Smoked

by Slade, Heather

  “Tell me how you are, Siobhan.”

  “The mobility in my left arm is ninety-five percent.”

  “And your memory?”

  That was harder to answer, given on the flight from DC to Dublin, I’d read every word in Mansfield’s file. While I’d been furious he hadn’t shared my own life with me, now I understood why. I couldn’t differentiate between what I actually remembered and the images I conjured based on what I’d read.

  I couldn’t remember anything about my relationship with Smoke other than what I’d dreamed and then overheard him tell Decker. When I tried to recall anything about him outside of my dreams, it was a blank screen.

  “I don’t know how to quantify my amnesia.”

  Rory nodded. “Best to have you thoroughly checked out here in Dublin.”

  I groaned. That meant more fecking scans to sit through.

  “Until you’re cleared medically, you’re on paid administrative leave.” He folded his hands on the desk, signaling our conversation was at an end. “Go home and get some rest, Siren.”

  No one knew it, save Hughes and me, but he was the one who’d given me my code name. It was after he and I’d spent the day out on the water. We were headed back in, and he ran aground on a shallow reef at the same time I happened to be humming.

  “You’ll lead a sailor to his death, sweet Siren,” he’d said that day.

  I looked up at him with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “A memory.”

  “Of?”

  “That day in Waterford.”

  “I see,” he said, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Do you also remember we weren’t together much longer than that?”

  “Don’t be a feckin’ eejit,” I muttered. “Of course I do. It’s just that I remembered how I came to be called Siren.”

  “A story best kept—”

  “You don’t need to tell me,” I snapped, walking over to his office door.

  “I’ll expect regular reports.”

  “When will I be able to return to duty?”

  “There is much it will depend upon.”

  “Understood.”

  * * *

  I’d come straight to McKee Barracks from the airport and was anxious to get home, shower, and sleep.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Smoke had yet seen the footage of me arriving at IMI headquarters. While the location was secret to most of the world, Smoke had been there, as had Rile. It wouldn’t take someone like Decker Ashford long to hack into our security feeds.

  That in itself was another memory—or two. I could remember both things in detail. Smoke being in a meeting at the barracks, as well as what I’d read in the dossier on Deck.

  * * *

  My house was a fifteen-minute drive from the office, located in the village of Drumcondra. It was rather big for just one person, with three bedrooms and two baths, but I liked having the extra space. I used one of the bedrooms as a workout room and the other a guest room, even though I almost never had guests.

  It also had a converted attic space the agent had suggested I could one day use as a fourth bedroom. Fat chance of me ever needing that. Although it did add to the overall value of the place. The housing estate it was in was very modern looking and quite new, having only been built five years prior.

  While it was convenient to public transportation, it would’ve taken me almost an hour of travel time, so I’d opted for a car service.

  When the driver pulled up in front, it occurred to me that I’d also just remembered everything about my house. I shook my head as I unlocked the front door and went inside. I had no idea how long it had been since I was last here, and that had nothing to do with my amnesia. It felt as though it had been months, and it very likely could’ve been.

  I flopped down on the oversized sofa that took up half the living room, too tired to make the trek to my bedroom on the second level.

  I closed my eyes and thought about how much warmer than mine Smoke’s house had felt the first time I walked inside. It wasn’t about temperature. It just felt more like a home. That, of course, reminded me of Ms. Wynona saying he loved the ranch with all his heart, yet when he was there, it didn’t feel like home to him.

  I couldn’t deny my sadness when a tear leaked from my eye and ran down my cheek. I missed Smoke. I hated that I missed him, but I did. But did I miss the real Smoke? No. The conversation I’d overheard between Decker and him proved the man who had cared for me, made love to me, was a lie. He was pretending to be someone he wasn’t just to…what? Why had he sneaked me away from the hospital in the middle of the night, flown me to the States, and sat with me at the hospital? Was it out of some sort of misplaced sense of responsibility for me?

  Or was it that when I woke, I begged him to hold me? I thought about the chaste kiss he gave me when he left that first night. Why hadn’t he said something then?

  Jaysus! I’d made such a fool of myself. Even all alone, I could hardly stand the shame and embarrassment of it.

  19

  Smoke

  “I’ve been anticipating hearing from you,” said Hughes when I called the next morning. “Either you or Rile.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “So much for pleasantries, then. Yes, Smoke, I have seen her.”

  “How is she?”

  “I could give you the same perfunctory response Siren gave me. Her left arm has ninety-five percent mobility, and she has no idea how to quantify her amnesia. Or did she say memory? Either way.”

  It was a struggle not to ask what that meant. Her memory—at least of me—had to have returned, or she wouldn’t have staged her dramatic departure.

  “Is she…” I couldn’t finish. “Thanks, Hughes.” I hung up before he could say another word. The man was Siren’s boss. Sure, I knew he’d fucked her, but that had been over for years.

  When I walked inside the house, Ms. Wynona was waiting for me, wringing a handkerchief.

  “Siren is back in Ireland,” I told her. I walked down the hallway, went into my bedroom, and closed the door. I knew right away I couldn’t stay here. I grabbed a bag, threw some clothes in it, and stalked back to the kitchen.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “I hope you’re going to get her,” I heard Ms. Wynona say before I slammed the front door behind me.

  “Hey, Decker,” I said, walking into the barn, where he was messing with something on his computer. “I hate to do this, but—”

  “Go do what you gotta do. Zeke, the boys, and I will finish things up here.”

  “I know you’ve got to get back to Texas.”

  “I should be finished tomorrow.”

  I reached out to shake his hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary, but you’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, Smoke.”

  * * *

  Since part of Siren’s phone had been tracked to Mansfield’s office, that’s the first place I went when I got to Asheville. When I walked in, it appeared he’d been expecting me.

  “When did her memory come back?”

  “I can’t answer any of your questions regarding Miss Gallagher.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You no longer have her medical power of attorney, nor are you listed as someone with whom her medical information may be shared.”

  Something was way off here. “What’s with the sudden formality, Doc?”

  “I was able to talk freely with you before because Siobhan permitted it. I can no longer do that.”

  “She’s back in Ireland. The director of Irish Military Intelligence confirmed it.”

  The man nodded.

  “If there’s anything you can tell me about her state of mind when you last saw her, I’d appreciate it.”

  “There’s nothing.”

  I stalked out of his office and slammed the door behind me, just like I had at my own house. The fact that his had some kind of mechanism that kept it f
rom slamming, pissed me off even more. “Goddamn son-of-a-bitch,” I swore under my breath.

  Assuming the stroke doctor couldn’t tell me any more than Mansfield had, the next place I went was the house I’d rented.

  It was a long shot, but maybe Siren had left something behind, knowing I’d go there.

  * * *

  I tore through the house but didn’t find anything other than a suitcase full of the clothes I’d bought her.

  What had I expected? That she’d leave a note? “Sorry, Smoke, but I remembered I hate you. Have a fucked life.”

  I called the nurse placement agency, but they hadn’t heard from Maureen. Given I’d paid the nurse directly rather than through them, they couldn’t say when they might hear from her again. “She may or may not list with us again,” the woman explained.

  “If she does, would you please let her know that Broderick Torcher is trying to reach her?”

  “Of course.”

  After that call ended, I rang Decker.

  “What can I do for ya, Smoke?”

  “Can you continue searching for the nurse? Maureen O’Sullivan.”

  “You got it.”

  I walked throughout the house without having any idea what I was looking for, just knowing there had to be something. After an hour, I gave up. Either there wasn’t anything, or I couldn’t find it.

  * * *

  I drove to the Charlotte airport rather than trying to catch a flight out of Asheville. From there, I flew to Dulles and bought a ticket to Dublin.

  I listened as they announced the final boarding call for my flight and then as they announced my name specifically, asking passenger Broderick Torcher to report to the gate for departure.

  What the fuck was I doing? Was I really going to follow Siren to Ireland? And then what?

  There was a litany of truths I knew. First, Siren and I had hated each other from the moment we first met. Second, it didn’t matter that my feelings had changed; hers hadn’t. Third, even if, by some miracle, hers had too, the bottom line was, I was thirteen years older than Siren. To her, I was an old man. What kind of life could I offer her? One where the two of us would continue following our jobs around the world, each of us in harm’s way day in, day out?

  The only other option was both of us retiring. I laughed out loud at that idea. No way in hell would Siren give up her job. She was one of the best agents in the business—even at her age—and she had years and years of work ahead of her.

  My days were numbered, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. I kept my body strong, my mind alert, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from aging. Getting older was as certain as death.

  I tossed the cup of coffee I’d been drinking into the trash and walked out of the airport. I had no idea where I was going, but it sure as hell wasn’t to Ireland.

  * * *

  I’d spent two days drunk off my ass, holed up in one of the hotels near the airport. When I woke up the third day, I placed a couple of calls.

  By the end of the second one, I was headed out, bag in hand, back to the airport and on my way to California. It had been a long time since I’d worked with Kade “Doc” Butler and his crew.

  I needed a break from the Invincibles, mainly because any job I took on for them would be a reminder of Siren and our last mission. As far as I knew, she’d never worked with or for K19 Security Solutions, and I wasn’t about to confirm it one way or another.

  * * *

  After flying into the Santa Barbara airport, I met Doc and his wife, Merrigan, at their place in Montecito. As much as I loved my house in the Smokies, I liked Doc’s better.

  The exterior of the Spanish Colonial Revival house was white stucco with dark brown shutters and a red tile roof, and balconies with wrought-iron railings extended from every upstairs room. Massive palm trees, which looked old enough to have been planted before the house was built, stretched high above the roofline, and bright pink bougainvillea grew up the sidewalls of the five-car garage. The circular driveway was made of Mexican pavers, and large pots full of trailing flowers and vines sat on the edge of the drive and along the walkway.

  “Smoke,” said Doc, greeting me at the front door. “Welcome. Merrigan will be down shortly.”

  The inside of Doc’s house was no less spectacular than the outside. The main room, just off the foyer, had massive dark wood beams on the ceiling and a fireplace matching the color of the home’s exterior at the opposite end of the room.

  Dark leather chairs and sofas sat on the tile floors and Mexican rugs. Doc led me into the kitchen, through an informal dining area, and out to an outdoor patio bigger than the first floor of the house itself.

  Even though it was overcast, I could see the spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean.

  “There she is,” murmured Doc when Merrigan came outside with two small children. “This is Laird,” he said, pointing to a little boy. “And that is Rielle, who is about to turn two.”

  The little girl looked so much like Siren that it took my breath away. She had dark black hair and pale blue eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if Siren and I were together, if our child would look like Doc and Merrigan’s daughter.

  Doc’s wife and I cheek kissed, and then she and their children left us alone to talk.

  “What have you got for me?” I asked.

  “You know Sumner Copeland, right?”

  “Very well.” Cope, as he was known, was a handler for the CIA. One of the best in our business. It wasn’t long before I left the agency that he’d brought down the then director, a man considered to be the most corrupt in Washington, and who many held personally responsible for the deaths of some of the finest, most professional agents I’d ever worked with.

  “He’s convinced there were others working with Fisk, bigger fish.”

  “There isn’t anyone who can get him to talk?”

  “According to Cope, his fear of whomever the mystery accomplices are, is greater than a prison sentence.” Doc leaned forward. “There’s another reason I’m asking you to take this on.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I’m pushing hard for Cope as well as his wife, Ali, who you probably know is a former investigator for the CIA internal affairs, to come on board with K19.”

  I laughed. “Rile isn’t going to like that.”

  “It’s more Decker Ashford I’m worried about.”

  “Are you aware he just finished installing a security system at my ranch?”

  Doc laughed like I had. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if K19 and the Invincibles just joined forces.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t be serious. You know Rile would never let go of that ridiculous name.”

  “No, you’re right. Too many generals, not enough soldiers. What about you, Smoke? Are you still independent?”

  “Sure am, and I plan to stay that way.”

  “Tell me about Siren.”

  I took a deep breath and looked into Doc’s eyes. “Not a subject for discussion.”

  “Fair enough.” Doc told me he’d be right back and went inside. When he came back out, he handed me a folder. “I received this brief from Cope. If you’re willing to take this on, I’ll put you in direct contact with him, on behalf of K19, of course.”

  “Copy that,” I mumbled. Opening the file, I skimmed the first page. “Fuck,” I moaned. “Seriously?”

  “You can still decline.”

  That’s exactly what I should do. I should leave the folder on the table and walk out, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wasn’t in the habit of turning down missions, especially ones that involved the murder of several of my fellow agents.

  I took a second look at the three men Cope had named as primary suspects, all of whom were top-ranking officials at Interpol—the International Criminal Police Organization—headquartered in Lyon, France.

  The first, Secretary-General Kim Ha-joon, was the former head of South Korea’s National Intelligence Service. Second listed was Boris
Antonov, Interpol’s Vice President, who many believed would eventually be the successor to the current head of United Russia. The last name on the brief was the one that gave me the most pause. Daniel Byrne, the organization’s president, was the head of Irish Military Intelligence—Hughes’ boss and the man who’d originally recruited Siren.

  “Now you understand why I asked about Gallagher.”

  “Tell me there’s nothing in here that suggests she’s involved.”

  “I assure you there isn’t.”

  “Byrne was her mentor.”

  “Not a mentor, just the man who hired her,” said Doc.

  “Do you have intelligence to back that up?”

  Doc nodded.

  “Then, I’m in.”

  The way Interpol worked, the role of any member of the executive committee, including the president, four vice presidents, and eight delegates, were all unpaid. Each office holder retained their full-time post within their national authority.

  Of the three listed in Cope’s brief, only Kim Ha-joon from South Korea held a paid position and worked for Interpol full-time.

  Two on the outside, one on the inside, all three with close ties to every intelligence organization in the world—some closer than others. Antonov would have a better working relationship with China than Kim would, and so on.

  * * *

  The next morning, I boarded a plane that would take me back from where I came. Cope was currently in DC, but we made arrangements to meet at the CIA headquarters.

  “Good to see you, Smoke,” he said when I met him on the fifth floor of the building now named for the forty-first President of the United States, George H.W. Bush.

  “I thought you retired,” I said.

  “Thought you did too.”

  “In the words of that actor in the worst sequel ever made, ‘they keep pulling me back in.’”