"French Kiss: A Story of International Love, Lust, & Lies" (closed)

[CutiePie1997]

"French Kiss: A Story of International Love, Lust, & Lies"

(closed to such_a_bad_man)​

Claire Beecham...

It wasn't her real name, of course. It had been so long since she used her birth name that sometimes she forgot what it had been. Back in her London apartment, she had passports, credit cards, drivers licenses, and more in two dozen names from half as many countries.

Claire had been in London for most of a week. She'd been keeping an eye on an American named Nathaniel Tansden. He'd crossed The Pond for reasons of which Claire was unaware. She didn't care why he was here, only that he was.

She'd followed him to the waterfront park, as she had each of the previous three days. He would get something to drink, something to eat, and then make calls. Claire thought Nate might also be meeting contacts there. Twice she thought she'd seen the same man sit on the bench near Nate. Or was he making a dead drop? She didn't know. The man was very good at what he was doing. Of course, that was only if he was in fact working. For all Claire knew, the man just liked watching the swans in the nearby pond.

Claire had to make contact today. But without knowing who beside Nate might be paying attention to her, she had to be casual about it. She removed her leather jacket and threw it over her shoulder. Claire turned away from the water and up the sidewalk. Her path would take her right past him, almost within arms reach.

Adopting a slow walk of slightly longer than normal steps, her hips swayed a bit more than usual. She caught his gaze and gave him a bit of a flirty smile. Reaching the end of the bench, she switched her jacket to the other shoulder. The small, intentionally positioned wallet fell from her pocket. Hitting the ground, the coins in its open pocket scattered all about Nate's feet.

"Merde!" Claire called out in feigned shock. She slap a hand over her mouth, saying, "Je suis désolé. Uh … how do I say...? I am sorry so...? So sorry … Oui? Yes?"

She crouched down close to Nate to retrieve her wallet and begin collecting coins. She looked off to each side to ensure no one was within ear shot. In a soft volume, she said, "Thank you very much for your help … Nathaniel."

Claire gave the man a moment to come to the realization that this was no accident. Again she looked left and right. Looking into his eyes as she pretended to care about the coins, she told him bluntly, "A terror attack will take place in a major American city in two months time. I have information about that attack. I want to help you prevent it."

She stood, not caring that most of the coins were still laying about the ground. She told him, "I will be in the lounge of your hotel tonight at 2100 hours. I believe you Americans call that 9pm, yes?"

She looked him up and down. Her lips widened with a smile as she said with a flirty smile, "You are better looking in person than the pictures in your classified file, Nathaniel."

And with that, Claire turned and headed slowly away toward the highway. Her current armed escort was waiting there in his car, probably watching the pair of them through binoculars. She donned her coat again, hiding her bosom. She didn't like the local operative looking at her delicious form.

Nate...? She'd enjoyed letting him look at her. If things worked out between them, maybe he'd see more of her curves in the near future.

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate Tansden...

Nate had been in the UK for months now and he didn't feel any closer to fulfilling his job. He'd been loaned to Scotland Yard as a cross-jurisdiction undercover agent. He was posing as a smuggler from the States and hoping to move in the same circles as an organization that was prepping for an attack on American soil. They knew so little about this group; he knew the leadership was in or around London, but the cell in the States was operating somewhere on the East Coast. They had gotten lucky when one of the cell members posted something that got flagged on social media, but when that member showed up dead in Boston, his unit knew they had to do this the old fashioned way.

Every day he would call around to his perspective buyers, letting them know about incoming merchandise he had. He was flooding the underground with info about his stock, hoping that someone, somewhere would make an approach, but so far, it had come up zero.

At least he got to relax and enjoy the views along the Thames. Nate was a sucker for old architecture and the centuries old stone bridges and canals. If he could do his work from anywhere, he preferred to do it where he got a feast for his eyes.

Today, a different sort of feast wandered past him. He couldn't help but take a second look at the young woman passing him. Even more so when her coins exploded from her wallet. An unmistakable French accent caught his ear as Nate got down to help collect all the coins, but it was what she said next that made him pause. Only 3 people in the UK should know his name outside of those that had access to his file.

He didn't talk; he listened as she had much to say before she had to cut their interaction short. He watched her walk away, curious if he could pick up where she was going. It also didn't hurt to watch her firm ass move as she strutted away from him. Suddenly, he lamented the fact he was married, but took his spot on his bench again as though nothing had happened. He hoped his cover wasn't blown and once he was sure no one was marking him, he left and headed for the tube station. It was his usual way to check if he was being followed and used it to return to his hotel alone.

At 9pm that night, he took the elevator back down to the lobby and turned into the lounge. He didn't look for the woman straight away. He ordered a drink to hopefully play up a cover story where they bump into each other and chat. He didn't want to give any potential prying eyes the chance to think their meeting here was deliberate. If she was here, hopefully she would make the approach. If not, he'd keep an eye on the door and use a "drink spill" con to see about getting her some place private to chat.

 

[CutiePie1997]

Claire and her escort entered the hotel lounge five minutes after Nate did. They took two seats at the bar, with the escort sitting one stool from Nate and Claire one seat beyond that. She gave her name to the bartender, explaining that the Hostess in the restaurant was going to call when their table was ready. The man acknowledged the information, then set about filling their drink order.

In an effort to appear not to be the woman from the waterfront, Claire had dressed quite differently this evening. She word a long, flowing black dress that nearly reached her 4 inch heels. A slit up one side generously revealed her long, athletic legs as she crossed them before her. The thin fabric emphasized her young firm breasts and (because of the lack of a bra beneath) their perma-hard nipples, just as the tight fitting blouse from earlier in day.

Right off the bat, the two set about arguing in French. Initially it appeared as if little more than a domestic disagreement about household affairs. But within two minutes, the pair were going at it with enough venom as to cause the bartender to intervene, asking them politely to either calm down or take it outside.

"I have a better idea," Claire spouted in her heavy accent.

She turned to face the man, slapped him hard enough to cause him shock, and demanded (returning to French) that he get the hell away from her. The man stared at her for a moment, downed his shot of Irish whiskey, and stormed out. Claire fumed for a long moment, mumbling in French. She looked to the concerned bartender, who'd taken a position directly across from her.

"Pardonnez-moi et mon mari…" she began. Catching herself, she switched to English. "Please forgive. My husband and me, we, sometimes we, um, what is the word, spit? Spat! Yes? Fight?"

The bartender smiled and chuckled. He did his best at forgiving her in his poor French and returned to his duties elsewhere. Claire looked off toward some of the patrons in the lounge. Some had taken notice, but courtesy caused them to all turn away upon catching the woman's returning gaze.

She looked to her right now, toward Nate. She smiled. "Bonjour. I hope, um, I not upset your quiet drink, no? Mariage, relations conjugales. It is hard sometimes, no? My Mère, mother, she say any time put two people in one place, spat!"

Claire smiled, laughed, and lifted her glass of wine, toasting style. She downed it as opposed to sipping it, made a comment in French, and laughed. As the bartender passed, she asked for a refill, looked to Nate, and said, "Et un pour mon nouvel ami."

The bartender didn't understand all the words. But the body language and gesture toward the man's nearly empty glass was enough. He set about filling the order.

Claire stood, moved to the stool next to Nate, and offered her hand out. In a voice just loud enough for anyone who might be watching them to hear, she introduced herself, "Mon nom est Claire Beecham. My name. Pardon, I sometimes forget where I am. Mon mari, pardon once more. My husband, he travels Europe, America, too. Much meetings. Moi, I shop."

She laughed as if slightly embarrassed about her confession. She looked to the bartender as he returned with their fresh drinks. Claire lifted her glass, again to toast. "Pour les maris riches, qu’ils ne se fauissent jamais."

She laughed again and drank. She didn't explain that she'd just said To rich husbands, may they never go broke. She studied Nate for a moment. Her intent was that if anyone was watching them, that they think she was a horny jilted wife looking for some strange, as she thought Americans called it.

The bartender came near again, announcing that her and her husband's table was ready in the restaurant. Claire asked if he could cancel the table, then asked if there was a booth in the bar available instead. He looked past her to an empty booth in the corner, offered it to her, and took her order for some finger food. Claire looked to Nate with an eager smile.

"Would you sit with me?" she asked. "I am, how do you say, pas une femme qui aime être seule. I not like to be alone."

Claire didn't wait for an answer. She slipped off the stool, moving close to him as she did. A finger of the hand nearest the American brushed along the top of his thigh, from knee to hip a she passed. She put a little extra swing in her hips as she walked the 4 meters to the booth. Sitting, she once again crossed her legs in such a way that every man within view (and even some of the women) found themselves unable to pull their eyes off her.

She waited for Nate to join her, let the bartender deliver the drinks as was his duty in such a classy lounge, and then studied him for a moment before getting to business with a soft volume that wouldn't reach any ears but his own.

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate tried to hide his surprise and curiosity when the woman from earlier in the day came in with someone else. This was not how he pictured this meet going, but he waited to see how this might play out. With the people Nate was trying to meet for business on the street, he was well aware that he had to live his cover everywhere in case they were watching. As such, he tried to play up that he was just trying to have a quiet drink as the beautiful Parisian had an absolute row with her husband, or so it seemed as the con continued.

He graciously accepted his refill as the woman continued to make a scene to put all eyes on her in the bar. Once the other man left, he switched roles to match what she was playing at next. He seemed interested. He seemed engaged and happily toasted with the beautiful woman. Figuring that was it, he watched as she slunk off to the booth in the rear of the bar. Since she had invited him, he was all to happy to get up and join her.

As he sat and ordered, he waited for a quiet moment alone before leaning over. "I hope that's not going to get you into trouble with your partner." He whispered before sitting back up. "So since you know who I am after my people and their UK counterparts spent so much time covering it up, I have to wonder how you came by that. I'd guess Interpol as you don't sound like you're with the Yard." Nate theorized, watching the woman's face for any hint that he was close to the truth.

 

[CutiePie1997]

"Bien essayé, buckaroo," Claire said in response to Nate's attempt to learn the name of the organization she was with. She laughed, clarifying, "How do you say in American, um, nice try, cowboy?"

A patron passed by, interrupting the conversation. Claire continued, ""Who I am with, and how they are connected to your current investigation is of no consequence."

(She would wonder later whether Nate caught how her broken English had suddenly become very clear and precise.)

"What is important is what I know that you do not," Claire continued. "The man your intelligence agencies know as la weasel du desert, the Desert Weasel, was here in London, but he is already in America now."

Another brief interruption occurred. "He was here to make contact with another man, a chimiste, scientist, yes? This man, he goes by the name Abdullah Aweli Jama, and he works with little things, um, microscopique? Germs."

Claire saw a reaction in Nate's face. The FBI, CIA, NSA, and a multitude of other Homeland Security organizations had been working on finding the Desert Weasel since his name popped up several years earlier. But the information they'd had on him was that he was looking for next generation explosives to blow up his still unknown targets and small arms to build the little army entrusted with protecting the project.

There had been no chatter about the Weasel pursuing biological weapons. It was this well hidden secret that had been the reason Nate's weeks long undercover work had yielded him only a handful of mid-level weapons sellers and buyers.

Of course, Claire didn't know anything about what Nate had or hadn't accomplished. She'd known who he was and that he was in London. But neither she nor her people had known specifically what his current mission was.

"This man, Abdullah Aweli Jama," she continued, "he gave the samples to the Weasel. The Weasel, he took them to America. And now his own chimiste there, he is working to make the weapon they intend to use."

Again, Claire couldn't help but notice the change in Nate. It was the look of deep concern. After the bartender checked on their drinks and then departed, Claire finished, "I know the Desert Weasel. I know his face. I will help you find him. You take me to America, New York. My people will help me, I will help you, and you will stop this killing of so many innocent people. Oui?"

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate listened, letting this captivating woman unspool her information for him. In his line of work, he learned that when a source is providing information, it's best not to interrupt their chain of thought. Still, what she was saying didn't line up with the intelligence he'd gotten. Nor had anyone come across a change in the MO of the Desert Weasel. Either he was woefully out of touch or this was a red herring, meant to pull him out of London on a wild goose chase.

"You'll forgive me if I don't book us two tickets on simply your word, miss. Do you have anything to prove what you're saying? Where is Abdullah Aweli Jama now?" He asked in response, wondering how much this woman had put into filling out her story. The other possibility was this all being factually accurate. Still, he needed confirmation. His bosses would want it as well.

 

[CutiePie1997]

Claire didn't blame Nate for his skepticism. This life of covert intelligence that they each led was built upon three things: truth, lies, and learning to tell the difference between them before they got you killed.

Claire looked about herself for prying eyes and found none. There was a guy at the far end of the bar who had been looking her way occasionally. But she had a feeling by his wardrobe, general appearance, and body language that he was either backing Nate up or fantasizing about getting Claire out of her dress.

"You have a pen, yes?" she asked. She waited for him to either get out a writing instrument or bring up a note app on his phone. She gave him the address of a home just two miles from here in a densely packed urban residential area. In case he wasn't aware, Claire explained that its population that was almost entirely Middle Eastern immigrants, both legal and illegal. "You will find Abdullah Aweli Jama there. I must warn you, though. The neighborhood is watched 24/7 by scouts, and the first sign of police will result in the man disappearing, never to be seen again. And they are heavily armed. If you want him, you'll have to get close without being detected and then hit them hard."

She stood from the booth, pulled out her phone, and tapped in a number. A moment later, Nate's phone rang. She hung up without him answering, saying, "You now have my phone number and can track me. I'm going nowhere. I'm not slipping away, and I'm not, um, how do you say, en tirant votre jambe. Pulling your leg. I'm staying in the Mitre House Hotel, room 22. When you are convinced that I can be trusted, you can find me there."

Claire had nothing more that needed to be said. If Nate didn't stop her, she would turn and head out of the lounge to await his next step.

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate sat and listened. He knew the neighborhood she was describing all too well. He'd been trying to line himself up as the weapons provider for those guards she mentioned. He wasn't 100% sure, but he had a feeling they were getting them from another supplier. Someone that wasn't local. If the Desert Weasel was working with a scientist that was hidden there, they might be their weapons pipeline. It was about trust and he wasn't one of them. That was going to make what came next all the more difficult.

When his phone buzzed, he narrowed his eyes at Claire. Not only did she know who he was, but she knew his secure line's number. He was sure of it now; someone was leaking information. Either back home or here at the Yard, his cover was blown. The only question was how badly.

He didn't say anything more. He didn't want Claire to think he'd made a decision either way. He also didn't know if anything he told her would stay with her. She was an unexpected piece on the chess board; even worse, she didn't look to be on one side or the other.

Sure enough, the man watching them was Nate's back-up. He'd called it in after their initial meeting and after what he had heard, he was glad he did. On his way out, he heard the man, his liaison with the Yard, fall in behind him. Keeping his eyes forward, Nate spoke quietly so that no one could tell he was talking to the man.

"Your people should know the neighborhood in question. Get ready to hit it. We need to flush Abdullah Aweli Jama out of there and find out what he knows. If it's legit, I'll make contact with our new player tomorrow. Let me know when it's done," he said before turning away and heading for the elevator to go back to his room.

As he instructed, Special Services raided the neighborhood that night. Commandos secured the watch posts before the vans rolled into every possible exit from the place. With the info that Claire had given them, Abdullah Aweli Jama was among those arrested and interrogated. When they had verified Claire's information, Nate got a green light text.

The next day, he was in the lobby of the Mitre House Hotel. He kept a watch of people coming and going until he saw Claire leaving. He got up and followed her out, weaving through the crowd until he was right behind her.

"Don't turn around and keep walking." He said, letting her know he was there, but didn't want it to look like anything was happening.

"Your tip panned out, but I still don't trust you. Not until you tell me how you know who I am." He explained as they walked the crowded streets of Paris.

 

[CutiePie1997]

Claire was doing the girly-girl thing after returning to her room at the Mitre House: a tub of hot water and bubbles; a glass of wine; aroma therapy candles; soft music; and her fingers gently toying with her swollen clit.

One of her cell phones -- not the one for which Nate had the number -- chimed an incoming text. She rolled her head and groaned, as she was just beginning to seriously push herself toward orgasm. But, work came before pleasure. She snatched up the phone, pressed the power button, and saw the single word sent to her: Captured.

She smiled, delighted at the news. Oh, Claire didn't really care one way or another whether the American got Abdullah Aweli Jama or not. All she cared about was whether or not Nate trusted her enough to continue helping her.

And there was no mistaking how she looked at this situation: Nate was helping Claire, not the other way around. Oh sure, he was going to get him man. He was going to stop a terrorist attack. He was going to save thousands, possibly tens of thousands of lives. And he was going to become famous throughout the Bureau.

But Claire didn't care about any of that. She only cared that he helped her complete her own mission. She set the phone aside, found her clitoris again, and took her time building herself to a very satisfying and lasting orgasm. And all the while, she imagined that her fingers were the lips and tongue of the American she knew she would once again see tomorrow.

She knew, of course, that Nathaniel Tansden was behind her before he gave a quiet demand, "Don't turn around and keep walking."

Barely turning her head at all, Claire responded with a soft, "Oui, bien sûr."

She slowed at the corner, waved politely to a driver who let her cross before him, and continued onward. Behind her, she could just barely make out Nate's steps. He was light on his feet, and if she hadn't already been expecting him, she might not have known he was just 8 or 9 feet behind her.

"Your tip panned out, but I still don't trust you," he continued. Claire was disappointed, though, not entirely surprised. "Not until you tell me how you know who I am."

"I'm going to get coffee, Nate," she said, knowing he could hear her despite her not looking his way. She turned her head a bit to look to the building that was kitty-corner to them. "Little shop on the far side of that block."

Claire turned slightly, then crossed the street midblock. She no longer heard Nate's steps behind her. Four minutes later, she was sitting in the shop, ordering a latte. She wasn't surprised when it took Nate three times as long to arrive and sit at the table next to her own. He surely spent that time ensuring that he wasn't being tailed. Or maybe that she wasn't, Claire couldn't know.

She waited for the waitress to get the American his own hot beverage, then looked about the small, sparsely occupied shop for eavesdroppers. Finding none, she told him, "We have someone inside your Bureau fédéral d’enquête. Your FBI."

Claire noted his reaction. She knew he had to wonder whether there was a mole. It seemed there always was one some where. It was hard prevent such inside treachery, of course. There were simply too many people with compromised lives and too many people willing to take advantage of them.

"Vincent Callow," she said, not knowing whether or not Nate would know the man personally. "He likes boys. Something his wife and teenage daughters are unaware of. We offered him one a few years ago. A boy, I mean."

That wasn't exactly accurate, of course. The boy about whom Claire spoke had actually been legal age at the time, if only barely. But of course, that wouldn't have gotten them anywhere with Vincent Callow. So, when Callow asked this boy how old he was, the answer had been I turn 16 next month. That had been all the FBI analyst needed to get a hard on. Their get-togethers in the back seat of Callow's sedan or in cheap motel rooms had begun that night and had continued for three months. Then Claire's people made their own introductions.

She continued explaining to Nate, "Oh, Callow didn't know the young man was with us, of course. Since then, he's worked for us while he's worked for you."

Claire sipped at her steaming coffee, then took out her phone and began tapping at it. As she did, Claire told him with a frank tone, "You can arrest him if you wish. I'm-- We're done with him now. He will be of no more use to us."

Nate's phone chimed, and Claire told him, "I just sent you the link to the video recordings in the cloud. If you can stomach such depravity, you'll find them helpful in his trial for espionage."

They were interrupted by a passing pair of teens. Claire couldn't help but notice how both girls gave Nate flirty smiles. She continued, "I need you to get me to Boston without documentation. My passport has been flagged here in London, and I need certain people to believe that I am still here in London after I have left. My associates will continue to use credit cards known to be associated with my aliases, and my cell phone will continue to move around the city to give the indication that I am still working."

She took a moment to glance around again before continuing. "Once I am in Boston, I will meet with-- We, you and I, will meet with my contacts. Divulgation complète. Full disclosure. I will take you with me every where I go if you wish. I will include you in every conversation. I will introduce you to every contact, though, I may not give you their names in some instances. I will not keep things from you, and I will not lie to you."

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate took a lap around the block. He wanted to be sure of his exits in case they tried to take him at this cafe. Also, he did his laundry, i.e. went through shops to see if he was being followed. Once he was sure he could get himself out and that he and Claire were clean, he made his way around to the other entrance of the cafe and got his order. Sitting at a table that shared a low wall between the bench seats, he sat facing away from Claire. He was right behind her, however, so they could talk over the din of the cafe while not sitting together.

"We have someone inside your Bureau fédéral d’enquête. Your FBI."

With that small admission, it confirmed a number of things for Nate. First, Claire was not government or law enforcement. Second, she probably had more info than his name and number. He swallowed, wondering if his wife was going to be used as leverage if he said no. He couldn't worry about that right now, though. Keeping his face implacable, he thought of what else he could take away from that info. He reasoned that Claire was not the one in charge. If she was, she wouldn't risk coming out in the open like this and could probably handle something like a visa issue without his help. Now, Nate had to figure out two criminal organizations as part of this case if he accepted her help.

"Vincent Callow."

Nate knew that name all too well. He was another agent that liked to pass himself off as big time. Another guy that liked the power that came with the badge without doing a lot of the work to keep it. About 18 months ago, his attitude changed. Now, Nate reasoned he knew what changed. He never would have guessed he went quiet and kept his head down because someone had leverage on him. Nate always chalked it up to a bad annual review.

Nate listened as Claire made her play, laying out what she needed before she could help Nate bring down the Desert Weasel and stop this attack. Something about this felt like part of something else that Claire was planning, but before he could tackle that problem, he had to solve his case. He knew how he could get her into Boston. It involved making her a material witness and putting her in his custody for a flight back to Boston. He wasn't about to do that.

"Before we start picking meals for the flight home, you need to come clean about who 'We' are. I won't replace one terror cell with another and wind up back at square one again. Why do you care about this? Where do you benefit? And don't tell me that you feel it's your civic duty, because we both know that line is bullshit." Nate said over his shoulder, not noticing the two girls eyeing him and whispering to one another.

 

[CutiePie1997]

"Remember you telling me earlier that you didn't trust me yet?" Claire asked barely above a whisper. She turned her head just enough to see Nate out of the corner of her eye. "I haven't yet decided whether or not I trust you, Nathaniel."

Claire looked away, scanned the café, and again caught sight of the two young women looking Nate's direction. They seemed to be in their late teens, and they were obviously intrigued by the man sitting seemingly by himself. She looked away and smiled to herself.

"I will tell you who I am and what my interest is in the Desert Weasel," she continued, adding, "when I am sitting next to you on an airplane crossing the Pond."

She stood up and turned to look directly down upon Nate. Then, she looked to the two young women. She dropped a tip onto her little table as she told the man, "When you have made the arrangements, you have my number."

Claire turned away, but instead of heading for the exit, she headed for the two girls. They each donned expressions of surprise when she leaned over their table and began chatting quietly with them. Claire looked Nate's direction; they did, too. And there were smiles all around. The probable spy then set a pair of large denomination British notes on the table, gave Nate one last glance, and headed out.

The two girls began whispering to one another even more than they had been. One kept her eyes firmly on Nate as the other looked between him and the departing women. Finally, the former stood and urged the latter to accompany her. Without asking for permission, they sat in the chairs opposite Nate. They greeted him, introduced themselves as Natty and Gwen, and asked him for his name.

"Your friend, the French woman, she says you're American," the red-headed Natty said. Almost before she finished, the bleached blond Gwen added with a suggestive tone, "We're both legal age. Your friend, she asked. Said you wouldn't want to get in trouble messing around with jail bait."

They both studied him with hungry smiles and obvious expectations.

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Nate sat back as the two beautiful ladies took up seats across from him. Claire had picked two women that would be hard to turn down. However, in the face of what he just learned about her propensity for blackmail and her knowledge of his file, he knew he couldn't accept.

"Sorry, ladies. My friend likes to put me in awkward situations like this. She knows I've got a meeting I can't miss and has the kind of money where what she gave you is a pittance. I appreciate the interest, but I have to be going. Enjoy your coffee," Nate said as he slid out of his seat and made for the door. As he walked, he shook his head, not enjoying being this in the dark about someone. He needed to know more about Claire before he decided to go anywhere with her.

After bundling what he knew and the few pictures his support team could pull off the cameras at the hotel bar and cafe, Nate sent off the data with a request for a profile on Claire. Unfortunately, it was going to take time as she didn't show up in the usual databases. Nate went about his business, working to keep his cover up. He handled a few deals, bringing down a few bit players and lower level thugs in the process.

It wasn't until late the next day that he got the file he was after. It took that long as they had to pull down facial recognition flags at major airports worldwide. It seemed there had been 14 flagged events in 9 countries: England (of course), France, Germany, Italy, Israel, Syria, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE. Nate frowned, wondering how this woman hadn't been on anyone's radar in all that time.

There was a linked file from DHS that gave him pause. He keyed in his clearance data and opened it to find a laundry list of players that are (or were) on the Terrorist Watch List. Each name had a corresponding picture of Claire with the people in question a month to several months before their arrest or termination. Was Claire flagging these people for other agencies? Nate could only speculate at the answer.

Nate sighed as he read it over. He walked over to his phone and dialed the number Claire used to call him. He paced in his flat, listening to the phone ring so he could clear some things before they got more involved.