Page 39 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Langley, Virginia

For Paul Dietrich, the news out of the Cayman Islands was disturbing.

The day’s intelligence briefing circulating through the CIA headquarters stated that one Iranian national was shot and killed execution style in a parked car in the marina. Another two Iranians rented a boat and were missing. All three were presumed to be Iranian intelligence operatives.

The daily update had arrived in his inbox that morning, and that piece of news was buried on page three. Not the news he wanted to see. Every day, he anxiously scanned the update for news that a CIA operative, namely Ellie Austen, had been killed.

Instead, Paul found that the Iranians had failed again. It sent his already high blood pressure skyrocketing. He was walking on a high wire without a net and could feel the winds getting stronger, ready to blow him off, sending him plummeting to his death below.

He had tried to access Ellie’s mission files to find out why she was in Cayman, but his security clearance didn’t give him access. He worried she might be there to search for a double agent. To find him.

At first, he thought he was being paranoid. Now he wasn’t so sure. He had been running his traitorous operation out of the Cayman Islands for years. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Ellie Austen was running a mission out of there now.

He never set out to be a traitor. His first assignment was in London.

An ideal starting point for an ambitious newbie intent on becoming a station chief.

But he made the mistake of sleeping with one of his married subordinates and was banished to Ukraine, buried in the cold, miserable chaos of a country teetering on the brink.

One of the worst places to go in the entire network.

He made the best of it and used the opportunity to cozy up with several Russian oligarchs under the guise of intelligence gathering. The relationships admittedly became too friendly, but he never crossed a line.

Until he received a call one day from the acting CIA Director himself, Neal Fuller, with an unusual request. He was ordered to find Jamie Austen.

At the time, he knew Jamie from her reputation.

While he was reluctant to help because he didn’t trust Fuller’s motives, Paul saw it as an opportunity to get out of his banishment.

Fuller had promised him everything: a cushy position at Langley, millions siphoned from the accounts of Alex and Jamie Austen as payment for his loyalty.

It wasn’t betrayal, not in Paul’s mind. Not then.

Fuller had convinced him that Jamie and Alex were dirty.

He justified it by telling himself he was following orders.

Mostly, the compromise had been driven by greed.

To his credit, Fuller nearly brought down Jamie Austen and her husband, Alex. He had come close, so close Paul could almost taste the victory back then.

Unfortunately, he had bet on the wrong horse.

Fuller had played him. Instead of Langley, Paul was exiled to Rome. An improvement, but a consolation prize that came with none of the promised millions. He felt like he had been cast aside like garbage. He couldn’t even get Fuller on the line to confront him about it.

Shortly after, Jamie and Alex took Fuller down, dismantling everything the CIA Director had built and reclaiming what he had stolen from them. Paul had nothing to show for his loyalty except a reassignment and the bitter taste of broken promises.

He had a lot of sleepless nights for several years. Constantly looking over his shoulders concerned that Jamie and Alex might learn of his duplicity.

They never did.

So, Paul had to adapt. When the Russian oligarchs came calling again years later, he was ready to listen.

The money was too good to ignore. Feeding secrets to the Russians via the Iranians had never sat right with him, but it had been a necessary conduit. Iran was the go-between. He couldn’t give the information directly to the oligarchs. Nothing could be tied back to them.

So, Paul would travel to the Cayman Islands and meet a passenger from a cruise ship. Hand over the information, then enjoy a week in the sun.

It had worked for years, and Paul had built himself a comfortable future. He had accumulated more than four million dollars stashed away in a Cayman account under an assumed name.

A lifeline. An escape route. Someday, he planned on retiring in Cayman.

Then he made the mistake of going after Jamie Austen’s daughter.

It had been an impulsive move, driven by old resentment. Jamie and Alex had cost him his future once, and when he approached the Iranians about Ellie, it had seemed like an opportunity to right old wrongs and pocket another million dollars.

He should have known better. He should have let it go.

Now, it was too late. The Iranians had played their cards and failed. Ellie had dispatched all of their men, like ticks off a dog, and that was no accident. She wasn’t just lucky. She was trained, methodical, and ruthless like her mother.

When the Iranians went after Ellie, Jamie Austen would know that someone had betrayed them. If she ever found out that Paul had put the hit on her daughter, he was as good as dead.

While he had the money, it wasn’t worth it. His life had been turned upside down. He couldn’t eat or sleep. Was constantly looking over his shoulder. Each time the Iranians failed to kill Ellie, he felt the noose tighten around his neck.

Paul left CIA headquarters and parked his car at a location near his office. He took out his encrypted satellite phone and dialed the Assistant Director of Iranian Intelligence, who answered simultaneously with the first ring.

His heartbeat thudded heavily in his chest as he took the phone off speaker and brought it to his ear. The voice on the other end was cold, livid, and didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“My man in Cayman is dead! Shot in the head in the marina. And the other two?” A pause, a sharp inhale. “They went out on a boat to kill Jamie Austen’s daughter and never returned. They disappeared off the face of the earth like a vapor of smoke from a cigarette.”

Paul gritted his teeth. He had known this was coming, but hearing it aloud made his stomach churn. “I warned you,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I told you she was as good as her mother.”

“I want my money back!” the director spat, venom laced in every syllable.

“Why?”

“The girl is still alive.”

“That’s not my fault. I give you the intelligence. If your men screw up, that’s on them.”

A string of curses flew through the line, sharp and biting. Paul clenched his fist as the director unleashed his fury.

Paul’s grip tightened on the phone. “If you think threatening me is going to change the situation, you’re wrong. The girl is still alive because you sent amateurs after a trained killer.”

Threats followed, dark and explicit, the kind that sent a shiver up his spine. The director didn’t make idle warnings. Paul knew that all too well. While he was a valuable asset to them, he was still an infidel and despised by the Iranian simply because he was an American.

He needed to diffuse the situation.

“I have more intelligence for you. I know where the girl will be this Saturday night. I expect the same price.”

“No! You’re not getting another dime from me.”

A response he hadn’t expected.

“I’m not giving it to you for free. Like I said, others will pay for the information.”

“Let them! How do I know that you didn’t tip off the girl? My men aren’t amateurs. I highly doubt she could get the best of all four of them. You betrayed me. All I can say is you should sleep with one eye open from now on.”

Paul sat in the vehicle, stunned.

The silence on the other end was chilling. He almost preferred the shouting to the low, seething, ominous breathing.

Then, abruptly, the line went dead.

Paul set his phone down carefully, but his hands still trembled. His entire body felt electric with anxiety. He leaned back in the seat, staring at the CIA building in the distance.

He was in freefall now. If Ellie Austen or her mother found out the truth, he was dead. If the Iranians got to him first, it wouldn’t be any better. Either way, he had just made himself the most hunted man on both sides of the war.

He decided right then and there to disappear.

The plan had already been in place long before any of this happened.

He would go to Cayman, drain his account, and vanish into Russia.

He had cultivated enough relationships over the years to ensure a soft landing.

The Russians wouldn’t turn him away. Not after everything he had given them and the pile of papers he intended to exchange for asylum.

There was one problem though. Ellie Austen was in Cayman.

That fact gnawed at him. It complicated things, but there was no alternative. He had no other way to access his money. Not from here. The only way out was through. He just had to be careful.

The plan was to arrive quietly, avoid any unnecessary movement, go to the bank and withdraw his money, and be on a flight to Russia before anyone even knew he was there.

Ellie didn’t know him. His supervisors wouldn’t be suspicious. He had been vacationing in Cayman every year for the last ten. At least that’s what his coworkers believed.

Paul toyed with the idea of selling the intel he had on Ellie to another source, but it wasn’t worth the risk. The danger outweighed the reward. He was done playing games. He had already pushed his luck too far.

In one moment of suicidal insanity, he had considered acting on it himself. Take matters into his own hands and kill the girl. He knew where she’d be on Saturday night. He had checked Luke’s calendar, the CIA officer who had been getting close to Ellie.

Bioluminescent Bay. Snorkeling.

He had planned to give that information to the Iranians and use it to his advantage, but they rejected it. It seemed foolish. She’d be easy to kill in the dark of night.

Why couldn’t he show up in the darkness and kill her himself?

Because somehow she’d get the best of him.

He didn’t know how she managed to kill four Iranian terrorists, but that was the mystique of Jamie Austen.

Almost a superhuman ability to win every fight.

Every battle. Jamie had been on the front line for more than thirty years, and no one had bested her.

Apparently, her daughter had it as well.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could somehow do it. Now it didn’t matter. Let someone else deal with her.

He shoved his thoughts aside as he went home and packed a single bag. Essentials only. Called the airlines and booked a one-way flight to Cayman. He wasn’t coming back.

At the airport, he moved like a tourist, blending into the steady flow of travelers. No calls, no emails. Nothing that could be traced. He kept his head down, his mind focused on the destination.

Every so often, he caught himself glancing over his shoulder. Was that man at the café watching him? No, just a businessman sipping coffee.

Probably. Paul exhaled quietly, willing his nerves to settle.

In a few days, he’d be out of reach.

In Russia. Safe.

No one could find him there. Not the CIA. Not the Iranians. Not Jamie Austen.

Or so he hoped.