’ll be waiting a few tables before we’re done.”
“But you weren’t moody and writing bad poetry.”
“Okay. I skipped the bad poetry. But don’t try to tell Stella that I wasn’t moody as hell.” He glanced across the aisle at our son, Nick, who had the headphones to a Sony Discman on and was just waking up.
“I take it you were comparing notes with her.”
“Uh, not quite.” Sid grinned and shuddered. “Let’s just say that Nick has found a friendly ear in her, and when I complained about what a pain in the ass he’s been lately, she laughed.”
Nick, who turned fifteen that past February, had been pretty grumpy ever since he’d found out he’d be working at the resort for the summer instead of going to science camp and the week-long teen retreat our church puts on at a camp on Catalina Island.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not surprised. You probably were a pain in the you-know-what when you were a teen. And Mama seems to think all the adolescent angst sloshing around is a hoot.”
Both Nick and my sister’s son, Darby, are the same age, which meant there was plenty of angst.
“Revenge being the key word, I would imagine.” Sid glanced over at our son.
I gazed fondly at the kid, too. His hands had sprouted out some, and he was already as tall as his father, possibly taller.
Some minutes later, we were on the ground.
Neither Sid nor I are overly fond of Paris. We usually had a good time when we were there. But as European cities go, it’s not our favorite, which I understand makes us certifiably nuts. On the other hand, it was the first time Nick had been able to visit the city. Since we had to be in Bordeaux by Sunday, Sid and I had decided to take an extra day or two to show Nick Paris. It was Friday by the time we landed, and even though it was early in the morning when we did, half the day was gone by the time we reached our hotel.
It didn’t matter. We spent the afternoon on a boat tour on the Seine, then did a full-day tour of the city on Saturday. Nick, bless him, forgot the angst and had a genuinely good time. Sid and I were thrilled that he was turning into quite the tourist.
Sunday, we took the train to Bordeaux and got ourselves settled into the hotel where the other Travel Club members were staying. That evening, Nick joined us as we met with the other twenty-five people that were part of our group.
Not everyone there had come as members and liaisons of our network. Some had come as the spouses of some of the spies. The other six people were simply ordinary people who acted as cover for the rest of us, even though they did not know they did.
For the next five days, the spies would group and re-group to learn about various operations in Europe, South America, and the Middle East. Quickline’s couriers didn’t generally serve operatives from the Middle East, but we had several connections with the Mossad, which is the Israeli intelligence agency. Those of us who were floaters, or line supervisors, would touch base with each other about upcoming investigations and what special skills their team had to offer.
We also got to eat amazingly well. Admittedly, that’s easy to do in France. But two of the driving forces behind the Travel Club are Lord Andrew and Lady Marian, the Earl and Countess of Graymere. They are two of the most unpretentious people I’ve ever met. They are also gourmands in a big way. They’re not above eating street food or hitting a local dive. But if they do either of those things, you can be sure that street cart or bistro has the absolutely best crepes, sandwiches, whatever, that you have ever eaten in your life. Even Sid eats with reckless abandon when Marian and Andrew are hosting, and he’s normally pretty fussy about eating healthy, skipping red meat, sugars, salt, fats, artificial additives.
We started that Sunday night with a full thirteen-course dinner in the traditional style, complete with matching wines. There wasn’t much discussion about the real reason most of us were there. Instead, Marian asked me about my Ph.D. program.
“As I understand it, you’re studying Shakespeare, aren’t you?” she said as we started dinner.
We were scattered among three round tables in a private room. Sid was at another table with Andrew. Nick, who had proven the year before that he could behave with the proper decorum, was at the third table. Pedro Delgado is Lita Delgado’s husband and a member of Quickline even though Lita and Barb Wasserman are the floaters on their team, which is the Yellow Line. Pedro had landed next to Marian, and I was on his other side.
“I’m told having a rough first year is not unusual.” I made a face. “My first semester was surprisingly boring. But then I took a class with one of my graduate committee members, who was out to get me and the other woman in the class. Turns out he’s a sexist pig who doesn’t believe that women should be studying the Bard.”
“Oh, my god,” said Pedro, his dark eyes flashing with glee. “He’s lucky he doesn’t know Lita.”
Marian’s eyes flitted over to the table where Nick was sitting across from Dale O’Connor, who sat near our good friend, Henry James. Danielle Connelly, a cover member, sat between them. Lita was at the table with Sid and Andrew. She seldom sits anywhere within reach of Dale.
“That would be an amusing confrontation,” Marian said, then ate a delicate little crab puff. “Mm. Lovely. However, I do not understand why the professor would object to you studying Shakespeare.”
I smiled. “I don’t, either.” Shrugging, I glanced Dale’s way, as well. “But then it’s amazing how few guys have the first idea of just how sexist they are.”
Pedro snorted with laughter. Some years before, Dale had grossly offended Lita, and she’d smashed his face into a table. When Dale had gone after Lita, Barb Wasserman, her partner and friend, had kicked him where it hurts. At least, that’s what Sid and I had been told.
I had to admit that the thought of either Lita or Barb landing a swift kick into Dr. Barber’s private parts was rather gratifying. Lita had gone blonde that meeting – her hair is actually black. While she is fairly short with some curves, the last thing you want to do is underestimate her or Barb. Pedro and Moishe, Barb’s husband, are the hub team on their line, which is the Yellow one, but they frequently show up at Travel Club meetings as cover.
The next day, I had my first mini-meeting, this time with Dale O’Connor and Lillian Ward, who is the head of Quickline, Barb, Elena Montoya (one of the floater team for the Blue Line), and Steve Parsons (one of the floaters for the Green Line). We went for a walk around the town square, then settled in a small, outdoor cafe close to the cathedral, getting a table on an outside corner of the eating area. It didn’t matter that we only heard French being spoken around us. We still kept our voices low.
That’s when I finally found out what Dale’s big plan was. He started out by complaining about the ongoing sale of American technology to the Soviets, then announced that Sid and I were going to catch at least one of the KGB agents doing the buying.
“We’ve got a fairly straight-forward sting that we’re setting up,” he said. “We’re staging it in South Lake Tahoe. I’ve got it all arranged. Besides Sid and Lisa, we have an extra operative staying at Wycherly’s Family Resort. Plus, there’s a kid who’s going to turn state’s evidence for us and is already working there for the summer.”
If I could have caused Dale to spontaneously combust at that moment, I would have. Without question.
“That’s my dad’s place,” I said, my teeth gritted.
“That’s why it’s perfect.” Dale grinned. “You and Sid will be there, and no one will automatically connect you to your father.”
“What do you mean they won’t?” I was about five seconds short of leaping out of my chair and strangling Dale, never mind that I was also still trying to keep my voice from rising.
“Nobody is going to care about Lisa Hackbirn hanging around on the resort.” Dale sat back, utterly confident that he’d made his point and then some.
Somehow, he didn’t notice everyone else at the table rolling their eyes.
“Which might be the case if my name were Hackbirn,” I growled. “But it’s still Wycherly. I never changed it and I’m not going to.”
Dale shrugged. “You sure about that?”
“Not for you, not for anybody,” I said. “Besides, my parents would ask why and what am I supposed to tell them? Never mind. Don’t answer that.” I looked around the square and then at Lillian, who was giving Dale the evil eye. “Is there anything else you need to cover?”
Lillian smiled apologetically at me. “I think that will be all for now.”
“Good. I think I’ll take a walk.” I got up and left.
Dale scrambled up behind me. “I don’t get it. Why are you so mad about the set-up?”
I turned on him. “You are using my parents’ business as a safe house and inviting potential enemies there for a sting operation. Good lord, Dale. You own an entire chain of motels. Why couldn’t you have set this up at one of them?”
“I want you and Sid there. We need the backup.”
“But it’s my parents’ business. You’re exposing them to all kinds of danger and risking blowing our covers at the same time. How could you have possibly thought that was a good idea?”
“It’ll be fine.” Dale was about to pat my shoulder, but pulled his hand back just in time.
“It’s not fine, Dale.” I blinked back tears. “One of these days, you’re going to assume that you know it all, and you won’t, and somebody is going to get hurt that didn’t need to be.”
Dale glared at me. “Collateral damage happens.”
“Not when you’re talking about exposing my family to it.” I pressed my lips together. “We’re not chess pieces. We’re not assets. We’re not even soldiers. We’re human beings, and my parents and grandmother are innocent, at that. It’s bad enough that you blithely make decisions for Sid and me. But you have no right to include the people we love or care about in that.”
Dale swallowed, then rolled his eyes. “I make the best decisions I can in the interest of keeping our country safe. I know things you don’t, and part of that is what one of our operatives is working on. It’s a guidance system for our nuclear subs. It’s critical to keeping our guys alive and the other side from launching nukes at us.”
“Fine. That’s critical. I get it.” I shook my head. “But you still should have talked to us about it before making your grand plan. There might have been a better alternative, and you would have gotten better cooperation. What if Daddy didn’t want to work on that restaurant project? Did that occur to you?”
“I know how to make things happen, Lisa.” Dale looked away and then at me. “I’ve been doing it since Korea. You might want to try trusting me sometimes.”
“You might want to try trusting me, too.”
I stalked off.
Later, before dinner, Lita caught up with me.
“I heard that you’re not happy about the big sting this summer,” she said softly, as we made our way into the hotel lobby for the cocktail hour.
“Can you blame me?” I asked.
“Hell, no.” She giggled. “I’m surprised that Dale isn’t singing soprano right now.”
“It was a near thing, as Marian would say.”
Lita grew serious and put her hand on my arm. “It’s worse than you thought.” She glanced around. “We’ve gotten some noise that some Cubans are involved. How, we don’t know. But they’re looking to shore up their relationship with the Soviets.”
“But with everything going nuts over there…”
“That’s exactly why.” Lita frowned. “The ex-pat community is thrilled with Glasnost, but Fidel isn’t, and that isn’t just a rumor.”
Being from Miami, Barb and Lita had good access to intel out of Cuba.
“Yeah, I’d heard that,” I said, sighing. “But thanks for confirming it.”
“Hey. We all Need to Know more than they think we do. We’ll keep you posted.”
“I’ll let you know what’s going on, too.”
Sid noticed immediately that I was not happy but didn’t ask about it until we were getting ready for bed. I told him everything as we got undressed and he rolled his eyes.
“What a jackass,” he growled. [Not the actual term I used. – SEH] “The problem is, you’re both right.”
“I know.” I shuddered as I pulled the covers on the bed back. “Obviously, he knows things we don’t and probably can’t know for various reasons. But he really should check in with us and the others, because one of his schemes is going to blow up in all our faces. Or worse. Let’s face it. With Dale’s kind of knowledge, if he makes a mistake, it could cause World War Three.”
Sid chuckled and pulled me onto the bed. “I think he’s well aware of that. Which, I admit, does not help with his God complex.” He paused, then slid the covers over us. “The strange thing is, I think Marian is getting a little fed up with it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, running my fingers through the hair on his chest.
He purred for a moment, then kissed my fingers. “Well, it’s not as though Dale has ever been that much of a team player. But Marian thinks he’s gotten worse about it lately. Setting things up on his own without consulting any of the others.”
“You mean like his game for my dad’s place.”
“Exactly.” Sid softly kissed my forehead. “Anyway, Marian asked me to keep an eye on him. Not that there’s not much we can do about it.”
“And it doesn’t do us much good to worry about stuff we can’t control.” I sighed, then snuggled in next to him. “Is Nick asleep?”
Nick was in a room that connected to ours.
“He was when I checked him a few minutes ago.” Sid’s eyes gleamed lecherously. “And he’s wearing his headphones.”
I laughed, then yelped in joy as Sid’s hands wandered. We are pretty noisy when we mess around.
Over the next few days, we heard about tensions escalating all over Eastern Europe. I don’t want to sound callous – it was not good news. However, it wasn’t anything we hadn’t heard before, and really, our major concern was which agency or group was handling what and where they were. And who among our group would handle what investigation and when. Steve and Roy, for example, would be in Chicago for an extended period of time, starting in September working undercover as visiting curators at the art museum there trying to find out who was behind a counterfeiting scheme, probably financed by the Chinese.
We got a few more details on the technology sale scheme, but not many. I was still upset about the way things had been set up at my parents’ resort. There wasn’t anything I could do about it. It wasn’t the first time Sid and I had had to work as ourselves on something that had landed in my hometown. We’d make it work out because that was our job. But I did not have to be happy 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.