The Safe House: Tim Hall and Mary Ann Wilson Series 2

By Jeffrey Mechling

A spy under pressure. A secret below the sea. Can he blow the lid off a treacherous conspiracy?

CIA Case Officer Tim Hall will go to any lengths to protect his safe house. And with his FBI agent girlfriend now under the same roof, he's confident everything is locked down. So when a Soviet-era submarine lurks off the Florida coast, he's sure they'll send someone else to assess the threat.

Headstrong Bureau operative Mary Ann Wilson isn't about to take orders from her lover. When she pulls the assignment to investigate the mysterious submersible, she accepts without hesitation. But an unfortunate misstep sends her in over her head and snares Agent Hall in her wake…

As duty tears the lovers apart, they sink deeper into a dangerous web of lies, secrets, and betrayals. And when they find themselves trapped aboard the underwater menace, it may doom both their love and their missions.

Can they force justice to the surface before they're both sent to a watery grave?

The Safe House is the second novel in the page-turning Tim Hall and Mary Ann Wilson Adventure series. If you like gripping espionage, superspy romance, and breathtaking twists and turns, then you'll love Jeffrey Mechling's fast-paced thriller.

Buy The Safe House to dive into a high-stakes chase today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Good As Gone Group
• Release date: Sep 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393178552

Jeffrey Mechling

Jeffrey Mechling was raised in a family full of secrets. His maternal grandfather was thought to be an agent in the OSS who made several trips to Germany before WW2. Although Mechling grandfather was never known to have served in the military, he was buried in Arlington National Cemetery with the rank of Major.  A number of other Mechling family members seemed to have jobs with the United States Government that they “just could not talk about”. Mr. Mechling is himself an Analysis with a not so secret government agency and is married to the artist Kathleen Ryder. They reside in Northern Virginia.

Book preview

1

The darkness outside was just beginning to turn to light, as it does every morning. Each day features two twilights, but most people only see the one that occurs in the evening. Who got up before sunrise, after all?

Commuters in places like the far-flung suburbs of New Jersey and Northern Virginia, Tim Hall thought to himself. He lay in the bed of the master bedroom of his Lovettsville, Virginia home next to his girlfriend Mary Ann Wilson. Girlfriend: what a dumb name for the woman he was involved with, but not married to. But Tim didn’t have another good word for it. Hi, this is my lady, Mary Ann. How stupid did that sound? It sounded like something a character in a 1970s movie would say. No, it just did not seem to matter how old a couple was... It was boyfriend and girlfriend until the day you finally got married—and then, well, that would begin something entirely different.

At any rate, Mary Ann seemed fine with the term and had introduced Tim as her boyfriend when she dragged him to Ohio to meet her parents, her two daughters, her ex-husband, and her ex-husband’s new wife, Sandy. It was Sandy who Tim had liked the best, and Mary Ann’s parents were also okay, although Tim suspected that they were both younger than he was. But as for Mary Ann’s ex-husband and her two kids...the three were all strange, in Tim’s opinion. Probably had something to do with their feelings of desertion from Mary Ann leaving to pursue her position as an FBI Agent.

Tim suddenly felt a presence in their Lovettsville bedroom. Perhaps Mary Ann had left the bed? No, she was still there. Tim’s eyes had trouble focusing as they panned around the room...until they stopped at the figure of a woman standing in the doorway.

There was no one else in the house, so who could this woman be?

Tim began to reach for the Glock 19 9mm that he kept on his bedside table. Tim had developed the habit of keeping a gun in reach even while sleeping ever since he took command of the Safe House.

The weapon was no longer there.

Meanwhile, the woman began to approach. Stop! Stay where you are, Tim commanded, but the figure drew closer still.

Who are you? What do you want? Tim implored...but the woman kept advancing.

He shifted toward the sleeping form next to him. Mary Ann? Wake up. We have a problem!

But Mary Ann did not wake up.

The woman was now directly in front of Tim, and he finally recognized her. It was his late wife Pam, and she had Tim’s gun pointed directly at him.

Mary Ann, wake up, damn it! Tim yelled again.

This time, Mary Ann spoke. Tim? Wake up, honey. You’re screaming in your sleep.

Tim opened his eyes to see that the bedroom was now full of light. What time is it? he asked.

It’s 9 a.m. Here’s your coffee.

It took Tim about 30 more seconds to realize that his late wife holding a gun on him had all been a dream. It had been so vivid.

Maybe this was a reaction to the anti-depressants Tim’s new doctor had prescribed. The medication was only supposed to be temporary, or so the doctor had told him.

Tim’s new doctor, Dr. Gillian, was a beautiful woman who appeared to be of Iranian decent, or at least that was what Tim had determined. She had the largest brown eyes he’d ever seen, and Tim couldn’t help but wonder what she was all about. However, the doctor was strictly business and hadn’t fallen for any of Tim’s attempted flirtations. You’re a funny guy... was the only thing she had said to Tim, and he’d heard that comment many times before. Nevertheless, Dr. Gillian appeared to be extremely competent. Most importantly, Tim trusted her.

Wow, what a fucking dream that was, Tim said as he sat up in bed. Pam was in the room, and—

She had your Glock pointed at you, Mary Ann said, completing Tim’s sentence. How many times have you had this dream now, darling?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe two or three times.

More like five or six. Maybe it’s time you spoke to your Persian Princess about these pills she has you taking.

Mary Ann was not as impressed with Dr. Gillian as Tim was, but Mary Ann did have a jealous streak and resented any woman who took an interest in her boyfriend.

I think we should wait and see what happens with the medication, Tim replied. Besides, I’ve only been taking it a month now. I’m sure the Pam dreams are just an issue I’m working out subconsciously.

Just as long as you’re not subconsciously working things out while my girls are here, Mary Ann reminded him.

Oh yes, Mary Ann’s girls. Their names were Molly and Amy, and they were coming for a weekend visit with their mother. Tim was picking them up at BWI that afternoon. Alone. Mary Ann was teaching a class at the FBI Academy in Quantico that day, and there was apparently no way she could cancel that.

That was what she’d told him, at least. Tim suspected that there was something else going on, since his girlfriend was exuding more anxiousness in the days leading up to the visit than he’d witnessed before. Usually, Mary Ann was extremely calm and self-assured...but when it came to interacting with her two children, all bets were off. Tim had first witnessed this in Ohio, when Molly and Amy took Mary Ann to their rooms to show her their school projects. Mary Ann had had no clue what to say. And when the girls asked what Mary Ann had been doing for the last two years, all she could come up with was just cop stuff. This was understandable, considering that their mother had been in deep cover with a psychotic killer, but Tim figured that Mary Ann could have made up a decent cover story. That was perhaps a big difference between Tim and Mary Ann. Tim was an extremely good liar because he’d been trained to be and made it an almost daily habit. Mary Ann only lied when she had to and wasn’t actually all that good at it.

I think picking up Molly and Amy will give you a great opportunity to get to know them, Mary Ann said, probably thinking that Tim would ask her again why he was going to be babysitting her kids without her.

I’m fine with it, Mary Ann—just as long as you’re not avoiding something.

And what would I be avoiding? Mary Ann challenged.

Tim let it drop. You should leave soon if you want any chance of making it down to Quantico by 2 p.m., he advised.

It was officially a two-hour drive from the Safe House to the FBI Academy in light traffic, but it could take much longer if one did not take the toll or Lexus Lanes (which could cost an additional $20) from the Capital Beltway to I-95 South to Quantico.

Not a problem, today. I got a ride from Leesburg.

The FBI had a number of helicopters stationed around the DMV, as the area was now referred to, and one location happened to be the Leesburg Airport. Mary Ann could often use her charm to get a ride down to the Academy, which turned the two-hour drive into a 25-minute flight.

I don’t know how you get away with that. Doesn’t anyone ever say anything to you? Tim wondered.

Well, the helos have to fly every day, and the Academy is certainly a place to fly to, Mary said with a laugh. Anyways, no one down there would have the balls to say anything to me.

The fact that Special Agent Mary Ann Wilson had bounced back so quickly from her last assignment had impressed even the most cynical of FBI agents, and the word was out not to fuck with her. However, Tim knew from his experience at the CIA that one’s reputation did have a shelf life. This simply meant that, at some point, someone would ask, What have you done for us lately?

But you’re right that I should be leaving, Mary Ann said as she gave Tim a kiss.

I’ll walk you out, Tim agreed as he quickly jumped out of bed and pulled on some sweatpants.

It was July 7th, and it was hot. The temp was in the 90s, and it was not even noon yet. Tim and Mary Ann could feel the humidity as they opened the front door.

Good morning, Mr. Hall and Agent Wilson! said a voice from the right side of the house.

The voice belonged to Katie McNamara, the United States Deputy Marshal who was now in charge of Safe House security. Katie was a very tall young woman and a former NCAA basketball player for the University of North Carolina. She had red hair and bore a striking resemblance to the actress Maureen O’Hara, although Katie had no clue who that was.

Are you headed out, Agent Wilson? Katie asked politely.

Yes, Katie, I am. And please call me Mary Ann.

Yes, ma’am, Katie replied without irony.

Mary Ann smiled. You do remember that my daughters are coming for the weekend, so no guests, she added.

Yes, Agent Wilson. I have that in my notes, Katie agreed.

I think it will take some time for Deputy McNamara to call you Mary Ann, Tim joked as he kissed his girlfriend goodbye.

I don’t buy that ‘yes Agent Wilson, no Agent Wilson’ shit for one minute, and you shouldn’t either. She has eyes for you, Mary Ann whispered to Tim as she got into her car. So watch it.

If only, Tim said as he watched Mary Ann descend down the driveway. She had been given a company car, as it was referred to, which was a new Ford Taurus with the red lights in the grill and a little stub of an antenna, used now for digital two-way radio traffic. No more big antennas, Tim thought. Things had really changed.

Mary Ann didn’t actually need an official car, but it was just one of the perks she’d been granted. And she wasn’t above using the flashing red lights to get around traffic if she was late for a doctor’s appointment, for example. She’d even done a traffic stop once while Tim was in the car, which had started their only real fight to date. Some poor construction worker had cut Mary Ann off, and she’d almost had the guy in handcuffs before two Loudoun County Deputies showed up.

Mary Ann, it’s called keeping a low profile, Tim had kept saying.

Her reply was, No one is above the law, which seemed to be something that FBI Agents loved saying, as long as it did not apply to them.

It must be great having your own cop car, Katie said, now standing directly next to Tim.

If you stick with the Marshals long enough, maybe you’ll get one too, Tim replied half-jokingly.

Oh, I don’t know how long I’ll be with the Marshals. I’m still waiting to hear back from the CIA.

Tim knew that Katie had used him as a reference on her application for the CIA, and Tim had written a long, glowing recommendation. Good-looking women who could handle themselves in a variety of situations were hard to come by. Most of them certainly did not apply to be agents with the CIA. The CIA was not a glamorous job, plus you could never tell your friends what you really did for a living. And what was the point of having a cool job if you couldn’t tell anyone about it?

Many are called, but few are chosen, Tim said, referring to a confusing biblical phrase. Actually, becoming a CIA Agent was not that hard. They’d hired Tim because of his background in chemistry and then never used any of it, after all.

Wow, Mr. Hall, that’s so cool, Katie gushed. I just don’t know if I’m smart enough.

Katie, you are more than smart enough, no doubt about it. Now, I will be heading out in about an hour to pick up Molly and Amy. They are 16 and 14 years old, and I was hoping you could help me entertain them until their mother gets home. I hate to ask, but it would be a big favor.

Oh, I would be happy to, Katie exclaimed. But is it okay to tell them what we do here?

You mean that we babysit people in Witness Protection and foreign spies? Sure, but within reason.

Okay, Mr. Hall. I look forward to it.

Tim couldn’t tell if Katie was kissing his ass, but he didn’t really care. He needed her help and figured he could just pass it off as training in case anyone asked why he was using a United States Marshal to babysit. Tim also figured that Mary Ann’s two daughters might have more in common with a 28-year-old woman than a 60-year-old man.

Tim went upstairs to his bedroom to get dressed.

2

Mary Ann’s ex-husband had placed their two daughters on a direct Southwest flight from Cleveland, which was the reason Tim found himself driving to BWI. Although Southwest now operated out of Reagan National, which was closer, there were no direct flights there from Cleveland. Tim would have much preferred for the two girls to fly into Washington-Dulles and had even offered to pay for a more expensive flight on United Airlines, but Mary Ann’s ex would not hear of it. The man had his pride, Tim figured.

Since he’d taken over the Safe House from his late wife, the Agency had made some improvements to the driveway. It was now paved almost down to Lovettsville Road, and a gate had been installed that only opened for certain vehicles.

Tim drove through the gate and down to Lovettsville Road, turning onto US Route 15 and then going left to the Point of Rocks Bridge.

Tim seldom crossed the Point of Rocks Bridge these days. As he passed the scene of Pam’s so-called accident, he could see no indication that anything had ever happened at that particular spot—no blood stains or skid marks. The Agency really did do an excellent job of cleaning things up.

Tim had essentially inherited the management of the Safe House from his late wife, the woman who was about ten seconds away from shooting him in the head before she was struck and killed by a pick-up truck. It was Tim’s understanding that the driver of the truck was extremely upset that his inattention had killed two people and perhaps still wondered why he was only charged with Failure to Pay Full-Time Attention instead of Vehicular Manslaughter. The driver was fined $250 and would never be told that his inattention had saved Tim’s and Mary Ann’s lives.

As the Agency required someone with the rank of a Case Officer to manage the Safe House, it had offered the position to Tim after his debriefing. Since Tim was not retiring from the Agency, he made an excellent candidate.

Since the Cold War had ended, there were no longer very many spies from other countries seeking asylum. Because of this, the CIA had signed an agreement with the United States Marshals Service to share the house. For the most part, this entailed entertaining suspects who were willing to testify in exchange for Witness Protection, which meant getting new names and new identities—and Tim’s Safe House was usually the first stop on that road. The house was officially known as Defensive Safe House #22, Lovettsville, and it was considered one of the better safe houses due to the location.

Usually, Tim and Mary Ann had little to do with the guests at the house, as they were collectively known. If there was any contact, Tim tried to be nice to them while Mary Ann did not. The United States Marshals had constructed a separate four-bedroom home for the guests plus accommodations for the Marshals running security. Tim’s biggest job in the whole matter was to maintain a budget between the CIA and the Marshals, which was not as easy as it sounded. It involved record keeping and time sheets and then even more record keeping. On top of that, Tim was now responsible for anywhere between 5 to 20 employees who would be working at the Safe House at any given time. Most of these employees were security staff who were either contractors from the Agency or Deputy Marshals.

As a matter of fact, Tim was also now a Special Deputy United States Marshal in addition to a CIA Case Officer. Tim had never really wanted to be a cop, but that was basically part of his job now.

There were meetings at the beginning of each week to discuss Safe House issues, which covered everything from what food to serve to maintaining the swimming pool. Tim was the manager and the boss, but he left just about all of the day-to-day operations to Katie McNamara. Tim found that Katie was at his beck and call for just about everything, although he made an effort not to take advantage of this. Requesting her help taking care of Mary Ann’s girls was just something he had to do. To Tim, minding two teenagers was scarier than keeping watch over a convicted murderer.

Now that Tim had passed the bridge of sorrow, as he and Mary Ann sometimes referred to the Point of Rocks Bridge over the Potomac, he guided the Mercedes S560 east toward Frederick, Maryland and the junction of Interstate 70. Tim figured that he would get on the Baltimore Beltway over to the BW Parkway down to BWI. There may have been a quicker way to make the trip, but Tim was in no hurry. He had time to kill.

It had been a year now since Tim had been pulled back in, as he liked to think of it. The President, known to many as the most hated man in America, was still the Commander in Chief, and no one had been able to prove that he was in any collusion with the Russians. In other words, the most famous woman in the world other than Oprah Winfrey had still lost an election that should have been a sure thing to a guy who starred in a reality show. Embarrassing, yes, but still not impossible. What really surprised Tim, however, was how quickly his friends and work colleagues were to take sides. If you didn’t agree with them, they considered you part of the problem. Tim had witnessed this firsthand when he was debriefed after the attempt on the President’s life. Some of the Agency people who’d questioned Tim had almost appeared disappointed that the plot had failed. Tim was no fan of the current President, but he was much less a fan of anyone telling him how to think.

Since Tim was now running his own operation, however, he no longer needed to play office politics. And on the few occasions he needed to go to Langley for a meeting, he just kept his mouth closed about everything except baseball.

Tim was now on Interstate 695, better known as the Baltimore Beltway. He was almost sure that he was going the right way. Tim’s pride made him refuse to use the S560’s GPS system. He had once found his way out of a Nicaraguan jungle using just a compass, so he could certainly figure out the interstate highways of metropolitan Baltimore—or so he thought, until he saw a sign that he was heading toward the Delaware Memorial Bridge.

Shit. I do that every time, Tim cursed to himself as he looked for an exit to turn around. Not seeing one anywhere, he decided to do the unthinkable. He pulled into the far left lane and looked for a crossover. After finding one, Tim slowed and made the left turn on the median strip. He carefully looked at the oncoming traffic, picked a spot, and made the left turn heading in the opposite direction. The S560 went from 0 to 60 in 6.5 seconds, as advertised.

Thirty seconds after that, Tim saw the unmarked Dodge Charger with the red and blue lights in the grill. Figures, he said as he reached into the glove box to retrieve his registration and driver’s license. He also decided to do something he had never tried before. He would show the cop his US Marshal ID.  

Tim glanced in his side mirror to see the unmistakable straw campaign hat worn by the Maryland State Police. The trooper was a young, thin man who had the same look of every state cop Tim had ever seen. They all looked dead serious.

May I see your license and registration, please? the trooper asked.

Tim handed over his badge, license, and registration. The trooper looked at the Marshall Badge and ID, then switched his gaze to Tim. Are you on the job, Deputy Hall?

Tim could have lied, but he decided not to. Nope. Just picking up my girlfriend’s kids at BWI, and I’m running late.

Perhaps that was not the best explanation Tim could offer, but he was interested to see what would happen next. The trooper returned to his vehicle, which was usually not a good sign. It typically meant the cop was writing a summons. Tim next saw an additional state police car, this one marked, pull in behind the unmarked one. An older trooper got out and met the younger trooper. They spoke for a minute, then walked back to Tim.

The older trooper was neither friendly nor unfriendly, but he was direct. Mr. Hall, Deputy Hall, whoever you are—please do not come over to the State of Maryland and flagrantly break our traffic laws. Have a nice day.

With that, the cop handed Tim back his IDs, turned, and returned to his car. Both state troopers then drove away, leaving Tim and his Mercedes S560 alone.

The best that Tim could figure was that the young trooper had called his supervisor for advice, and it was possible that the older trooper remembered the incident at the Point of Rocks Bridge, since the Maryland State Police had originally investigated the accident. Maybe...but maybe it was just a case of one cop dealing with another cop. In any event, Tim was now officially running late.

He began his drive to BWI once again and arrived with about ten minutes to spare. He parked in the most expensive lot at the airport just to save time and found himself running into the main terminal, looking for the Southwest gates. They were not hard to find. Tim thought for a second that maybe he could use his Marshal badge to get past the TSA, but his most recent experience with the Maryland State Police convinced him against trying that.

Tim approached the large yellow Southwest arrivals/departures board, only to see that flight 1548 from Cleveland had landed twenty minutes ago, which meant that Mary Ann’s kids were off the plane and wandering around the airport.

Nice work, Tim, he could hear Mary Ann admonishing him now. For the first time in a long while, he almost panicked...until suddenly there they were, Molly and Amy, waiting in the corner.

Molly was scanning the crowd looking for Tim. Amy still had her earbuds in and was playing some kind of game on her iPhone.

Molly, Amy, it’s me, Tim! Over here! Tim yelled.

Molly elbowed her younger sister, who picked up her backpack and followed her over without looking up from her phone.

Where’s our mother? was the first question out of Molly’s mouth.

She had to teach a class this afternoon, so—

So you got stuck picking us up at the airport. Typical Mom, Molly responded, weariness in her voice. Apparently, this was not the first time Mary Ann hadn’t showed up at the