Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2) by André Gallo (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📕

“There are some who would rather be in battle, or in a war zone surrounded by their buds and not have to put up with the little drudgeries of civilization. For us, this is a war zone. I hope you’re not slipping into that psychotic group.”

“It’s more the absence of routine office chores, taking the car in for the five thousand mile check-up, taking care of monthly bills, no office meetings.” He repeated, “No constant staff meetings where people preen for attention and having the closest supervisor thousands of miles away. I won’t deny that I like that part of it.”

She sipped some water. “Do I hear that routine is a dirty word? What about the risk that we’re going to be arrested?” She wanted to say that this wasn’t really worth the risk, that policy makers didn’t give much priority to factual information, secret or not. But this was not the time.

“Routine is bad; change is good. So is independence. I have more sense of being alive here. I guess that risk is part of it. Plus, you’re here sharing everything with me. How good can it get?” He laughed.

Kella frowned, “You worry me. How about waking up each morning knowing that you won’t be arrested and put to death? I’d rather sit through a thousand meetings.”

“I’m here only because I was asked to be here. It was hard to say no. I frankly couldn’t believe that I was asked. I don’t know how big the National Clandestine Service is, but Thérèse LaFont made a convincing case that, on that day, she thought I was the best person to do what needed to be done,” he paused and looked at her. “Doesn’t everyone want to make a difference? We have purpose here. Other than making money, I’m not sure what my purpose is at West Gate. Getting this information back to Langley could avoid a war.”

“Or start one,” she said.

“So you agree that what we’re doing here is more important than sitting behind a desk in Northern Virginia. But when we get back, we need to change our lives. Going to an office every day with a ladder of bosses to answer to is not my idea of nirvana.”

“You’re scaring me. They all like you at West Gate, Steve. You’re headed for a partnership in the firm, the golden boy. Didn’t you say before we left that you wanted to open a sporting goods store?”

Steve got up and turned the TV on. “You remember. How about ‘The Vertical Dimension?’ He held his hands up as if framing the sign. I don’t know. We need to break away from the routine, do our own thing. Don’t worry. I’m not one of those soldiers. I can live without the risk of being shot at. Besides, they hang people here.” He grinned.

Kella rolled her eyes, “Great. Thanks for reminding me.”

He surfed the four channels. “Maybe I’ve been too tied to the office. This is my time off. When we get back, we need to take more time off for stuff like paragliding, like I did in Hawaii, and SCUBA diving, like I did in the Red Sea, and black diamond skiing, like...”

She saw him bite off his words. She knew about Vera, Steve’s former fiancée, who had died during a skiing accident in Canada. She got up and sat on the bed with him. “Okay, when we get back, we’ll add some excitement to our lives. Not too much, though. I’ve had enough life-threatening experiences, growing up in the Sahara during a rebellion, and last year when I met you. And now...” Half-joking, she added, “Would a course in desert survival be interesting enough for you? We’ll go to Death Valley. I’ll monitor your progress from a comfortable hotel, and you go out in the desert. If you live through the course, you pass.

“By the way,” she added, changing the subject, “we have to be more careful. I think one of the maids may have seen you. She asked me if I was renting the room as a single or whether my husband was with me.”

“We live in such a suspicious world.” He kissed her and started to ease her back on the bed ... when the earth moved.

They felt the room shake and heard something fall and break in the bathroom at the same time the TV and the lights went out. Kella jumped off the bed and pulled Steve by the hand to go stand in the doorframe of the bathroom. They stood there listening intently and still holding hands. After another minute, Steve then walked to the door and looked down the corridor, but there was no sound. It was as if the hotel was holding its breath. Then, slowly at first and then like a surging torrent, they heard the sound of voices, very low initially but quickly becoming shouts, and of doors opening and of people running down the hallway to the stairs.

Leaving the door open, he motioned to Kella, “Looks like everyone is running out. Let’s go. Don’t forget your makeup kit,” he said. She knew he was referring to their communications lifeline to the CIA. He felt his pockets for his wallet, and she grabbed her passport from a dresser drawer.

Outside, people filled the sidewalk and spilled into the street. This time it was the pedestrians that had brought traffic to a standstill. The automobile headlights pierced the lower levels of the otherwise dark city.

Kella and Steve had separated. Kella went up to a man in hotel uniform who often staffed the front desk.

“What the heck was that? Are we under attack?”

“Miss Hastings, don’t worry. It was only a small earthquake. No one is hurt. No explosions. I’m sure we can all go back inside in a few minutes.”

“You have many earthquakes here?” she asked,

“Not so much in Tehran. Sometimes in the