Read Online Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) by Lisa Hughey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Hughey
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newspapers. I finally connected the dots. The mysterious woman who visited the kid had a name. Staci. Shit.
“Staci Grant is the one who visited him in the hospital,” Lucas said calmly.
That posed a serious problem. Staci Grant was dead.
And I had only assumed her identity two days ago, which meant one of two things. Either the agency had two people undercover as Staci--unlikely.
Or someone outside had decided to take over her ‘trade’ since she was gone.
“When did this happen?”
“Can’t refresh your memory, Staci?”
I gave him a blank stare. “I never visited this kid.”
“Three weeks ago.”
“You need to work on your PI skills if it took you this long to track down the wrong person.”
“You aren’t the wrong person,” he said patiently, ignoring my slam. “You also aren’t Staci Grant, but you’re the closest thing to her.”
In that respect he was right, but he still had a snowball’s chance of help from me. I’d never even heard of this John Michael Wishbone kid. “What is it you think I can do for you?”
“Check the files at the NSA and see if any branch of the government has a record of him--in any capacity.”
“What do you mean?” Spell it out for me, Lucas.
“I want to know if he is training at a terrorist camp in Africa under his own steam or....”
We stopped in front of a bright yellow sign with red letters flashing: The Lucky Dog.
I watched him swallow hard, then purposely looked away from the conflict I sensed in him. “Or?”
“Deciding to work for the government as an undercover terrorist trainee,” he said tightly.
The possibility had crossed my mind. I could even see how whoever had recruited him would have done it. Probably very similar to my own recruitment.
Avenge your daddy.
“I can’t help you,” I replied calmly, held his gaze steadily while I lied. “I’m just a simple adjunct lecturer at Georgetown.”
“You have the connections,” he insisted.
“Is this the place?” I deflected his attention away from the request.
“I’m surprised by now you haven’t figured out that I won’t give up.”
I pushed open the door, effectively ending our conversation. The guy behind the podium greeted Lucas by name then eyed me speculatively.
He looked to be in his mid-fifties, although sometimes it was hard to judge. He still had a head of thin black hair combed to one side, and a wide smile with one gold filling on the left eye tooth.
The little man bowed slightly and led us to a table in the back. “What will you allow me to serve you, Mr. Lucas?” He spoke in Cantonese. I translated roughly. My Cantonese is a little rusty.
“The usual, times two,” Lucas replied in Cantonese. He shot a glance at me, then switched to English, “Trust me. This will be heaven.”
As long as it didn’t send me to hell, I’d be happy.
Lucas leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I’ll taste it first.”
The man glanced between us, his eyebrows raised. “I am happy to meet your lady.”
I could have sworn Lucas flushed.
He spoke quickly and fluently in Cantonese while I waited and pretended not to understand. Something about a favor and a car.
The man bowed again. “As you wish.”
Within five silent minutes, a waiter came out and served us family style. Huge plates of Kung Pao chicken, fried rice and a vegetable dish that looked suspiciously like the fuzzy carton of leftovers in his fridge.
“I bring you vegetables. Good for you, Mr. Lucas.” The waiter bowed.
The Chinese food was surprisingly appetizing. True to his word, Lucas tasted everything first. After he proved the food was safe, I dug in. The sauteed green beans and chicken packed a punch. I sipped the green tea from our communal pot and hoped Lucas hadn’t developed an immunity to any kinds of drugs. I let the warm liquid slide down my throat, cooling the heat of the spicy peppers.
The waiter handed the bill to Lucas along with a set of car keys.
Lucas paid, thanked the man in
“Staci Grant is the one who visited him in the hospital,” Lucas said calmly.
That posed a serious problem. Staci Grant was dead.
And I had only assumed her identity two days ago, which meant one of two things. Either the agency had two people undercover as Staci--unlikely.
Or someone outside had decided to take over her ‘trade’ since she was gone.
“When did this happen?”
“Can’t refresh your memory, Staci?”
I gave him a blank stare. “I never visited this kid.”
“Three weeks ago.”
“You need to work on your PI skills if it took you this long to track down the wrong person.”
“You aren’t the wrong person,” he said patiently, ignoring my slam. “You also aren’t Staci Grant, but you’re the closest thing to her.”
In that respect he was right, but he still had a snowball’s chance of help from me. I’d never even heard of this John Michael Wishbone kid. “What is it you think I can do for you?”
“Check the files at the NSA and see if any branch of the government has a record of him--in any capacity.”
“What do you mean?” Spell it out for me, Lucas.
“I want to know if he is training at a terrorist camp in Africa under his own steam or....”
We stopped in front of a bright yellow sign with red letters flashing: The Lucky Dog.
I watched him swallow hard, then purposely looked away from the conflict I sensed in him. “Or?”
“Deciding to work for the government as an undercover terrorist trainee,” he said tightly.
The possibility had crossed my mind. I could even see how whoever had recruited him would have done it. Probably very similar to my own recruitment.
Avenge your daddy.
“I can’t help you,” I replied calmly, held his gaze steadily while I lied. “I’m just a simple adjunct lecturer at Georgetown.”
“You have the connections,” he insisted.
“Is this the place?” I deflected his attention away from the request.
“I’m surprised by now you haven’t figured out that I won’t give up.”
I pushed open the door, effectively ending our conversation. The guy behind the podium greeted Lucas by name then eyed me speculatively.
He looked to be in his mid-fifties, although sometimes it was hard to judge. He still had a head of thin black hair combed to one side, and a wide smile with one gold filling on the left eye tooth.
The little man bowed slightly and led us to a table in the back. “What will you allow me to serve you, Mr. Lucas?” He spoke in Cantonese. I translated roughly. My Cantonese is a little rusty.
“The usual, times two,” Lucas replied in Cantonese. He shot a glance at me, then switched to English, “Trust me. This will be heaven.”
As long as it didn’t send me to hell, I’d be happy.
Lucas leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I’ll taste it first.”
The man glanced between us, his eyebrows raised. “I am happy to meet your lady.”
I could have sworn Lucas flushed.
He spoke quickly and fluently in Cantonese while I waited and pretended not to understand. Something about a favor and a car.
The man bowed again. “As you wish.”
Within five silent minutes, a waiter came out and served us family style. Huge plates of Kung Pao chicken, fried rice and a vegetable dish that looked suspiciously like the fuzzy carton of leftovers in his fridge.
“I bring you vegetables. Good for you, Mr. Lucas.” The waiter bowed.
The Chinese food was surprisingly appetizing. True to his word, Lucas tasted everything first. After he proved the food was safe, I dug in. The sauteed green beans and chicken packed a punch. I sipped the green tea from our communal pot and hoped Lucas hadn’t developed an immunity to any kinds of drugs. I let the warm liquid slide down my throat, cooling the heat of the spicy peppers.
The waiter handed the bill to Lucas along with a set of car keys.
Lucas paid, thanked the man in
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