Tripoli sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I get it. I do. No one blames you for how you feel.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you never got rid of that phone,” Francesca said.
Triumph nodded absently. “I couldn’t even tell you why I kept it.”
“Because she gave good phone,” Tripoli whispered to Francesca as he attempted to lighten the moment again.
Sweet baby Jesus, the man just couldn’t help himself, could he?
Her nose wrinkled, and she backhanded Tripoli’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t tease him,” Francesca admonished. “The NSA didn’t confiscate it when you left?”
“It’s a personal phone.” He wondered how much to say. “Me, being the paranoid individual I am, I always have several phones, all for different things, and I rotate them regularly. For some reason, I gave her one of my burner numbers.”
Tripoli grunted. “Sounds to me like you didn’t get rid of this particular phone because you subconsciously knew she was out there swinging in the wind and might need something one day.”
“Maybe. I never kept any of the other burner phones, and now that she’s called me, I got rid of this one.”
“How are you going to contact her if you destroyed your phone?” Francesca asked.
“Memorized the number. Never make more than two calls to the same number on a burner phone. If you do, try not to call the same number back-to-back. Our method was you call somebody, they take the call, then they destroy the phone. When they call you back, you note the new number, take the call, then destroy the original phone you were talking on. Most operatives will buy burners at gas stations, bodegas, stuff like that, in batches so they always have new ones.”
Francesca frowned, and she looked like she was staring down at the keyboard, studying it. It was her FBI face, the one he’d seen a few times while working the Elysium murders. Narrowed. Focused. He could almost see her create paths of information, neatly laying them out, brick by brick, while she analyzed each piece, determining whether information was viable, sketchy, or a downright lie.
If she weren’t so perfect for Tripoli, he’d probably find it sexy. But he also had to admit, she scared the fuck out of him when she looked like this.
Worried she was about to discard him as unhelpable, he rushed to continue. “She calledme. A veritable stranger, someone who might not even be at the other end of that number anymore. They’ve cut her off, Fleur. She’s desperate.”
Her eyes fluttered up to look at him through the lenses. He could literally see her making the choice. “Where is she?”
He jumped in quickly before she could retract the question. “I’m going to try hacking into her reports, but I’ve got to tread carefully. You don’t just break into the CIA’s files.” Elbows on the table, he ran both hands through his hair. “All I know right now is South America, which would make sense if this is in connection to the Colonel Cartel. That most likely meansArgentina. Wherever she is now, she’s hiding, but she doesn’t feel like the location is particularly secure.”
Her fingers drummed on the tabletop as she looked at Triumph. “What are you planning to do? Go get her?”
Shifting in his seat, he nodded. “The thought crossed my mind. If she’s still in Argentina, I could make a reservation at a hotel somewhere, fly in on my passport, and meet up with her. She’s going to need paperwork to get over the border, though, and I don’t have any contacts to help with that.”
“It would be less invasive to get her exit contacts,” his friend murmured while sipping his wine. “Safer too.”
Triumph ignored the man’s fishing expedition. “I figured, FBI agents have to work along the same lines as the CIA operatives. You have connections in various places. People who owe you favors. I thought maybe I could persuade you to help me get her a passport under another ID so we can get her back home quietly. In exchange, I could grant that person a future digital favor.”
Francesca and Tripoli shared a look.
He tipped his wine glass up to his mouth. “You want to call Lobo, that’s your call,” he said to her as he took another swallow.
“Not yet,” she murmured. To Triumph, she said, “I’m not sure I can help you. Any contacts I have are domestic.”
He felt his insides deflate. He did not want to text Glennon back and tell her he’d struck out. The idea was reprehensible to him. You didn’t cut people loose simply because they became inconvenient, and he didn’t want to fail her the way her employer had. “You think I should call Cosmos? Maybe he has a lead?”
The couple shared another look.
“What?” Triumph asked.
Francesca bit her lip. “How time-sensitive is this? I mean, obviously, it’s an emergency, but what kind of time frame are we working with?”
“I told her I’d call her within five hours. We’re coming up on the two-hour mark.”
“Cosmos’ contacts would be more along the line of formal channels, which we’re trying to avoid,” Tripoli pointed out.
Francesca picked up her cell phone. “Put him in our back pocket then.” She dialed a number from memory as she spoke. “No promises, Triumph. There’s only one person I can think of to call, and at best, he’s someone who can put you in touch with someone else.”
