Decidedly Not Official

Decidedly Not Official

Kathryn Judson

Copyright 2015 Kathryn Judson

Minor corrections January 30, 2016

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Also available in trade paperback.

This is a work of fiction. Characters and agencies do not represent real people or real agencies.

Central characters in this book have been featured in the MI5 1/2 series: Not Exactly Dead, Not Exactly Innocent, and Not Exactly Allies. Several of the Idaho characters in this book were introduced in Not Exactly Innocent. Harold MacAvoy was also in Trouble Pug.

Chapter One

The first calamity

Emma Hugh – to the annoyance of her husband – was learning to juggle. It was not that she was endangering the pricey knickknacks of which he had recently become enamored (she was a practical lady and prudently put breakable things elsewhere when she decided to start tossing balls wildly about). It was not that the situation looked so hopeless in the early rounds that it looked like she was wasting time and energy, nor that she was looking foolish in a way that might damage the family name. No. The annoyance, to his embarrassment and chagrin, was because her persistence had paid off and she was now becoming rather a good juggler.

He was world class at sleight of hand (and equally disciplined about deciding who knew about that talent). But he could not quite seem to get the knack of juggling. He'd been practicing behind Emma's back and, to his mind, was only getting worse instead of better.

He knew Emma wouldn't hold it against him that he couldn't juggle. But he had planned, or at least half planned, to become very, very good at juggling and surprise her by nonchalantly stepping forward one day for a surprise duet worthy of her talents. However, that dream was dust as long as he was horrible at juggling.

He wondered, for roughly the thousandth time, whether men who married young had less difficulty living with a talented wife than a man such as himself who'd planned on being a lifelong bachelor and had only surrendered to the lures of holy matrimony in solid middle age. After all, men such as himself had practice, as it were, in not planning surprise duets – and that during their most formative years.

Dare I ask what you're thinking? Emma asked.

Probably not.

Fair enough. Did I tell you I talked with Rebecca?

Hurley? Combs? Peterson?

MacAvoy.

How many ladies named Rebecca do we know, anyway?

Ladies, three. Females but not ladies, something like five at last count.

Balls suffered a mid-air collision and scattered. Emma laughed and went after them, refusing to let a persistent limp get in the way of the fun. Richard smiled, caught up in her laughter and girlish scooting about; childish behavior that was somehow delightful in a woman every bit as old as he was, considering it was Emma.

Catch, Emma called from the far corner of the room. She sent a ball to him. And then another. Toss them back at me as we go, she said.

Oh, no you don't, he said.

Chicken.

Hardly.

Toss.

After a few rough passes and a careful realignment of distance between the two of them, they managed to get a pretty good routine going. Emma grinned. I thought you'd been practicing.

"Moi?" he said, with mock shock. All the same, he redoubled his concentration. It was amazing. With Emma to play with, this juggling business seemed easier. Also more fun.

At a guess, you've changed thoughts, Emma said, after a few more passes.

If we wish to be precise, I'm retracting a thought I had a second or two ago.

Any of my business?

Absolutely, Richard said, gathering the balls as they came to him and refusing to toss them back. He put them on a table and walked to her. A few mere seconds ago I was thinking how girlish you looked chasing after stray balls. Now, if you don't mind me saying so, I think you'd best not juggle with men other than my humble self. I hadn't any idea how incredibly sexy it is to juggle with a woman.

Really?

He scooped her into his arms and purred at her. It was getting to be more than I could handle, at any rate.

A likely story, but I like the hugging and purring. She hugged him tight.

That's not a purr. That's a manly soft growl, he protested. He maneuvered for a kiss.

There was knocking at the door in a sequence formerly used by the agency for which they both worked. Outdated sequences being more worrisome than no sequence at all, Richard and Emma dove for weapons and Richard shoved her behind the couch before he checked the security cam. The security cam showed a young lady from the secret labs, holding a sleeping baby and looking beat up and distraught. Richard hesitated, wondering what she'd meant by using a retired signal. Usually it was a warning of some sort, an explanation that the agency person was acting under duress and only pretending to cooperate with an enemy.

The young lady slumped against the door, then shoved away and started away down the hall.

It's Felicity Findlater with her baby. Cover my back, Richard said. He opened the door and dashed down the hall.

When he caught up with Felicity, she seemed to have trouble recognizing him. Once recognition gleamed, she wearily handed him the baby. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have come to your flat. But we were on the bus and it blew up and other stuff blew up and there's a gas cloud or something and I can't find Michael. Please watch Ellie for me. Please.

She moved off. Richard took a cautious sniff then grabbed her.

I have to go. I can't find Michael, she said, trying to pull free.

You'll do him no good without a good shower and scrub down first and a biohazards suit second, at a guess, he said. He tightened his grip and hauled for all he was worth.

Felicity's eyes widened. Oh, no. If I've brought–

Not a word. I won't have it.

A neighbor came out of his flat. Richard told him, There's been a gas attack of some sort. Back inside and tape windows.

The neighbor hesitated. What's London coming to? he asked, his mind seizing on the wrong thing during an emergency, as civilians are too often wont to do.

Can you take on the task of notifying everyone in the building? I have a first aid case on my hands, Richard asked, in a way that wasn't asking.

The neighbor took in Felicity and Ellie and stepped back. Is that baby dead!? he yelped.

Gas attack, you idiot! Move! There isn't time to spare, Richard barked as he got Felicity and the too-limp child to the door of his own apartment.

Right! Count on me! I'll call management, the neighbor said, diving for the safety of his own environs, finally lively instead of dazed. The door slammed behind him, which Richard filed semi-consciously as the mark of a juvenile masquerading as an adult. Subconsciously, to emphasis the difference between himself and the other man, Richard shut his door quickly, decisively, but quietly.

-

Emma quickly got testing devices, washcloths, baking soda, and more sophisticated antidotes pulled out. She grabbed the baby with gloved hands and ran a sniffing device over her. Getting the readout, she quietly told Richard the name of the nasty stuff.

He grabbed syringes out of their at-home spy kit. He hesitated. How much does one give a baby? he asked.

A wee bit while one does research, Emma said.

Right, he said.

At a guess, Emma said.

Richard froze. He gritted his teeth, administered a dose of antidote to Felicity, and turned again to the baby. He froze again, the thought that he might kill the child with an overdose flooding his mind.

Get Felicity in the shower and scrub, lots of suds, Emma said, taking the syringe out of his hand.

Richard started to protest that he wasn't the person for that job, but whatever it was standing in front of him, no matter how much it externally resembled his beloved wife, it was not an entity to be argued with; this was without question the Emma of legend, infamously and coldly trained by the Americans. If the entity said to go scrub, it was dangerous not to. Besides, Felicity, his good and dear and loyal friend of several years – a woman who had saved his life a time or two – was standing there with blisters breaking out on her body. A thorough wash down was decidedly in order, and fast. He pulled a befuddled Felicity to the bathroom. To appease his sense of propriety, he tried washing her with her clothes on. But the thought that he was likely rubbing contaminated clothing against damaged skin overcame that squeamishness.

To his relief, his training suddenly manifested itself, and with the shift in mindset there was nothing personal about the proceedings: just necessity being acknowledged and met. Felicity didn't seem to quite understand what was happening, which was worrisome and a relief at the same time: worrisome because Felicity was ordinarily the sort of lady who didn't miss anything, and a relief because he didn't want her to understand he was dealing with her naked, even platonically and medically. It was outside the parameters, to say the least.

Richard heard running water from the kitchen and assumed that Ellie was getting a bath in the kitchen sink.

The sound of sirens, muffled drastically by the very good walls and tight windows, made themselves known. Another relief. He was trying to not feel responsible for the entire neighborhood, but it was impossible, really. He had the training, the experience, a couple extra syringes of antidote–

Antidote.

He hadn't given himself any. He presumed he was coming into contact with nasty stuff as it washed off Felicity.

Emma! How had he not thought to give her a jab? She would be getting what was coming off Ellie.

Although, she had thought to wear gloves, he reminded himself. Smart woman.

It was no good. Having thought of Emma, it was easy enough to think he'd washed the worst bit off and could take a small intermission, as it were, in Felicity's scrub-down. He propped her neatly in a corner of the shower stall and promised to come right back.

He ran to the kitchen. Emma smiled and held up a syringe. Did you give yourself a shot? she asked.

No, but you first.

Already gave myself one, and doubled Ellie's dose after calling the office. They've got a team en route. Ellie's breathing properly again, by the way, and her pulse is fine.

Richard felt himself crumpling.

Steady, Emma said. She gave him a shot, and handed him the baby. Don't faint with relief just yet. She needs you a while more. Keep running water over her. I'll finish with Felicity. With that she left.

Richard looked at the innocent, blistered child in his arms, and declared war on whoever had done this to her.

Chapter Two

The second calamity

Chief Stolemaker braced himself before entering his office. He knew Richard Hugh was in there, alone, waiting for him. The chief expected this conversation to be a hard one.

He's grumpy, Darlene Dourlein, the chief's secretary said, issuing a helpful warning.

Stolemaker's face betrayed that this wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Perhaps I should rephrase that, Darlene said. Our Mr. Hugh does not allow himself to become grumpy, of course. All the same, he's amazingly testy and unhappy for who he is. I don't know why.

The chief marveled that the man could catch wind of bad news that was so tightly restricted. It made the situation all that much worse.

Chief? Are you all right? Darlene asked.

I'd rather go jump off a bridge than do this, he said.

You're perhaps telling me more than I want to know, Darlene said. She made her voice light, but the chief caught the extra dampness in her eyes. He set his jaw and walked into his office.

Richard was scribbling on a note pad. Even from across the room, Stolemaker could see that he was making some sort of numbered list.

Hello, Triple-O Five, Stolemaker said.

Richard looked up. I'm not so sure you should be calling me that, he said.

Well, for a few minutes yet it's perfectly all right, the chief said, in what Richard let pass over him like a bad joke that didn't deserve to be acknowledged.

The chief bit his lip, unhappy about his choice of words. It wasn't what he should have said at all, he decided. Not then. Not like that. Rats. They were not off to a good start.

Richard waved his list in the air. I sniffed, he said, deep disapproval written in his voice.

Excuse me, what did you say?

This, Chief, is a list of things I did wrong when Mrs. Findlater showed up at my doorstep. It's a ruddy wonder anybody survived. One of my biggest blunders was that right after she told me there was a gas cloud or something, I sniffed to see if I could smell gas. I've been trained in gas. I've been in war zones. I've been up against gas. The one thing you never do is to take in a nose-load to see if you can smell anything. And then I didn't wash her off correctly. It's a wonder she has any skin left. And–

Everyone survived. Get used to it.

But I'd really rather that it was due to something other than dumb luck or a miracle. I mishandled the situation badly.

Shame on you. It was serious and you shouldn't have fallen down like that. On the other side of that, I'm glad you want to learn from your mistakes. You're a good man. Now shut up, Stolemaker said.

Richard set his list down, pulled himself upright and focused his attention. Sorry. Didn't mean to waste time. What's up?

Stolemaker's prepared speech failed him. He sat silently, trying to craft a different way of saying what he had to say.

Chief? Has there been another attack?

No. Well, not of that sort.

Richard got to his feet. Emma? You have bad news about–

This isn't about your wife. Well, it is, in a way, but not anything like you'd be worried about. Sit down.

I'll stand.

Please sit.

Don't leave me twisting.

Nobody died. Nobody close to you has been physically maimed or captured that I know about. There haven't been any political assassinations or mass bombings in the last thirty minutes that I know about. Please sit. I already want to go kill myself. Don't make this worse.

Richard sat. I'm due any reprimand you've got coming to me, he said.

Shut up. It's not that. It's my unpleasant duty to tell you that our agency is being scaled back, and I've been ordered to make everyone with more than twenty years of service redundant.

Richard digested the news quietly.

I'll have to make other cuts as well, the chief said. But the other cuts are somewhat discretionary. I've had it explained to me in no uncertain terms that I have no leeway on the over-twenty-years crowd.

Richard whistled low. Two things spring to mind. One is that I'm glad I'm not in your shoes. And, two, the UK's lucky you structured that hiring push the way you did, stressing picking up people with experience outside of spying so we didn't flood the agency with the barely weaned. Being a mature rookie is slightly more helpful than being a twenty-something one.

I could do without your helpful understanding, Stolemaker said, but with a wan smile of appreciation.

How soon? Richard asked.

As soon as each person can be rotated off whatever jobs they're on.

And those of us on semi-holiday? Between assignments?

The chief shifted his eyes to the wall.

Not a problem, Richard said. I've always been good at turning on a dime, if I do say so myself. How about my cover office?

BAAM will be closed within the month. In the meantime, you're to be off handling a family emergency. Sorry.

It was getting too widely suspected of being something other than simply an investment firm. To be honest, we've likely held on to it too long already, purely out of sentimental reasons. Richard shifted slightly in his chair. BAAM's employees?

Terrific severance packages. Also, most will get job offers dangled at them seemingly out of the blue.

Richard nodded his appreciation. It was the best he could hope for. He shifted slightly in his chair again. The clients won't lose their shirts?

Not if they jump through the proper hoops that we've set up.

We?

Close enough, the chief said loyally.

I suppose that all too much of this whole mess was handed to you as a fait accompli and there's no sense screaming about it, even the parts you'd never have authorized had they asked, Richard said.

I am sorry, Hugh. I haven't any idea why they couldn't let you wrap it up since you built it. Or, for that matter, let you keep it, and take it into a strictly civilian sphere of operation, since it's doing so well – if that was at all of any interest to you. If it's any consolation, they said it wasn't personal, it was just standard procedure to not place agents in positions where they might be tempted to do a bit of sabotage on their way out the door.

I'd never harm the clients, nor the employees, nor my country, and I'm not into petty personal reprisals.

I know that. I think they know that. I think they're just looking at having a massive and brutal cut-off of personnel, all of whom expected to be on the job a while yet. So they've built in safeguards to extend the probabilities that the agency will survive, and also to increase the possibilities that the people who survive the cut don't have to put up with too much demoralizing wailing and rending of clothing.

Careful there, Mr. Stolemaker. I'm not too sure the higher-ups would like to hear just that choice of language or that carefully half-hidden tone of sarcasm, Richard said, in a tone that was taunting on top, but had admiration running under the surface.

Stolemaker fought down a blush. He looked Richard in the eye. I'm letting Emma go, too. She hasn't been with us for twenty years, but she's been in the business longer than the rest of us, with all those years she had as an American agent. She deserves a chance to go wherever you go.

She might not see it that way, Richard said.

"She'll have to accept it. I got wind of what they had in store for