Dark Divide

by Sonja Stone

  He sighed. “It’s not you.” After a long pause he said, “I met with the dean on Wednesday.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Did something happen?”

  “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it.” He looked down, then back up. “Dean Shepard has instituted a new policy. She informed me that if we continue dating, I’ll be removed as team leader.”

  Nadia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “We need to break up,” he said.

  “Seriously? Can she do that?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Jack met her eyes. “Obviously, I don’t want to. She gave me an ultimatum. Of course, I wanted to talk to you about it first—”

  “Really?” He was considering her over their team?

  “But she insisted I answer immediately.”

  “Oh.” A few stray hairs from a loose curl blew across her face. She wiped her hand over her forehead. “Would you get to lead another team?”

  Jack’s eyebrows pulled closer together. “She couldn’t guarantee that would happen.”

  Nadia looked away, across the open desert. A cactus wren landed on a saguaro to her right, then tipped his head, inquiring. “You told her we would stop seeing each other.” A tiny part of her wanted him to say, No, I told her I don’t care about the team. You’re the most important thing in my life. But that wasn’t Jack. And one of the things she loved about him was his dedication to the school, to the CIA. If he’d chosen their relationship over his lifelong dream of serving his country—she didn’t want that kind of pressure.

  “It was an impossible decision. I’m crazy about you, but our team is also very important to me. And if I’m not leading any team, I’m sure I won’t be recruited for the undergraduate program at Langley. But I can’t imagine us not being together.”

  Nadia was quiet for a second. So it wasn’t an impossible decision. It was a fairly easy decision.

  The worst part was she couldn’t even be angry with him. She would’ve done the exact same thing. Afraid her voice would reveal her disappointment, she swallowed hard before saying, “No, you definitely made the right choice.”

  “Really?” He took her hands.

  She met his eyes and managed a closed-lipped smile. “Of course. You’re graduating in a few months. We would’ve ended it then, right?” She shrugged and pulled her hands away. “Consider us broken up.” After a moment she asked, “So you’ve known about this for two days?”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you right away.”

  “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  He sighed. “I just—I couldn’t find the words. This isn’t what I wanted.” He glanced around, then moved forward, reaching for her.

  Nadia stepped back as her heart fell. He was already looking over his shoulder. “No need to hug it out.” She smiled to lessen the harshness of her statement. “I’m gonna take off. Thanks for the op-specs.”

  A dusty breeze blew across the desert as she headed back toward the gate.

  As she rounded the corner onto campus, it occurred to her that this was her future, this was life in the CIA. Unanswered questions, half-truths, and a constant shroud of fog and doubt over all her interactions and relationships.

  Maybe that’s why her mock mission involved a faked recruit file about her dad—to start acclimating her.

  To illustrate that nothing was ever as it seemed.

  * * *

  —

  On Saturday morning Nadia woke, buried under her covers, to the sound of Libby tiptoeing around their bedroom. Without moving, she said, “I’m awake.” The metal curtain rings slid across the bar, the window squeaked open, then the scent of fresh air reached her nose. She emerged from her blankets and squinted against the light.

  Libby shot her a sympathetic look. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry I was in such a bad mood yesterday.”

  “No, don’t be.” Libby rushed to Nadia’s bed and sat on the edge. “You had every right. I can’t believe he did that to you.”

  Nadia sighed and looked away. After a few moments she said, “I know he made the right decision. Rationally, I completely agree with him. But I think about us constantly missing our moment and I get bummed. Then I swing right back to the fact that if he had forfeited the team, that would’ve made me really uncomfortable.”

  Libby interrupted. “You know, you are allowed to have mixed feelings about this. You’re allowed to set aside logical, rational thought and just feel bad. And angry. And sad.”

  “That doesn’t seem like the best use of my time,” Nadia said.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a blessing that we’re kept so busy.” Libby moved onto her own pristine bed. After a moment she said, “I gotta be honest, I’m surprised how much I loved my forensics seminar.” Her shoulders slumped forward as her voice took on a wistful note. “I know I’ve only attended one specialization, but I feel like I’ve finally found my niche.”

  Nadia studied her roommate. “Are you okay?”

  Her face brightened. “Of course, why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” Nadia said. “You just looked sad for a second.”

  “Not at all.” Libby popped off her bed. “Get dressed and we’ll go to breakfast. Maybe blueberry pancakes will help us both feel better.”

  Together they headed to the buffet in the dining hall and over to their usual spot, where Alan and Simon were halfway through their meal. Nadia slid her plate across the table.

  “We heard about you and Jack,” Simon said. “I’m sorry, love.”

  “Our timing has never been very good,” she answered, sinking into her chair. Timing. The timing is off. Something deep in her subconscious clawed for her attention, but she couldn’t quite reach it. She sliced into her pancakes.

  Simon continued. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just date on the sly? You know, keep it from Shepard.”

  “Jack doesn’t break rules,” Libby said, spreading her napkin across her lap. “Not ever.”

  Nadia shook her head. “Even if he did, I’m not interested in sneaking around. And honestly, it’s not a big deal. We’d barely gotten back together, and he’s graduating at the end of the semester….” She shrugged and studied her plate.

  “I find your maturity refreshing,” Alan said. “And since you seem comfortable discussing the matter, I am curious to learn if anyone has received their assignment from Jack?”

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to compare notes about our missions,” Libby said.

  “Agreed,” said Simon. “But for the record, no.”

  Nadia took a bite of pancakes in lieu of mentioning that she had, in fact, received hers. She’d immediately studied and memorized the hotel floor plans, as well as her op-specs. Her mission involved planting physical evidence on an enemy agent to suggest that he’d tampered with a digital database.

  “Nor have I,” Alan said. “However, our instructions were to make them a priority.” He turned to Nadia. “As such, I believe the timing of this breakup could not have been better. Your focus can remain solely on schoolwork and this mission, and that is good for us all, as we are occasionally graded as a unit.”

  Nadia shot Alan a look—to which he remained oblivious—as she stuffed another bite into her mouth.

  “Timing is never good for a breakup, you nit,” Simon argued.

  The nagging thought from before began to crystallize. It was the timing. Nadia set down her fork.

  The postcard with the dead drop coordinates had arrived before the semester started, before Jack was assigned a senior project, before any of them knew about the mock missions.

  It couldn’t have been from Jack.

  So who sent the file?

  Another week passed without word of the mock missions, but on the last Monday morning of January, Simon found a note slipped into the pocket of his gi. This thoroughly impressed him, as he’d not noticed anyone brushing against him. He was more impressed still when he realize
d the note was from Jack, whom he hadn’t even seen yet. It contained, Simon assumed, the location of his dead drop: 576.5 KUTSU. He instantly recognized the Dewey decimal classification.

  That’s why, at the conclusion of chemistry class, Simon thrust his backpack into Alan’s arms and announced, “I’m off to the loo. Drop this in computer science for me?” Before his roommate could answer, Simon dashed down the hall.

  He sprinted next door to the library and quickly located the referenced volume: a book entitled Human Genetics: Variations and Anomalies, by E. Kutsunai. Inside the front cover, Simon found a slim envelope. Printed in pencil on the exterior of the envelope were instructions to meet his handler near the front gate on Sunday morning at 1000 hours. Wear a sports coat and tie.

  He shoved the book back on the shelf and tore open the envelope seam. The flimsy square of flash paper inside described an infiltration mission—Simon would get to use his breaking and entering skills. He was much relieved, as these particular skills tended to rust when not properly exercised.

  Just as he finished reviewing the op-specs, Dr. Wilson, the ever-present librarian, came round the corner holding an armload of books. “Simon, why aren’t you in class?”

  Forced to dispose of the evidence, Simon slipped the note into his mouth. The paper dissolved against his tongue as he called, “Just on my way. Lovely to see you.” He darted round her in the narrow aisle.

  * * *

  —

  Late that evening, after a rigorous study session, he offered to escort Libby back to her dorm. Alan had left an hour earlier, and when Nadia disappeared into the language lab, Simon insisted they call it a night. They packed up their bags and headed across campus.

  The lack of progress regarding his familial mission had begun to take its toll, and he’d spent the last few days frustrated and agitated. As Libby prattled on beside him, he realized he’d been so self-involved he hadn’t bothered to ask about her father.

  To remedy his thoughtlessness, Simon interrupted her midsentence. “I’ve been meaning to ask how your dad’s campaign is coming along.”

  Libby shrugged. “I haven’t spoken to him since last week.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you seemed a bit bothered by the whole thing.”

  Libby smiled. “Not at all. I couldn’t be happier for him. Or more proud.”

  Simon nodded. “My mistake. Clearly I misread your signals.” He snuck a glance as Libby frowned. “If you change your mind and want to talk, I’m available.” They reached the girls’ dorm and Simon rushed to open her door.

  “Thanks, but there’s really nothing to talk about. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He continued down the walk, mentally reviewing the plan to ruin his own father’s life. He hadn’t figured out the details, but the highlights included outing his father as a spy, exposing him as a child abandoner, and anything else Simon could think of before the time came.

  As he strolled through the lobby of his dorm it occurred to him all of his teammates had family problems. Well, except Nadia.

  Down the hall, Simon unlocked his bedroom door. Alan sat unmoving at the edge of his bed, scowling at the tiled floor. “Oi, what’s wrong?” Simon slammed the door. “You look like you swallowed a pickle.”

  Alan shook his head. “I did not have a pickle. I am confused about a conversation I had with a girl.”

  “I can sort that for you.” Simon sat cross-legged on his bed and opened his laptop. “Give me the details.”

  Alan sighed. “Her name is Penelope, and we are lab partners in our language and translation specialization unit. We were in the middle—”

  “Is she cute?”

  “What?”

  Simon enunciated. “Is she attractive?”

  “I suppose her features are pleasant enough. But her appearance is irrelevant. As I was saying, we were engaged in a reasonable discussion about the history of bioweapons in the Middle East—”

  “What do bioweapons have to do with language and translation?”

  “Nothing. This was a post-class discussion. If I may continue.” He paused to glare at Simon.

  “A thousand apologies. Please, go on.”

  “As I was saying, Penelope misspoke, I corrected her, and she seemed to get very agitated. I asked what was wrong, and she said, ‘I just think it’s interesting that—’ ”

  “Hold on a second. Did she literally say, ‘I just think it’s interesting,’ or are you paraphrasing?”

  “That is literally what she said,” Alan said. “Why? Does that mean something?”

  “Okay, well that was not actually your first mistake, as the conversation had already taken an unfortunate turn, but for the record, when a girl says, ‘I just think it’s interesting,’ it’s time to abort the conversation immediately.” He snapped closed his laptop. “It’s a trap.”

  “I do not understand,” Alan said.

  “I just think it’s interesting that you said you didn’t care for Trisha, and now I see you staring at her all the time. I just think it’s interesting that you said you didn’t feel like going out tonight, but when your mates call, you’re out the door. I just think it’s interesting that you claim to not be much of a pisser, and yet here you are puking up vodka on my Manolo Blahniks.”

  “I did not understand what many of those words meant,” Alan said.

  “ ‘I just think it’s interesting’ is girl code for ‘I’m about to tear you a new one and you will never see it coming.’ Also be warned of the oblique, ‘I just think it’s funny how…’ Whatever follows, be assured, she most decidedly does not think it’s funny.”

  “Why can they not just say what they mean?”

  Simon’s computer chirped. “Now that I don’t know,” he said absently, unfolding the laptop. The tone indicated Shepard had logged on to a site requiring multiple security checkpoints.

  “How is anyone supposed to communicate?”

  “It’s a learned skill,” Simon said. He scanned through Shepard’s history. When he realized that—as usual—she’d done nothing more than log in to her email, he silently cursed. Might as well have a peek while I’m here. She’d sent a number of emails discussing the security of a database he’d never heard of, called CIADIS. “What is this?”

  “What is what?” Alan asked.

  Simon looked up. “Hmm?”

  “You asked, ‘What is this?’ What is what?”

  “Have you ever heard of CIADIS?”

  “Do you mean CODIS? That is the acronym for the Combined DNA Index System, which is like AFIS—the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, but for DNA. It is an online database of the genetic material of criminals, law enforcement agents, childcare workers, and so forth. Perhaps CIADIS is CODIS for the CIA.”

  “Oh my God, I’ll bet you’re right. Mate, you’re a genius.”

  Alan nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “This is exactly what I need.” To find his father, Simon could enter his own genetic sequence and then search for a match. “How quickly do the programs locate a match?”

  “Not quickly at all. DNA is extremely complex, and crawling the database is quite time-consuming. You would probably need a specially written program.”

  Simon frowned. At least it was a place to start. “Cameron did a cheek swab on me when I arrived. Where does he keep the student DNA database?”

  “How would I possibly know that? And why would I care?”

  Simon sighed. It would be safer to retake the test than to try hacking into the school’s database. DNA files were likely heavily guarded and encrypted; no sense in raising flags that needn’t be raised. “You know what we need?”

  “Light-blocking curtains?”

  “A bro day.” Simon opened a browser, searched for at-home DNA kits, and ordered one to be overnighted to his post office box in Cave Creek.

  “I do not know what that is.”

  “This weekend you and I will go sightseeing, just the two of us. We’ll have lunch, do a little
shopping, explore a new town—hey, how about Cave Creek? Never been, but I hear it’s a real slice of the Old West.” As he finished placing the order, an alert flashed in the lower left corner of his screen: Keyword Detected. He’d set an alarm for any mention of his name.

  “Why do we care about the Old West?” Alan asked.

  “It’s what mates do. And you do want to be mates, don’t you, Alan?”

  Alan seemed to consider the question before answering. “I am enjoying the camaraderie.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Simon opened the alert and double-clicked the file. A direct message from Dean Shepard to CIA Director Vincent read: In response to his inquiry, please tell JERICHO that Simon Hawthorne seems to be settling in. I’ll keep you both updated.

  Simon’s heart all but stopped. There it was, in black and white.

  His father’s code name.

  Jericho.

  The next few weeks of classes kept Nadia mercifully busy, but as she fell asleep each night, her thoughts inevitably shifted to Jack. It had been almost two weeks since their breakup, and things were still awkward between them. They couldn’t seem to find their new level of relational intimacy. Should she meet and hold his eyes? Smile? Be strictly businesslike and professional? When they bumped into each other in the library or dining hall, she spent so much time trying to figure out how to act that she barely spoke. Her friends obviously picked up on the lingering tension; everyone seemed uncomfortable when they were together. Well, Simon and Libby. Alan neither noticed nor cared.

  She’d received no more coded messages, nor had Jack further discussed her mission. She’d laid to rest the file about her father, deciding it was part of Jack’s project. Maybe Dean Shepard, eager to establish her new program, had jump-started the missions prior to the students’ arrival. Or maybe team leaders had been briefed on senior projects over break, giving them time to design their op-specs. In any case, Jack would read her in as she needed to know. Which she really wasn’t looking forward to—it was bad enough spending time with him when they weren’t alone.