across her shoulders. This was her home as well as her office, so her informal attire was understandable, but he wished she had pulled her bathrobe a little tighter. The rest of the team didn't need to see her breasts.
She took a bite of a sandwich.
"I'm leaving now," he said.
She nodded. "Bye."
"No kiss?"
She angrily took another bite of her sandwich.
"I'm not happy with you, either," he said. "I have to lead this team, and I need everybody's respect to do it. You can't undermine my authority every time you don't like my orders."
"I was just stating my professional opinion."
"If you had stated your opinion that way when Ethel was here, she would've separated your head from your shoulders. Am I right?"
She chewed her food and stared at the table.
"Well?" he repeated loudly.
"Yes, sir."
Obviously, he wasn't going to get that kiss. He turned and left.
* * *
Three hours later, Aaron drove through Lemonseed, Illinois. According to the sign on the highway, the population was 815, but it seemed even smaller than that. The "downtown" area was just two blocks long and consisted of maybe a dozen buildings. There was a bank, a Dairy Queen, a discount store, and a post office. Homes and businesses stood side-by-side with no clear zoning. A small library was the only structure with any architectural flair, and everything else was just boxes made of bricks with shingles on the roof.
Aaron had put Kaitlin Simmons' address into the navigation system and was directed to the west side of town. He entered a neighborhood made of small, widely spaced homes. Many of the residents had dirt lots instead of lawns. A gang of young teenage boys was playing football in the street, while a group of girls whispered to each other a short distance away. The land was perfectly flat, but plenty of trees broke up the visual landscape.
"I'd die of boredom if I lived here," Aaron said.
"I like how peaceful it is," Norbert said. "It feels safe."
"Don't let your guard down. We don't believe in safe."
"Yes, sir."
Aaron arrived at a white house with a red roof. Brick columns in front bordered a narrow, shaded porch. A spinning sprinkler watered a patchy lawn. Judging by the size, he guessed the place had at most two bedrooms.
"Let's review our cover stories. I'm Special Agent Kerns from the Counterintelligence Division of the FBI. And you are?"
Norbert appeared serious. "Special Agent Mullen, national security liaison."
"Don't slip and use my real name. Don't even think it. Out here, Aaron and Norbert don't exist. Let's go."
Aaron stepped out of the car. The loud buzz of insects droned from all directions. Thin cloud cover glowed orange in the evening sunlight. July in the Midwest was normally a sweaty time of year, but the last few weeks had been unseasonably cool and pleasant. He was grateful because headquarters had no air conditioning.
He checked that all his weapons were in place. Norbert followed his lead and did the same.
Aaron walked to the front door with the bold stride of a federal agent on business. He knocked loudly.
A woman with curly brown hair answered. She had a pleasant, rounded face with light freckles. She wore a buttoned shirt and a long beige skirt.
"Hello?"
"Are you Ms. Kaitlin Simmons?" Aaron said in a demanding tone.
"Yes. Who are you?"
He flashed his badge. "Federal agents, ma'am. We have to talk to you."
He went inside the house without waiting for an invitation. The small interior was cluttered with knick knacks, but the hundreds of items were neatly organized on long shelves. He smelled fresh tomato sauce.
"What's going on?" she said. "Is something wrong?"
Norbert stood in the doorway and pulled his jacket back to reveal his gun. He put his hand on the grip of his weapon. Nice touch, Aaron thought.
"Yes," Aaron said, "something is very wrong. On the twelfth of this month, you received a wire transfer for eight hundred dollars. The money came from an anonymous bank account in the Cayman Islands. It was
She took a bite of a sandwich.
"I'm leaving now," he said.
She nodded. "Bye."
"No kiss?"
She angrily took another bite of her sandwich.
"I'm not happy with you, either," he said. "I have to lead this team, and I need everybody's respect to do it. You can't undermine my authority every time you don't like my orders."
"I was just stating my professional opinion."
"If you had stated your opinion that way when Ethel was here, she would've separated your head from your shoulders. Am I right?"
She chewed her food and stared at the table.
"Well?" he repeated loudly.
"Yes, sir."
Obviously, he wasn't going to get that kiss. He turned and left.
* * *
Three hours later, Aaron drove through Lemonseed, Illinois. According to the sign on the highway, the population was 815, but it seemed even smaller than that. The "downtown" area was just two blocks long and consisted of maybe a dozen buildings. There was a bank, a Dairy Queen, a discount store, and a post office. Homes and businesses stood side-by-side with no clear zoning. A small library was the only structure with any architectural flair, and everything else was just boxes made of bricks with shingles on the roof.
Aaron had put Kaitlin Simmons' address into the navigation system and was directed to the west side of town. He entered a neighborhood made of small, widely spaced homes. Many of the residents had dirt lots instead of lawns. A gang of young teenage boys was playing football in the street, while a group of girls whispered to each other a short distance away. The land was perfectly flat, but plenty of trees broke up the visual landscape.
"I'd die of boredom if I lived here," Aaron said.
"I like how peaceful it is," Norbert said. "It feels safe."
"Don't let your guard down. We don't believe in safe."
"Yes, sir."
Aaron arrived at a white house with a red roof. Brick columns in front bordered a narrow, shaded porch. A spinning sprinkler watered a patchy lawn. Judging by the size, he guessed the place had at most two bedrooms.
"Let's review our cover stories. I'm Special Agent Kerns from the Counterintelligence Division of the FBI. And you are?"
Norbert appeared serious. "Special Agent Mullen, national security liaison."
"Don't slip and use my real name. Don't even think it. Out here, Aaron and Norbert don't exist. Let's go."
Aaron stepped out of the car. The loud buzz of insects droned from all directions. Thin cloud cover glowed orange in the evening sunlight. July in the Midwest was normally a sweaty time of year, but the last few weeks had been unseasonably cool and pleasant. He was grateful because headquarters had no air conditioning.
He checked that all his weapons were in place. Norbert followed his lead and did the same.
Aaron walked to the front door with the bold stride of a federal agent on business. He knocked loudly.
A woman with curly brown hair answered. She had a pleasant, rounded face with light freckles. She wore a buttoned shirt and a long beige skirt.
"Hello?"
"Are you Ms. Kaitlin Simmons?" Aaron said in a demanding tone.
"Yes. Who are you?"
He flashed his badge. "Federal agents, ma'am. We have to talk to you."
He went inside the house without waiting for an invitation. The small interior was cluttered with knick knacks, but the hundreds of items were neatly organized on long shelves. He smelled fresh tomato sauce.
"What's going on?" she said. "Is something wrong?"
Norbert stood in the doorway and pulled his jacket back to reveal his gun. He put his hand on the grip of his weapon. Nice touch, Aaron thought.
"Yes," Aaron said, "something is very wrong. On the twelfth of this month, you received a wire transfer for eight hundred dollars. The money came from an anonymous bank account in the Cayman Islands. It was
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