Border Code

  Border Code

  Book III in the Morgan Winfeld Series

  By Pam Robertson

  Border Code

  Book 3 in the Morgan Winfeld Series

  by Pam Robertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations within a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. While some of the places referenced may be real, the characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Any errors in this text are strictly the responsibility of the author, who not only ignores the inconvenience of certain impossibilities out in the real world, but as a writer, takes true joy in making things up.

  ISBN: 978-1-99950040607 (digital version)

  978-1-9995004-5-0 (print version)

  Copyright © 2020 Pam Robertson

  Cover design for the original book in this series by Letsgetbooked.com

  If you’d like to read the Morgan Winfeld stories in order, here’s the flow:

  Border Pieces

  Border Shock

  Border Code

  There is also a short story called Border Christmas that fits between books 2 and 3, available from the author to newsletter subscribers.

  This book is for all the working canines like Max, and my sister’s search and rescue dog Jesse,

  who always do their best and do it well.

  “Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.”

  ― Joss Whedon

  Chapter One

  Oxford, England

  She opened the door and then paused a moment to take in the view. It was a terrible habit, and poor Platt wasn’t ready for her to spend such a long time over the threshold. He walked into her, bumping her through the opening.

  “Oof, sorry,” he said.

  “My own fault,” she said quietly.

  “You’re on vacation. You don’t have to case the joint.”

  “I’m not on vacation. I’m taking a few days off over the holidays, between major catastrophes. I’m just checking it out. This is the first time I’ve been in a vegetarian restaurant.”

  “Hmm, okay,” he nodded.

  Vegetarian Choice Eats was brand new, and still in launch mode. The smell of faux leather benches and off gassing plastic chairs under arborite topped tables hit Morgan’s nostrils. Cheap and mostly uncomfortable, she thought.

  They went up to the counter to order. The menu list was long and the kitchen appeared very small. Morgan had a hard time coming to terms with what was on the menu board and the size of the place.

  “Are you making everything here fresh?” she addressed the clerk.

  He looked at her with big brown eyes and long lashes, and a pock marked face. “Fresh?” he mirrored, with a serious face. “It was cooked fresh, then we freeze it and reheat. Except salads, of course.”

  She looked at Platt. Morgan knew he wanted to get some healthy food in his belly after travelling, but she was more of a meat and potatoes type of gal.

  “I’ll have the Aloo Gobhi,” she said, still scrutinizing the menu. It said cauliflower and spices and the picture showed enough sauce that she planned to pretend there was chicken in it. Rob had a small smile hovering around the corners of his mouth as he ordered his Mad Mushroom dish.

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” she said as they turned away from the counter.

  “Enormously,” he said. “I can’t get over you eating vegetarian.”

  “It’s one time, Rob,” she said in a way that was shorter than she wanted to sound.

  “And if it doesn’t work out, there’s fish and chips around the corner, right?”

  “Exactly,” she retorted, scraping out the metal legged chair and sliding into the curved bowl of the seat. She wasn’t surprised that Platt pulled off his jacket, folded it into a ball and sat down on it. He never complained about having a prosthetic leg.

  “Is that going to be comfortable?” she asked him.

  “Not really,” he smiled his mega watt grin, “but I’m here sitting across from you in what’s become your secret hideaway village, so it’s all good.”

  “It’s not really a secret, especially not with Henry constantly present.”

  “That’s what keeps you being here a secret, though. Henry screens your calls and visitors.”

  “That’s partly the result of security enhancements we made so I could safely hang around here. Henry’s system was good, but after the breach against the Steeves’ house in London last year, I didn’t want to leave things as they were.”

  “Do you feel safe out here?”

  “I felt safe before, but it’s people without similar protection to me I worry about. People that come and visit. Like you.”

  “Huh,” Rob slurped at his mushroom sauce. “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

  She had an instant to work up the courage and tell Rob about the secret she had kept away from him for nearly a year. The thing she hadn’t revealed when she was listening for voices from a zombie uprising (and no, they weren’t really zombies, just people who had tried a dangerous new drug and ended up looking like zombies). The power she hid from him when she was able to hear conversations and thoughts from inside a house while they were under siege. The thing that had saved lives. The one thing she felt could damage their relationship.

  “We’ve both been in this business long enough to know how to look after ourselves, and the technical aids we have access to are a big help. Sometimes though, we need a little boost.”

  “Mhmm,” he said, only half listening. She decided to leverage her ability and pop in his head to have a listen, though what she got was typical…

  These mushrooms need more garlic. Hey, is she breaking up with me?

  “Rob, I have something I need to tell you, not break up with you or to strain this…relationship…,” she figured being direct might stop him from worrying about a break up, since that was the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted this feeling she had for Rob to stick around.

  He looked up from his bowl. “You mean a long-distance relationship with occasional weekends of great…er…connections?” he asked, smiling. His white teeth stood out against his tanned face, and made his smile lines obvious somehow.

  “Yes, that,” as she stifled a laugh, mindful of the tables near them and avoiding mention of the word ‘sex’.

  “Do I want to hear it now at the beginning of the weekend, or do you want to save it for the end?” Fuck, she IS breaking up with me.

  “I’m not breaking up with you, Rob. But it relates to the security thing at Henry’s where we will be staying this weekend, and I think it’s time you know.” She pushed her bowl a few inches away. There was just so much cauliflower she could eat in one dish.

  “Okay, tell me,” he said.

  “Maybe we should walk off supper and go get some dessert somewhere,” she suggested.

  “You aren’t enjoying your cauliflower dish,” the traces of humour were gone from his face, and his brown eyes looked a little sad.

  “Really, I’m a meat and potatoes kind of person, though that wasn’t terrible,” she said.

  Mine was. How do I tell her that? she caught him thinking.

  “Yours was bad, I gather,” she said looking directly at him.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said.
>
  “You didn’t have to,” she replied quietly. “Come on, I could kill for some good ice cream.”

  They left the restaurant, both of them thoughtful. She was hunting for ice cream, while Rob was looking at her for answers.

  “So Rob, there’s this thing I can do and I can’t always do it but usually I can if I work at it. I hear people,” she said trying to emphasize the hearing part while being a little mysterious.

  “You hear people?” he echoed.

  “I hear people, in a really fantastic way. I can tune into conversations that no one else hears, sometimes in other buildings and at great distances. And sometimes I can read people’s minds.”

  Holy fuck, he thought. “Are you reading mine?”

  “Holy fuck,” she replied.

  “How do you do that?” he said, his walk slowing as he looked at her.

  I can put myself in your head, she pushed to him. Immediately, his hands covered his ears before he stuffed them in his pockets.

  “You thought that in my head!” he looked around quickly, as if assessing who might be close enough to hear.

  “Yes.”

  “It was loud!”

  “Like too loud, or just surprisingly loud since it was in your head?”

  “I guess it’s the latter,” he said. “How’d you learn to do that?”

  “It’s something that showed up a few years ago, and then I went and studied for a bit with someone and learned more. I’m just as surprised as anyone by it from time to time. Part of the reason that security is less of an issue for me when I stay at Henry’s is that if I suspect something, I can tune in to the environment and usually figure out what’s going on.”

  “And you can just listen to what’s inside anyone’s head?” he shook his head in amazement. “How come I didn’t know this?”

  “Inconsistently, but yes, I can listen. It’s easier for me to tap into conversations between people, rather than getting in their head. I knew how many people were at the attack on Steeves’ place because I could hear different voices inside the house, even though I couldn’t understand the language. I can detect fear, too, like I did with the bus incident in New York.”

  “It helps with work a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. I mean, I don’t know what to say. I’m a bit freaked out and yet turned on at the same time.”

  “That seems like it should be a good response coming from you,” she smiled. “I mean the turned on part, more than the freaked out bit.”

  “How many people know about this…superpower of yours?”

  “Not many, and beyond you no one else can learn about it. I’m only telling you because if we’re going to be together long-term, you deserve to know. My boss knows, and one of the ACTI directors that’s now posted to Australia. Him I worry about. Then there’s James, the analyst on my team who is also my cousin.” She didn’t mention that Henry knew, because he also had some abilities and she respected that Henry had spent his whole life keeping them a secret.

  “Do you ever worry that it’s a threat to your safety? Could it be used against you?”

  “Sometimes I wonder what might happen if I tried to leave ACTI. They’ve had a lot of benefit from this, and I’m sure they wouldn’t want to give it up. As far as they know I can hear conversations, but they don’t know I can pop into people’s heads and learn what they’re thinking. I feel like that piece of me needs to be more closely guarded.”

  They entered the ice cream shop, and stood back reviewing the flavours listed on the board. There was everything imaginable, but Morgan was after the extra creamy Dutch chocolate with pralines and ribbons of whiskey trapped inside. Pratt ordered two different kinds of chocolate and then had them draped in caramel. They sat at a little table near the window.

  “So,” Rob said quietly, “Is any of this helping you decide about retirement versus staying in the business?”

  “Sometimes I feel one way, and sometimes another. Even though I’m in a director’s role and not doing field work, I like being able to have teams deployed and make things happen. But I miss being out there in the action and getting my adrenaline pumping, which means more time at the gym.”

  “How long have you been at this now?” he asked.

  “My whole career,” she shrugged at him. “Twenty-two years. Sometimes I feel like I ought to be tackling something else. Like, maybe I’ll become a famous food writer and test restaurants all over the globe.”

  He laughed. “It’s got to be hard to be incognito and hiding from people – or the agency, or any of the other agencies out there. Finding a new line of work while you have a job is always a good idea…but the whole food critic career is probably a dying breed isn’t it? Do people make money at it?”

  “How the hell should I know,” she said, waggling her spoon at him. “I figured it would get me out of cooking for as long as I can keep it up.”

  “Do you need the money?” he asked seriously.

  “Yes and no. I’m forty-five and should live another fifty years or something… unless I continue to work in covert ops, which, let’s face it, nobody lives to old age in covert ops. I’m too young to draw anything from my pension, and I have a good pile of savings but I’d still have to be careful with it,” she stopped herself from saying more, not the first time she’d felt frustrated thinking she could be trapped by golden handcuffs.

  “What if you were to teach at spy school, or police colleges? The military? You could probably get plenty of work that way, and you certainly have lots to offer.”

  “I could maybe do that.” She was getting tired of talking about herself and decided to turn the conversation in her favourite maneuver. “What about you, Rob? What are your plans?”

  “Well, I’ve decided not to go ahead with the bionic leg. There’s enough degeneration around the bone that it could be a really tough recovery and then there’d be future surgeries to expect. The bone changes mean I can’t expect to be a street cop much longer, and I’ve applied to become a senior detective. Sometimes I think I could put up a yurt somewhere and just live off grid, plant a garden, you know…just take it easy.”

  “A yurt?” She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice but didn’t do a very good job.

  “Yeah, a yurt. What’s wrong with that?” His eyes were twinkling, and so she proceeded, knowing his feelings weren’t hurt by her direct questions.

  “Isn’t a yurt a fancy tent? How can you live in a tent when you’re in a place that has freezing cold winters and scorching summers? You’d be melting, or found frozen to death,” she said, eyebrows raised and looking at him expectantly so as not to laugh.

  “Because,” he said, “you can insulate those things and create something just as snug as a cabin in the woods. Do it right, and you don’t need air conditioning because it’ll keep itself cool. In the winter, we can heat with a wood stove.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out,” Morgan said.

  “Not really,” he answered. “I’m still trying to figure out how to do it and you come live with me.”

  “What are you suggesting, Rob?”

  “Constant access to my great sense of humour and joy for life,” he said.

  “Rob, I like you a lot more than I ever expected. But…I’m not sure I’m an ‘off grid’ person. I like modern conveniences, being close to restaurants, driving fast cars...and I’m no gardener. I can’t just live in the US without paperwork; it might be a whole lot easier to have you live in Canada with me.”

  “Well, just give it some thought. Either way, Henry says that once you do retire or whatever, security has to be optimal and he seems to know. We can install anything you want to make a yurt modern, or build a log cabin.”

  “How do you feel about living in a city? Or within close range of a city? Somewhere you can have your leg looked after, we can eat out, but still have a nice life?” She didn’t mention her desire to live by the ocean again. I’ll save that little bit for me.

  He looke
d at her for a long moment, and gave a small nod. “If you prefer it, then yes, we can definitely do that. I just want to be with you Morgan.”

  Their discussion left Morgan with mixed feelings. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give up her independence and live with him, though she certainly liked hanging around with Rob. Besides, the older she got the less likely she would find someone she was this compatible with. The sex was great, having someone to share a meal with was a bonus. They had conversations that really got her going. They talked about everything and nothing, and his voice together with his warmth and his well toned body beside her felt good. If she was going to leave the spy business behind at some point, having a life partner ten years younger than her would make things interesting. It sure beat the alternative of aging alone, and as she had discovered over Christmas, she wasn’t really looking for short-term hookups.

  Poor Drew. She gave a small smile thinking about the one-armed veteran soldier she had, quite literally, picked up in a coffee shop. He had stopped there on the way to his brother’s funeral. She took him with her for Christmas celebrations with friends so he wasn’t alone over the holidays. There hadn’t been any sex despite them both treading around the subject. He was vulnerable and in shock over his brother’s death, and she wasn’t about to be that kind of asshole. Then she managed to help him think about a new career, and remnants of anything else fizzled.

  Morgan knew she shouldn’t be pondering like this. Thinking about romantic attachments was just going to get her thinking about previous failures, and a strong sense of loss could threaten to overtake her carefully constructed walls of protection. Her husband, Paul, had been killed when she was just twenty-one. Jake, the beguiling Irish spy with his tenderness, along with his strength in a fight, and the way he got that flip going in her belly, had died of a heart attack. Even her parents were dead.

  That evening, after Morgan and Rob’s conversation over ice cream, and a great time ‘reconnecting’ in bed, it took her a long time to fall asleep. Her dreams were a jumbled mix of men from her past. She tried to look deeper, since she was just conscious enough to recognize it as a dream. Staring back at her were Jake’s green eyes, his hair longer than usual and a large curl resting on his forehead. She used to love when his hair did that. Jake looked back at her from within the dream, and smiled.