Welcome to The Spy at the Embassy Special Edition! I’m posting the first three chapters as a preview. The book won’t be officially released until the end of December, but the Kickstarter campaign for an early copy of the ebook, trade paperback, and hardback launches on Tuesday, September 12th!
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
When Reine Delgado was a child, she’d thought the parties her parents occasionally hosted at the Denquay Embassy in Brazil were the epitome of what it meant to be an adult. Beautiful ladies in glittering evening gowns, handsome men in black tuxedos, and delicious little finger foods that floated through the air on trays held by all-but invisible waiters and waitresses.
She’d pouted when her parents left her for the night, and curled up in her bed, impatiently counting the days and months and years until she was old enough to attend those parties too.
Now that she was an adult, Reine knew better. Oh, the evening gowns were still glittering—in fact, getting dressed up was probably still her favorite part of attending a party—and the sharp-looking tuxedos hadn’t changed much. The food was still good. (She adored shrimp puffs and little fruit creations best.)
But the people? She’d learned that in reality the women weren’t as beautiful and the men weren’t as handsome as they’d been when seen through a dreamy child’s eyes.
Especially not now that Reine understood the motivations of most of the people attending these parties…herself included.
Tonight, the ballroom in the atrium that took up half of the top two floors of the Denquay Embassy in Washington, D.C. was resplendent. Made from bulletproof glass, the atrium provided a wonderful view of D.C.’s skyline, the Washington Monument just visible in the distance. A giant crystal chandelier hung from the center of the domed ceiling, providing most of the ballroom’s light, though decorative lamps with sconces lined the walls and provided even more illumination.
Reine took a champagne flute off of a passing waiter’s tray with a smile of thanks. She made it a point to thank the waitstaff when she could. People at parties like these only noticed waitstaff if something was wrong.
Plus, in her line of work, being kind to waitstaff sometimes came in handy.
Reine pretended to sip her champagne, surveying the room with keen interest. Even through the thin fabric of her deep purple elbow-length gloves, the glass stem felt cold. The steady influx of guests had slowed; she guessed most of the people Ambassador Ambrose had invited to celebrate his wife’s birthday were here already.
She turned slowly, and the folds of her purple gown—the same shade as her gloves—swished against her legs with a delightful slide that made her feel like a princess, even now. The fabric shimmered with a subtle sheen in the light from the chandelier overhead. She loved this dress, with its halter neckline and tight bust. The fabric of the skirt draped in such a way that it looked like it hugged her hips, but it was loose enough that she’d be able to run if she had to.
Or if she had to scale the side of a building. (That had happened once, a year and a half ago. She still couldn’t believe she’d managed to pull it off.)
On one side of the massive ballroom, a small white stage held an eight-person orchestra in formal black gowns and suits. They played various classical pieces from Mozart to Beethoven, interspersed with modern and classical pieces that were the pride of Denquay. The music was just loud enough to provide good background noise, but not so loud that it overshadowed conversation.
A spray of tables curved along another side of the ballroom, giving partygoers a chance to sit down and converse while they enjoyed the view of America’s capital city outside. Most of those tables were empty; everyone here was much too interested in mingling to take a chance on sitting down and missing out on some choice piece of information or chance of a making good deal on something. Sitting down might come later, when the party finally wound down in the early pre-dawn hours.
The world of international relations might look glamorous on the surface, but over the years Reine had learned there were some wicked undercurrents. Her parents had been caught in one of those undercurrents. The aftermath hadn’t been pretty.
Now that she was an adult, Reine had found a way to help keep other people from getting caught in those undercurrents.
It wasn’t easy. And she’d learned that you couldn’t save everybody. Still, she liked to think what she did helped.
At the very least, it meant she slept better at night.
Reine drifted across the ballroom’s smooth, polished maple surface, pretending to sip her champagne while she surveyed the glittering crowd of guests. She caught whiffs of at least a dozen different perfumes and colognes along the way, though she knew for a fact that this Embassy building had a top-of-the-line air scrubber system.
Her internal sense of time told her that it was well after 8pm. Any minute, the Ambassador and his wife would make their grand entrance and the party would begin in earnest. When that happened, Reine would have a little time to kill before she set off to accomplish her mission.
She recognized many of the faces in attendance tonight. Some because she knew them personally, from her job traveling back and forth as needed from the Embassy here in D.C. to the Denquayan Consulates scattered in important cities across the United States. Others because she had been briefed on them—and she always studied those briefs thoroughly. There were American politicians and businesspeople here, along with an array of visiting Denquayan politicians and businesspeople, and those from other countries doing business with both Denquay and the United States.
Reine even spotted a couple of Denquayan celebrities in attendance—stars of one of her country’s most popular television shows who had traveled from their home country for tonight’s event.
In the background, the music suddenly shushed. A thrill of satisfaction curled through Reine. There they are.
She turned to face the ballroom entrance along with everyone else as the ornate double doors opened to admit Ambassador Ambrose and his wife, Karina. The middle-aged duo always looked elegant, but tonight they had outdone themselves. The cut of the Ambassador’s black tuxedo and crisp white shirt camouflaged his middle-aged paunch, while his wife’s slinky, off-the-shoulder mermaid blue gown highlighted her smooth, flawless shoulders.
Karina did a better job of staying in shape than her husband, that was a fact.
Reine had always suspected—and the rumors that swirled around the upper echelons of Denquayan politics echoed this—that the Ambassador had something of a wandering eye. Idly, she wondered how well that was going, giving that the Ambassador was stationed in the heart of American politics. There were plenty of opportunistic women here, she was sure.
The Ambassador held up a hand in welcome; his wife clung to his other arm, an elegant smile curling her pretty red lips. In the respectful silence that filled the ballroom, his cultured voice carried to everyone. “Welcome to the Denquayan Embassy. On behalf of myself and my wife, we would like to thank you for coming tonight to celebrate my Karina’s day of birth. We will start the festivities with a dance—my Karina’s favorite traditional waltz.”
He turned his head to plant a kiss on his wife’s dark brown hair, which was swept up into an elegant French twist and studded with glittering diamonds and peridots. She beamed up at him, and then the pair made their way out into the center of the ballroom.
Reine watched along with everyone else as the Ambassador and his wife settled into position. Perfectly on cue, the orchestra started up again. Beautiful strains of a violin and cello tangled together in an enchanting melody.
The song triggered a memory, making Reine’s breath catch in her throat. Her mother had loved this song, and no matter how many times she had heard it in the years since, it always struck Reine the same way. She blinked and the memory—of her parents waltzing together and laughing in the large living room of their quarters in the Embassy compound—vanished liked mist.
She raised her champagne to her lips and drank—a real sip, this time. The fizzy liquid burned down her throat. Focus, she told herself. What would Erica say if she knew that stupid song still affected you?
Cold. Rational. Emotionless.
That was her goal right now. Emotion clouded judgment. The last thing she could afford right now was to make a mistake because of old emotion dredged up by a piece of music, of all things.
Her job might allow her to travel back and forth between the Embassy and various Consulates around the country, but only in prescribed measures. If she failed to complete her mission tonight, it could be weeks or even months before she had another shot—and by then it might be too late.
Lives depended on her. More lives than she cared to consider.
Reine took a deep breath. Don’t think about the pressure.
She was up to the task.
She had to be.