Covert Coffee (The Serena Wilcox Dystopian Trilogy Book 2)

Covert Coffee Chapter 12

12

Lehman’s first move was to assemble his team. On the top of the list was “The Beav”, one of the former agents he knew whose security clearance had been revoked – the biggest scapegoat on the chopping block when the flushing of the agency began. Beav was spectacularly tangled up in the mess with Paul and the most obvious choice to sacrifice first. He had been present when an explosion took down two American presidents with one high-tech bomb that had been disguised as a bugging device. Beav, the team’s technology expert, had failed to recognize the device as a bomb even after he’d hand-inspected it.

Of course Beav had no way of knowing that Paul was capable of that level of violence, nor should any reasonable person hold him responsible for anything that transpired, but anyone even remotely connected to that tragic and highly-avoidable national disaster was swiftly fired with no hope of working in government service again; and Beav was directly responsible for botching the inspection of the device. While Lehman had taken an early retirement with honors –having escaped the firing sweep because he wasn’t anywhere near that fiasco—poor Beav, one of the best agents Lehman had ever known, was hung out to dry. Lehman’s jaw clenched in memory of the witch hunt. The nation demanded that people be held accountable and naturally the easiest place to start was with the little people, the ones who put their lives on the line for everyone else. Lehman wasn’t sure what washed up condition he would find Beav in. Would he even be fit to serve?

The Beav answered Lehman’s call on the first ring. His voice was unnaturally chipper which was his typical state of being, especially if he had been up all night on a creative bender, sans alcohol or any other substance. He revved himself up on mania alone, the ideas churning inside his head, silenced only when his project was complete. Whether it was an underground library bedroom, a butterfly garden, or building a series of walls – Beav would not sleep until he hit a stopping point, which often drove him to the brink of insanity. It was in this crazed state of sleep-deprivation that Lehman found him.

“I just got back from a run, and I’m on my way to the gym,” said Beav.

“Can you see yourself boarding a plane to Germany instead?”

“I’m in the middle of a project. Beating myself up at the gym to stay alert. Then I’m back at it.”

“What project? Who are you working for?”

“Nobody. Me. I’m making a spiral staircase for my bedroom library.”

This was normal behavior, thriving even, for Beav. Yes, he had called the right man for the job. “Suspend the staircase plan for now. I need your help.”

“Why Germany? Do they eat a lot of red meat there?”

Lehman ignored the meat question. The Beav’s aversion to meat was well-known and not an issue he had time for. “The President believes that Serena Wilcox might be held there.”

“Against her will?”

“Of course, against her will.” Lehman wished he wasn’t holed up in his car. He had a desperate need to walk off his frustration. “You need to go there, find her, and bring her back.”

“Alive?”

“What? Of course we want her alive!”

“No, I mean: Do you think she is alive?”

“I hope so.”

“Who has her? What do they want with her?” Beav piled dirty dishes into the sink to rinse them off. He spoke loudly over the running water.

“That’s for you to find out. You’ll meet with a guy, go from there.”

“A guy? A contact? He’s expecting me?”