Read Online Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard's Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1 by Sara M. Barton - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara M. Barton
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didn’t have war, we wouldn’t need spies, but as long as
despots and dictators are willing to go to extremes, we have to
protect governments and people from harm.”
“Tell that to the poor dead girl in the body
bag!” I snapped. “I’m sure it will be great comfort, God rest her
soul!”
“That’s the price of freedom, my love.
Ruthless men will do ruthless things to achieve their ruthless
goals, even kill a young woman.”
“I warned you about Philippe, Benedick. I
told you he would bring trouble with him.”
“You did, but there’s a reason the CIA wanted
us to let things happen, Bea. If we had chased him away, he would
have gone somewhere else to do the dirty deed. Instead, he did it
on our turf, and that means the damage can be contained.
“How does that help us?”
“The man who stole the girl’s body put it in
our cabana for a reason, just as he set that fire for a reason. We
were being set up by Grapon and his associates. That was no
accident Grapon was a passenger on the tour boat.”
“Or that he disappeared?”
“Exactly. He probably was trying to leave us
holding the bag. Imagine what would have happened if the cabana had
burned and with it, the dead body. We’d be under investigation for
months. What’s the result of that? No bed and breakfast business
for us, at least not a safe haven for spies.”
“Does that mean the Bard’s Bed &
Breakfast is kaput?” The question hung in the air through the long
silence that followed. Finally, with a deep sigh, Ben admitted the
reality.
“Possibly. It depends on how fast we can find
Grapon and neutralize his ass. And we also have to catch his
friends. But I suspect that whoever is providing security to the
CIA is using private satellite surveillance and other means to keep
an eye on things in Arden Woods. They probably knew that Grapon was
betraying us and needed to let things happen.”
“But that girl died,” I reminded my husband.
“How is that fair?”
“Bea, we still don’t know who she is or what
she is,” he told me in a firm, but gentle voice. “And we also don’t
know what killed her or why she’s dead. She could have been a part
of the plot. She’s probably collateral damage. Sometimes it’s
unavoidable.”
“It’s not fair,” I decided.
“Life never is, babe.” Ben reached over and
patted me in his effort to console me. I wasn’t having any of it. I
still thought the poor dead girl deserved better, and I was damned
if I was going to allow a murderer like Philippe Grapon to go free.
“We may never know the truth about what happened. It’s possible
that this is part of a critical operation overseas. It may have
been an effort by a hostile intelligence service to disrupt our
efforts in another country. Take Syria, for example. The carnage is
horrific, the Russians are backing the Syrian regime, and we’re
poised to pitch in to help the rebels. The outcome affects Middle
Eastern policy. If the Russians succeed in shoring up Assad, he
will reward them for their assistance, and their financial coffers
will grow, their influence in the region will grow, and they’ll be
sitting pretty. If the rebels win, there will be a change in
leadership, new opportunities to shape the new government, and a
potential chance to prevent more chaos in the region. Every country
with a viable interest is scrambling to find a crack to exploit,
Bea. This one girl’s death might be horrible, but if it prevents
hundreds more people from being killed, can we really say she died
in vain?”
“I really hate this business,” I told him
grimly. “I hate seeing the personal cost of war, up close and
personal.”
“But for all you’ve seen, my love, this is
only the tip of the iceberg above the water’s surface.”
In all the years I had known him and loved
him, Ben had never spoken of his experiences as a spy. For the most
part, the missions he had undertaken were highly classified. But I
also knew that he kept his secrets to protect
despots and dictators are willing to go to extremes, we have to
protect governments and people from harm.”
“Tell that to the poor dead girl in the body
bag!” I snapped. “I’m sure it will be great comfort, God rest her
soul!”
“That’s the price of freedom, my love.
Ruthless men will do ruthless things to achieve their ruthless
goals, even kill a young woman.”
“I warned you about Philippe, Benedick. I
told you he would bring trouble with him.”
“You did, but there’s a reason the CIA wanted
us to let things happen, Bea. If we had chased him away, he would
have gone somewhere else to do the dirty deed. Instead, he did it
on our turf, and that means the damage can be contained.
“How does that help us?”
“The man who stole the girl’s body put it in
our cabana for a reason, just as he set that fire for a reason. We
were being set up by Grapon and his associates. That was no
accident Grapon was a passenger on the tour boat.”
“Or that he disappeared?”
“Exactly. He probably was trying to leave us
holding the bag. Imagine what would have happened if the cabana had
burned and with it, the dead body. We’d be under investigation for
months. What’s the result of that? No bed and breakfast business
for us, at least not a safe haven for spies.”
“Does that mean the Bard’s Bed &
Breakfast is kaput?” The question hung in the air through the long
silence that followed. Finally, with a deep sigh, Ben admitted the
reality.
“Possibly. It depends on how fast we can find
Grapon and neutralize his ass. And we also have to catch his
friends. But I suspect that whoever is providing security to the
CIA is using private satellite surveillance and other means to keep
an eye on things in Arden Woods. They probably knew that Grapon was
betraying us and needed to let things happen.”
“But that girl died,” I reminded my husband.
“How is that fair?”
“Bea, we still don’t know who she is or what
she is,” he told me in a firm, but gentle voice. “And we also don’t
know what killed her or why she’s dead. She could have been a part
of the plot. She’s probably collateral damage. Sometimes it’s
unavoidable.”
“It’s not fair,” I decided.
“Life never is, babe.” Ben reached over and
patted me in his effort to console me. I wasn’t having any of it. I
still thought the poor dead girl deserved better, and I was damned
if I was going to allow a murderer like Philippe Grapon to go free.
“We may never know the truth about what happened. It’s possible
that this is part of a critical operation overseas. It may have
been an effort by a hostile intelligence service to disrupt our
efforts in another country. Take Syria, for example. The carnage is
horrific, the Russians are backing the Syrian regime, and we’re
poised to pitch in to help the rebels. The outcome affects Middle
Eastern policy. If the Russians succeed in shoring up Assad, he
will reward them for their assistance, and their financial coffers
will grow, their influence in the region will grow, and they’ll be
sitting pretty. If the rebels win, there will be a change in
leadership, new opportunities to shape the new government, and a
potential chance to prevent more chaos in the region. Every country
with a viable interest is scrambling to find a crack to exploit,
Bea. This one girl’s death might be horrible, but if it prevents
hundreds more people from being killed, can we really say she died
in vain?”
“I really hate this business,” I told him
grimly. “I hate seeing the personal cost of war, up close and
personal.”
“But for all you’ve seen, my love, this is
only the tip of the iceberg above the water’s surface.”
In all the years I had known him and loved
him, Ben had never spoken of his experiences as a spy. For the most
part, the missions he had undertaken were highly classified. But I
also knew that he kept his secrets to protect
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