CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Bishop Security Jet
December 12
“Iaccessed hospital records. Evangeline Cole was treated for a stingray sting and released.” Twitch's fingers flew across the keyboard. “She's a doctoral candidate in anthropology at Stanford, on Mallorca on an archaeological dig.”
“I thought Mallorca was all beach hopping celebrities and royals on private jets,” Herc commented.
“Look around you. You’re not exactly slumming.” Steady tossed a balled-up napkin at Herc's head.
“And the women are topless,” Herc plowed on. “Beaches just filled with topless women.”
“There were topless women on our beach, fool,” Steady chided. “Between that and the stash of porn you probably have on some old MacBook under your childhood bed at Gramma Maggie's, you should be set.”
Herc flushed beet red and turned his attention to the travel brochure he was holding.
The Bishop Security jet certainly rivaled any luxury craft in the sky. Tox and his wife, Calliope, sat side-by-side at the oval conference table. Steady, Ren, Herc, and Chat sprawled on cream leather couches and recliners. Twitch was perched at the head of the table, surrounded by tech, piecing together the last several days of Cam's life.
“Actually,” Ren explained, “Mallorca is rich in ancient history. A civilization known as the Talaiotic people thrived in the region from about two thousand B.C.”
“Exactly,” Twitch agreed. “A dig in 2013 unearthed some nifty Talaiotic stuff. Archaeologists have been flocking to the area ever since. Evangeline Cole is there with a team headed by Dr. Omar Emberton of Stanford and the University of Cairo.” Twitch activated the plasma screen on the wall and started a slide show of the excavation from the university's website.
“I’d love to speak with Doctor Emberton. What a fascinating project,” Ren mused.
“Whoa.” Herc elbowed Steady when the next slide appeared. They both sat up in their reclined seats.
“That's Evangeline Cole?” Herc asked.
It was a promotional photo used to accompany journal articles and for faculty listings on Stanford's website. In it, Evan stood before a vast desert holding a small artifact, the dirt and sand on her face failing to obscure her evident pride at her discovery.
Chat peered at the picture. “I can see why this woman threw him off his game.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Herc practically shouted. “Gemini March is on that island. Gemini-freaking-March. She was Miss March, and I don’t mean her name.”
Tox begrudgingly agreed, “The kid has a point. The Cam we knew would go for the centerfold.”
“I don’t know.” Chat moved his head side-to-side like a metronome. “The Cam we knew is not the Cam we know.”
“I don’t know how he does it,” Herc remarked. “Goes undercover. I can’t even lie to my grandmother.”
“None of us can lie to Maggie. She’d have our asses.” Steady's comment was met with general agreement.
“Still,” Herc continued, “to pretend to be another person? I sure as shit couldn’t do it.”
Ren leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs. “It's actually a fascinating psychological study. CIA NOC officers and other deep-cover operators, the good ones anyway, actually create a full persona, an alter ego, if you will. It can take an operator months, sometimes years, to shed their legend after they resurface. Those men and women make a huge sacrifice doing what they do. They don’t give their lives, but they sacrifice who they are.”
There was a moment of respectful silence before Tox, in true SEAL fashion, broke through the quiet with humor. “Well, maybe the undercover gods are smiling on our friend, and Miguel Ramirez is knee-deep in hot women and sandy beaches.” He gestured to the image on the screen.
Calliope guided her husband's face from the picture of the woman to her. He kissed her with a smile.
“What's the plan, fellas?” she asked, still staring at Tox.
Tox leaned back in his seat and crossed his long legs at the ankle. “The March villa is located about ten clicks outside of Palma. We’ll set up surveillance and go from there.”
A photo of the sprawling Mediterranean estate appeared, the sparkling water of the bay in the distance. “Twitch, get us a boat. Chat, you and Ren up for a little sport fishing?”
“Always,” Chat said. They wouldn’t catch anything, but the cover would provide an unobstructed view of the entire back of the property.