by Sonja Stone
Nadia took the card from Dean Shepard’s outstretched hand. The picture on the front featured an illustrated map of the Hawaiian Islands. Scribbled on the back, across from her name and the address of Desert Mountain Academy, was a single word: Aloha. She checked the postmark: Honolulu, Hawaii, five days ago.
“It’s a little on the nose,” Shepard said. “But a lovely gesture.”
“You read my mail?” Nadia joked.
“I couldn’t help myself. I am a spy.”
Twelve hours before his ex-classmates were scheduled to return to Phoenix for their second semester, Damon Moore stood motionless on a squalid street corner in Las Vegas, Nevada. A cold rain drizzled onto his shaved head. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, keeping his eyes trained on the third story window of the apartment building across the street, where a yellow light seeped around the makeshift curtain and out into the night. Occasionally, the occupant’s shadow darkened the fabric.
At 0212, the window blackened. Damon double-checked the security cameras pointing toward the parking lot, kept his head low, and adjusted his gait as he crossed the courtyard. The lock on the front door of the dingy building was already broken. After a quick look up the deserted street, he stepped over the puke on the front steps and went inside.
The lobby smelled like mildew and cat piss. He took the scuffed stairs two at a time, up eight flights to apartment 843. Silence behind the paper-thin walls indicated his victim wasn’t walking around. Damon picked the lock and went inside. He heard the shower running, the spray of the water as it hit the plastic curtain. In the dim light of the living room he eased himself between the single reclining chair and the upturned plastic crate that served as the TV stand.
Damon pulled on his leather gloves and crossed into the kitchen. He checked the drawers, grabbed the only chef’s knife, and stuck it in the freezer. Inside the fridge he found a block of cheese, a loaf of bread, a container of leftover chicken wings, and the remainder of a six-pack of generic cola. He grabbed two cans, opened one, pushed a dirty plate across the shabby kitchen table and sat down, his back to the wall. The joints of the cheap wooden chair creaked under his muscular frame.
He didn’t like the taste of the off-brand cola, but he was thirsty. Probably nervous about the upcoming conversation, what he might find out. And he wasn’t about to risk catching a staph infection by drinking tap water out of one of the filthy glasses littering the counter. He silently drummed his fingers across his thigh and waited.
A few minutes later his ex-handler—and former professor of political science at Desert Mountain Academy—emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hayden was halfway across the tiny kitchen before he noticed Damon. His body tensed.
“What’s up, professor?” Damon extended the second can. “Have a drink with me.”
Hayden didn’t move.
Damon set the can on the table. “Come on. Sit down.”
“Look, I—I was ordered to kill you. It was you or me.” He moved toward the drawer where Damon had found the knife.
“Yeah, I get that. It’s not personal.”
Hayden opened the drawer.
“Really?” asked Damon. “You think I’m that careless? Seriously, sit down.”
Hayden sat. His hand visibly shook as he fumbled to open his drink. “I didn’t want to eliminate you. I always liked you. I think you know that.”
Yeah, right. “Absolutely.” Damon popped the top of Hayden’s cola and passed it back to him. “We had a definite rapport. In any case: you shot at me, you missed. No harm done, right?” Damon smiled. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you wearing gloves?”
“It’s cold out. I’ll take them off if it makes you feel better.” Damon removed his gloves and folded his hands in his lap. Guess I’m done with my drink.
Hayden’s face registered relief. “Then why are you here?”
“Roberts has something that belongs to me. I’m trying to get it back.” Agent Roberts, the head of the rogue organization known as the Nighthawks—and the man who ruined Damon’s life—had gone into hiding. It was time to flush him out. “I need the locations of his safe houses.”
“I don’t know where Roberts is. And I hope to God he doesn’t know where I am.” Hayden took a long drink.
“That’s not what I asked you,” Damon said.
Hayden shook his head. “I have a handful of addresses, same as you. I don’t have any information you don’t already know.”
Damon sighed and looked down. He felt the anger building in his chest, elevating his body temperature and blood pressure. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. After a second, he locked eyes with Hayden. “Where is my mother?”
“What are you talking about?”
“After your botched assassination attempt, I thought it prudent to get the hell out of town. By the time I got back to Baltimore, Roberts had taken my mother. Burned down her house. He said we could make a trade, me for her, but I haven’t heard from him. It’s been weeks. Think very carefully: where would he take her?”
Hayden shrugged. “He has a storage unit outside of Phoenix….”
Damon had found the storage unit over a week ago. It’d already been cleared out. Completely empty, except for a single thumb drive, hidden in the glass globe of the light fixture. Roberts’ guys must’ve missed it.
The drive contained two folders. The first, which he’d easily cracked open, held a handful of old, mostly redacted case files, both the Nighthawks’ and the CIA’s. As fascinating as the intel had been, nothing indicated where he might find his mother. He hadn’t yet accessed the second folder, heavily encrypted and labeled EYES ONLY, which probably contained classified CIA files that Roberts had stolen when he quit the Agency.
Damon shook his head. “It was empty.”
“Have you tried tracking down his old associates?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” Damon asked.
“How’d you find me, anyway?”
Damon ignored the question. Hayden was careless. He knew enough to put on light disguise before he left the apartment, but he never changed his gait. The way a person walked was as unique as a fingerprint, and Damon had easily located him after hacking into the national CCTV surveillance system database. Every traffic light with a camera, every convenience store with digital security…they all fed into one place. Big Brother was always watching. You just had to know where to look. “Why haven’t I heard from him?”
“I couldn’t say. The only thing I know for sure about Agent Roberts is this: he wants Project Genesis. That’s his endgame.”
Project Genesis. The reason the Nighthawks recruited Damon in the first place.
Roberts had explained Project Genesis to Damon, probably about two years ago. Genesis was a covert operation, an advanced weapons system currently in development at the CIA, which had been in the making for over two decades. Once completed, it would forever change the arena of war. Basically it served as a GPS for DNA, capable of locating anyone on the planet—provided the Genesis user had a speck of the target’s genetic material and access to the millions of sensors being deployed and systemized worldwide. The DNA—a flake of skin, a tiny hair—was entered into the system, analyzed, and the genetic code uploaded to a satellite. The satellite then communicated with the sensors to track the host within a half-mile radius. From that point, a deployed missile would eliminate the target.
If Roberts got his hands on Project Genesis, he’d become the world’s deadliest assassin. He’d be able to handpick his enemies and eliminate them one by one, from thousands of miles away.
Damon shook his head. “What does any of that have to do with me? Why would he be holding my mom?”
“Again, I couldn’t say.”
Anger flashed back through Damon’s chest.
Hayden must’ve seen it on his face, because he held up his hands and said, “Wait a second—just calm down. I might have a lead.”
“Talk fast,” Damon said.
“You know the bombing last month at that research lab in Northern Virginia?” He paused and Damon nodded. “That’s where Genesis is being developed. I’ll bet Roberts was behind it.”
“Behind the bombing? If he wants the technology so badly, why would he destroy it by blowing up the lab?”
“Not destroy it, steal it. I think it was a break-in.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It happened late at night, minimal loss of life, minimal property damage. If he’d wanted to blow up the entire lab, he could’ve. And if it had been terrorism, it would’ve happened in the middle of the day at a heavily staffed building, not at a sparsely populated research lab. Project Genesis is well guarded. Even on a fully staffed day, I bet not more than ten people are allowed access to that room.”
“Did he succeed? Does Roberts have Genesis?” Damon asked.
“How would I know? As you can see,” Hayden gestured around the worn kitchen, “I’m out of the loop. But I’m guessing not, or one of us would already be dead.”
That’s a good point. Damon rubbed his forehead. “How does this information help me?”
Hayden shrugged. “Maybe you look into Project Genesis?”
“What for?”
“Bargaining chip?”
“Are you proposing that I steal Genesis from a heavily guarded lab that the entire Nighthawks organization, with their unlimited funds and myriad resources, may or may not have found impenetrable? That’s your suggestion?” Damon shook his head in frustration. How was this idiot still alive? “You know what, I don’t care about Genesis. I don’t care about Roberts, or you, or the Nighthawks or the CIA—I just want to find my mom.”
“I don’t know anything about your mother.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Roberts doesn’t confide in anyone.” Hayden finished his drink and crushed the can, throwing it in the general direction of the sink.
“That’s too bad.” Damon sighed and put on his gloves. He pulled the 9mm from under his jacket and pointed it across the table. “Because that makes you useless to me.”
Nadia shoved the postcard in her bag as she closed Dean Shepard’s door. She heard the whistling before she located its source: a boy her age, standing on a low stack of books with both hands pressed against the wall of windows. He stopped midtune as he noticed her. His sapphire eyes locked onto hers, and he broke into a wide smile, revealing a dimple. Medium height, blond styled hair, broad shoulders with a slim, muscular build. He wore a light-blue fitted tee, a pair of dark jeans, and cowboy boots.
“Hello, love,” he said with a crisp British accent.
She returned his smile. “How’s it going?”
“Absolutely fantastic. Except I’ve been summoned to the headmaster’s.” His voice dropped as he spoke from the side of his mouth. “That never ends well, am I right?” He hopped off the books and gestured toward the window. “You’re probably wondering what I’m up to. Curiosity, mostly. Doesn’t open, in case you’re interested.”
Nadia liked him immediately. “Your accent is perfect. Do you do any others?”
“I’m afraid it’s the real deal. I’m called Simon.” He extended his hand as he walked toward her. “I’m new here. Sort of on exchange from MI-6’s training program.”
“Nadia.” She shook his hand. “Welcome to the Academy.”
“Thanks. I actually arrived last week. I came a bit early as it was a particularly good time for me to leave London, if you know what I mean.” Simon winked.
Nadia couldn’t imagine what that meant. “Sure,” she said, nodding along.
“Apparently, I’m replacing some bloke called Damon. I saw his picture.” Simon whistled. “The fit ones are always a bit dodgy, am I right?”
She laughed. “I never really thought about it, but I guess so. You’re on Jack Felkin’s team?”
“That’s right.”
“That makes us teammates.”
“Well that’s brilliant. What good luck running into you. I’ve already met your roommate, the lovely Libby. I think you’ll both find I’m quite handy.”
“I suspect that’s true,” Nadia said, glancing toward the window.
Simon followed her gaze and smiled.
She gestured to the hallway. “I’m on my way to Dr. Cameron’s, so I’ve got to run, but it was really nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said. “By the by, we’re meeting in the student lounge a bit later for takeaway. You’ll be there, right?”
“Takeaway?”
“Pizza,” Simon said.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you there.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Down the hall, Nadia pushed through the door of the administration building into the warm sun. In front of the lemon trees lining the wall, a small fleet of black Avalons waited in the parking lot. Though recruits weren’t allowed their own cars on campus, the school-owned vehicles were available for occasional student use.
At the bottom of the steps she turned right, away from the massive iron gates leading off campus, and followed the sidewalk up the hill. She passed the junior and senior classrooms before reaching the library, a modern glass-and-steel structure near the top of the hill. Beyond that, at the crest, loomed the Navajo Building, a stone fortress that held the student lounge on the first floor, and the dining hall and outdoor patio on the second.
Across the lawn on the far side of the campus, a flurry of students moved in and out of the dormitories. The girls’ dorm, directly across from the library, was closest to the dining hall, followed by the Japanese-style dojo, and at the bottom of the hill, the boys’ dorm.
Nadia turned toward the library. A walkway lined with olive trees meandered along the right side of the building. She stepped onto the narrow path and walked under the canopy of gnarled branches and silvery leaves toward the psychiatrist’s office.
Inside, Nadia crossed the narrow waiting room and knocked on Dr. Cameron’s open door. “Am I interrupting?”
“Nadia, welcome back. Not at all. I’ve been expecting you. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the single, cushioned folding chair at the center of the barren room, then grabbed a yellow legal pad and pushed his office door closed. He rolled his leather chair to her side of the desk. Their knees were three feet apart. Nothing between them.
She’d never really noticed that the office door was the only exit in the small room. Nadia glanced at the air vent directly over her head. She could easily fit through, but she’d done a little research over break and discovered that crawling through air ducts wasn’t actually a viable plan, despite what she’d been led to believe in movies. The thin layer of drywall under the aluminum vent would never hold her weight.
“You seem distracted. Is everything all right?” Dr. Cameron asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Nadia tried to measure the paces between her chair and the door.
“Nadia.” Dr. Cameron leaned forward. “What’s going on?”
“Do you want to know something interesting?”
“Certainly.”
Nadia pointed to the floor space between them. “This never used to bother me. You know, the empty space between people.”
“And now?”
“I find I’m much more comfortable with a good, solid piece of furniture between me and whoever I’m speaking to.”
Dr. Cameron didn’t offer to move.
“I guess because of what happened with Dean Wolfe,” she said.
“Why don’t you tell me about that?” He settled back into his seat.
“We’ve been over it. Is it necessary to reevaluate the entire event?”
“I’d like to hear your thoughts now that you’ve had some time to process; some distance from the trauma.”
Nadia leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs. “The whole thing seems surreal. Like it happened to someone else.” She cleared her throat. “
The memory seems dulled. Not vivid. The only real difference in my life is my attitude—my sense of…not personal space, exactly. But I find myself looking for escape routes, not sitting with my back to the door, stuff like that.”
Dr. Cameron chuckled.
“Is this funny?”
“Not funny, ironic. Dean Wolfe taught you an extremely valuable lesson, one that generally takes years to learn. The things you’ve mentioned, the reactions you’re having, will only serve to make you a better operative. If you continue on to the college-level program—which I strongly urge you to consider—you’ll take several classes solely dedicated to increasing your awareness of the environment. Constant vigilance of your surroundings, beyond knowing the number of exits in a room or how many feet to the nearest door. By the time you leave that program, you’ll know if a physical threat is present simply by the hunch of a person’s shoulders.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So being shot was a gift.”
“Yes, given the circumstances and the outcome, I would say so.”
“Then lucky me.” They sat in silence for a few moments. Nadia studied her fingernails, waiting for the psychiatrist’s next probe.
“Are you concerned about the Nighthawks seeking retribution?” he asked.
Nadia didn’t look up. She wasn’t about to confess that three times during the holiday break she could’ve sworn she’d spotted Damon. Most recently at the Kennedy Center, where she and her parents had attended the ballet. She’d chased his ghost down the stairs, through the lobby, and ended up outside in the courtyard, shivering in her heels and gown, completely alone. She’d been seeing things.
She shook her head. “I’m of no use to them anymore. The only reason I was targeted was because they were trying to frame me as the traitor. Everyone knows it was Damon, so…no, I’m not.” After a beat she asked, “Any word on Hayden or Wolfe?”
“Wolfe is still in a coma. He’s at a long-term care facility in Tucson. Hayden’s whereabouts are unknown.”
Nadia hesitated. “And Damon?”
