Read Online Live and Let Spy by Elizabeth Cage - Free Book Online Page B

but they still hold files there. Once you get in, ransack the area for anything pertaining to Anka Perdova.”
    â€œI’m on it,” Caylin said.
    â€œAnd I’ll keep checking Anka’s e-mail and try to locate a floor plan or any secret hideaways backstage,” Theresa promised. “Who knows—maybe the true Anka is right under our noses.”
    â€œThat would be nice,” Caylin said solemnly.
    â€œRemember your assignments, Spy Girls,” Uncle Sam commanded. “Or Prime Minister Karkovic will end up like Abraham Lincoln.”
    â€œYeah,” Theresa replied. “Shot in an old theater for reasons that make no sense at all.”

EIGHT
    â€œYes, this is Selma Ribiero from InterCorp Prague,” Jo said into the phone as she sat in her cubicle on Wednesday morning. “Will Daniela Fuentes be attending the open-trade-pact signing?”
    Jo posed the question in Portuguese, as she had noticed the international code preceding Ms. Fuentes’s phone number was 55—Brazil. After Ms. Fuentes’s assistant answered in the affirmative, Jo asked, “And could you please give me her full professional title?”
    â€œVice president of international affairs, Brazilian Council,” the assistant replied, her tone implying it was a very stupid question.
    Jo politely thanked her and hung up. Then, after making sure no one was within earshot, Jo immediately placeda call to the Brazilian Council to find out if Ms. Fuentes was indeed legit.
    â€œYes, this is Selma Ribiero from Noticias Sudamericanas ,” Jo lied to the Brazilian Council receptionist in Portuguese. “I’m fact checking an article about the open-trade-pact signing and was wondering if you could verify the spelling of Daniela Fuentes’s name and the exact wording of her official title?”
    It was exactly the same. Jo crossed Daniela Fuentes off her list.
    Next Dan Fields of the good ol’ USA. When a woman answered with “Dan Fields’s office,” Jo went into her usual spiel.
    â€œYes, he will be attending,” the secretary confirmed.
    â€œAnd can I get his official title?” she asked.
    â€œHead foreign correspondent,” she replied, “New York Chronicle.”
    â€œThank you,” Jo said, punching the New York Chronicle into her computer to see if Dan Fields’s name was on their official website. After a few keystrokes “Dan Fields, headforeign correspondent” popped up on the virtual masthead.
    â€œOh, well,” Jo muttered with a frustrated sigh. But one look at the clock was enough to perk her up.
    Twelve thirty p.m. Ewan and Mitchell von Strauss would be at lunch.
    â€œGet out your Raid, boys and girls,” she whispered, dropping two pea-size surveillance devices in her pocket. “ ’Cause you got bugs.”
    Jo grabbed a thick stack of files and marched down the hall, looking busy.
    Mitchell’s office door was wide open and his secretary nowhere in sight. With a deep breath Jo pulled a bug out of her pocket.
    â€œHere goes nothing,” she whispered, heading for Mitchell’s office. When a cleaning lady passed her way in the hall, Jo gave her a brisk nod and continued confidently on.
    As she entered Mitchell’s domain she smoothed her Dior suit and left the door just slightly ajar—a closed office door usually sent up a red flag of suspicion in the business world, she had learned.
    Jo picked up Mitchell’s receiver and expertly installedthe bugging device, her movements both fluid and precise. Bugging Mitchell’s phone gave Jo the same rush she got behind the wheel of a race car—her blood pumped, her mind raced.
    But when she heard Mitchell’s secretary’s voice seconds after she placed the receiver in its cradle, Jo felt more like she had hit a gigantic speed bump.
    â€œMay I help you?” the secretary inquired, her tone nasal and accusatory.
    â€œJust dropping off