she hadn’t quite decided that yet—and she would have been on her way to meet the nieces and nephews she hadn’t seen in over a decade.
Family. She’d thought about them often while she had been away. Impossible to have stayed in touch, of course. She’d spoken briefly on the phone several times in ten years, but most of the conversations had been too short and not satisfying. If everything had gone according to plan, that last operation would have been a nice wrap-up of her career.
She shook her head. All right, at least for a while. She wasn’t quite ready to fade into nothing yet. Let’s face it. If she’d succeeded in assassinating the current newly elected premier of Slavinistan, then the international summit would have been a failure and the powers-that-be would have been very happy with her homecoming. Now they were just pleased. After all, she’d given them ten years of her life. It would have been nice, though, if she’d returned with that little present she’d promised them, the tiny explosive device trigger, so they could copy its technology. It would have been very nice if she’d been able to demonstrate its effectiveness with Liashenko’s assassination.
But that was the fun of being out in the field, something for which she’d yearned when she’d walked into the CIA building and headed to the same office every day. Being a handler to several American traitors was boring, boring work. Not at all challenging. If not for her, these stupid men would have been caught and killed off a dozen times already. As it was, the whole charade at that office had lasted ten years.
She knew she’d done well even without this final victory. She was already achieving legendary status among the covert world, and especially with the operatives back home, for all that she had accomplished. The whole big scandal in DC right now, with all their internal investigations and Intelligence committee hearings, was because of her doing.
Greta couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Ah, that little old white-haired grandma had wreaked havoc for the CIA all right. And it was all her, Greta Van Duren’s, doing.
She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of accomplishment. It would be easy to trace a stupid thing like Llallana Noretski. She was just another greedy loser being used by the agencies.
There were still people in the CIA she could contact besides Gunther. She sniffed at the memory of how supercilious the other agent had been to her on the phone. As if she were a washed-out old operative, running away from DC. She frowned. That was not the perception she wanted to end her career with.
She would get the files on Llallana Noretski. Someone had thought of using her as a human bomb to kill off an entire summit filled with world leaders. There must be more to this. They must have something over the Noretski girl. What?
The ambitiousness of that plan had astounded Greta when she’d figured out what was happening. One hit, she could understand, but an entire board of world leaders? That would have certainly been someone’s career icing. But who? And why?
She was intrigued. That was why she didn’t actually want to truly retire. That would mean she would be out of the loop, and after playing secretary at the great CIA office, handling secrets back and forth between deputy directors, she was addicted to the power of knowing everything.
Langmut . One thing at a time. After ten years dawdling around CIA red tape, she had learned the patience of the old man at the sea. There went that stupid word again. She opened her eyes. Old. She didn’t want to look old when she returned home. She wanted to look beautiful and sophisticated, the way she’d been when she’d been the number one assassin.
Langmut . Greta released a long sigh, then cracked her neck to release the tension. She would knit and think of a plan to teach Miss Noretski and her handler a lesson about double-crossing Greta Van