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  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not at all. I’m pointing it out as a token of friendship, since such things seem to matter.”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “Go undercover, assume a new identity. I know you’ve played everybody from a bag lady to a bank president, but this might be sort of a stretch.”

  “Oh? Who do I have to pretend to be?”

  “A CIA operative.”

  “Thanks a heap.”

  “I need you to leave at once.”

  “Are you picking me up here?”

  “No.”

  “Will you fly me from New York?”

  “It shouldn’t look like we brought you in. Our mole would go on high alert. It has to appear as if you’re emerging from deep cover. Whoever you wish to be will suddenly appear in our records as if he’d been there all the time. You get to pick your own legend. Once you do, you might let me know who you are.”

  “You’re saying no one’s running me. There’s no one in charge of this mission, I can contact.”

  “Would you listen to them if there were?”

  “What’s my cover story?”

  “It doesn’t matter, just so you have one. We have a leak. We don’t know how high or low it goes, but we can’t be telling people who might be the leak that we’re looking for the leak.”

  “I have to create my own cover, fly myself in, and make up my own assignment?”

  “I thought you’d like that.”

  “Fuck you, too, Lance.”

  2

  Abad ripped off his headset. This was the call he’d been waiting for. He was sure of it. Fahd Kassin would be pleased.

  It was one thing to bug the phone of the most powerful man in the CIA. It was another to sit through the endless daily minutiae that flowed through his office. Abad was excited as he jammed a memory stick into the computer and began the transfer.

  * * *

  • • •

  FAHD KASSIN was a bundle of nerves. The coup the Syrian strongman had been planning for months was on the horizon, and things were going wrong. How could it be? His agent had infiltrated the CIA station in Paris, and from all reports the Agency had no idea of his intentions. And yet, a spy was suspected. A mole, that was what they called it. They had no idea who it might be, but the fact they suspected anyone was cause for alarm.

  Defensive measures were mandatory. Just for a couple more weeks. Just until he made himself the most powerful man in the world.

  In the meantime, it was crucial that Syrian intelligence didn’t become aware of his plan. Fahd Kassin’s project was not officially sanctioned. It was not sanctioned at all.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  A computer hacker entered. Fahd couldn’t recall his name. He was one of the men assigned to monitor the phone and wiretaps.

  “Yes?” Fahd said impatiently.

  Even his tone could not dampen the hacker’s excitement. “I got it! The call you wanted to be alerted to. The head of the CIA called a man in California. He told him there was a mole in the Paris office and asked him to take care of it.”

  “Who did he call?”

  “A Mr. Billy Barnett.”

  “And who is ‘Billy Barnett’?”

  “A Hollywood producer.”

  Fahd frowned. “A movie producer?”

  “That’s right. The producer tried to claim he wasn’t the man he was looking for.”

  “You recorded the conversation?”

  “Yes. It’s on this memory stick.”

  “I can listen to it here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  The hacker plugged the memory stick into Fahd’s computer. He opened the file of Lance’s calls, and played back the last one.

  Fahd said. “What are you doing about the movie producer?”

  “When the director called him, I tuned in to his cell phone frequency.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes. Do you want me to explain how?”

  “No. You’re telling me I can listen in to his calls from my computer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me how.”

  The hacker plugged in Billy Barnett’s phone number, and opened the channel. “He’s not on the phone at the moment, but if he makes a call you can hear it by clicking this tab.”

  “Good job. This could be important.”

  “Yes. I will write it up in detail.”

  “No need. You have reported it to me. I will take it from here.”

  “Of course, sir. It is your project. I will merely report the facts.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Fahd frowned. It was trouble from his point of view. He had his own agenda, and there were certain things he did not wish known, even by his own minions.

  This was one of them.

  Fahd nodded. “Who else did you show this to?”

  “No one. I put it on the memory stick and came right in.”

  “Good job. Show me again how I access his phone.”

  The hacker hunched over the computer.

  Fahd pushed a button on his desk.

  A short, squat man in a drab brown suit glided in the door on little cat feet. He stepped up behind the hacker, deftly removed a handgun from a shoulder holster under his coat, and shot him in the head.

  The hacker collapsed on the keyboard.

  Fahd flinched. He was afraid the man might hit the wrong key and close the program. But the hacker slid off the keyboard and slumped to the ground.

  “I trust you’ll deal with the body,” Fahd said to Aziz.

  Aziz didn’t answer. He never spoke. Impassive as ever, he picked up the body of the hacker, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him out.

  Fahd Kassin sat at the computer and looked at the screen the hacker had opened for him.

  Fahd shook his head. “Billy Barnett.”

  To learn more about and order SKIN GAME, please visit prh.com/skingame.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Stuart Woods is the author of more than seventy novels, including the #1 New York Times-bestselling Stone Barrington series. He is a native of Georgia and began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs, his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. An avid sailor and pilot, Woods lives in Florida, Maine, and New Mexico.

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