by Sonja Stone
“With chocolate.” He tossed it over.
She ripped open the package. “All right, let’s hear it.”
He dropped his eyes for a moment, then looked back at her. “It’s my mom. She’s being held hostage by the Nighthawks.”
Oh no. Nadia paused, the power bar at her lips. She took a slow bite, studying him. Damon’s ability to deceive was unparalleled. He was the only person she’d ever met without a single tell. Could she trust anything he said?
“The agent in charge—his name is Roberts—is going to kill her unless I bring him some files.”
“I know who he is.” Nadia took a long drink, still uncertain about the legitimacy of his story. “I’m sorry about your mom, but what does this have to do with me?”
Damon sat quietly for a few minutes. Finally, he answered. “Well, the problem is, I need to get on campus.”
Nadia felt lightheaded. I must be more tired than I thought. “To get your files?” None of this was making sense. “I don’t understand. Where are they? The library? Why would you need my help? Just break in yourself.” Did I just tell Damon to break into the school?
“Because you’re the only one who can get into the dojo. Into the firing range. The weapons room.”
Nadia swayed a little. She put an arm out to catch herself.
Damon squinted at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just…I feel a little dizzy.”
“Maybe you’re dehydrated. Finish your water.”
Nadia nodded and chugged the bottle. “Why are your files in the dojo? When were you ever in that room?” Her words slurred together. Her tongue wouldn’t form the right sounds.
“I may need one other thing.”
“Like what?”
“Something that belongs to me.” Damon rooted through his bag. “I have to get it back.”
“If you want…” Her voice trailed off. What was she saying? “Um…my help you, uh, you need to tell me exactly what you want.”
“No, Nadia. I don’t.”
“Hmm?” Her vision blurred as Damon removed a handgun from his bag.
“I don’t need to do anything. That’s the benefit of being the man with the gun.”
She fell forward into Damon’s open arms.
For weeks now Libby had been walking on eggshells, waiting to be summoned to Dean Shepard’s office to receive news of her dismissal. Uncovering an act of domestic terrorism had been a blessing for her daddy, but a curse for her.
Leave it to him to turn tragedy into opportunity. For a few seconds after his announcement, she’d wondered if he’d fabricated evidence to implicate the Nighthawks. Not really, but a little. He was ambitious, but he wasn’t crazy. And anyway, if the Nighthawks weren’t behind the bombing, how would he even have learned about their existence?
The timing of the revelation certainly was fortuitous, as he’d been talking about running for president for a while. But he’d promised to wait until the next election cycle. That way she’d be out of school, her momma would be settled back in to her routine….He’d promised. And like a fool, she’d believed him. She should’ve known, all those meetings with his advisors. He’d never intended to wait at all.
After lunch on Saturday, Libby pushed through the doors of the dining hall into the hazy afternoon, nodding to the pair of senior girls walking toward her. All she’d wanted was a place of her own, away from her debutante mother and politician father. Out of the spotlight, where she didn’t have to sit still and look pretty all the time. A place where she could make a change in the world, quietly and with grace. She’d found that place here at the Academy.
She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. A few hours ago, her marching orders had been hand-delivered to her dorm room, affixed to a beautiful bouquet of flowers. So now, as instructed, Libby crossed the lawn to meet Jack at the southeast corner of campus, otherwise known as the parking lot.
With each step forward, with each issued order, a new thrill rolled through her. Every day that passed without getting called to the dean’s office felt like a tiny victory.
She arrived at the meet right on time. Jack stood between the lemon trees, his back against the wall, a garment bag folded over his arm.
“This is for you. Be ready by six o’clock,” he said, handing her the opaque bag. “Op-specs are inside.”
Libby grinned and whispered, “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to a party,” Jack said, as he walked away.
The whole way back to her room, Libby imagined the gorgeous gown tucked safely away in the garment bag. She wondered if he’d included a wig and shoes. No matter, she had strappy heels in both black and nude to match any color dress. Maybe the party would be at the state capitol. Her experience chatting up politicians was second to none.
The instant she reached her bedroom, Libby hung the bag on the closet door and pulled open the zipper. Her mild disappointment at seeing the hotel uniform quickly faded; she’d still get to work undercover, it would just be as a coat-check girl.
* * *
—
For the next few hours, she struggled to contain her excitement. At five-thirty she waited for Jack in the parking lot. He arrived a couple minutes past six, having just returned from town. Recon, she imagined.
On the drive in, Jack handed her a small package. “Here are your comms. Just touch it to wake it up.”
“Okay.” Libby opened the wooden box and lifted the tiny earpiece that would allow them to communicate. She tucked the device into her ear.
“The protocol for the exchange is as follows.” Jack glanced at her. “Your contact will say, ‘The manager wanted me to confirm that you’re here until eleven.’ If he’s okay to pick up the package, you answer, ‘Yes, till eleven.’ If he needs to abort, you say, ‘I’m only scheduled until ten.’ Got it?”
“Got it.”
“You read the op-specs?” he asked. “Think you can handle it?”
“Yes.” Libby looked out the passenger-side window and smiled. The desert raced by and her stomach flipped as she said, “I’m ready.”
A few minutes before seven o’clock, Libby strode through the main hall of the Scottsdale Oasis Resort and into the ballroom. She took her place in the coat-check closet and smiled as the doctors and scientists attending the Annual Biomedical Research Convention thrust their light coats and wraps across her small countertop.
“Thank you,” she said, handing the claim tickets one at a time. “Enjoy the party. Thank you.”
As ordered, she checked the pockets of every single jacket. It took two hours before she completed the second part of her mission—acquiring an ID badge from a high-level employee of Gentech Labcorp.
As her customers drifted away from the coat check toward the bar, Libby palmed the ID card and touched her ear to wake the comms. She turned slightly from the window so it didn’t look like she was talking to herself. “Boy Scout, this is Sunflower, do you copy? Over.”
“Sunflower, this is Boy Scout. I read you loud and clear. Ready for your relief? Over.”
“Affirmative. I have the item.”
Jack told her to be on the lookout. An agent would be along to gather the card. They’d make a copy on-site and return the badge, at which time she would replace it.
A moment later, wearing a waiter’s tuxedo and looking handsome as could be, Simon rounded the corner and headed straight to the coat check. Libby tried to hide her delight, as they weren’t supposed to know each other.
He rested his empty drinks tray on the counter. “The manager wanted me to confirm that you’re here till eleven. Is that right?”
Libby placed her hands flat on the surface. “Yes, till eleven.”
“Brilliant,” he said. Libby moved her hands away, revealing the palmed card. Simon lifted the card along with his tray. “Back to it, then. I’ll bring you a bottled water.”
Twenty minutes later Simon returned with a bottle of water on his tray. He placed a cocktail napkin on the
counter, then set the bottle on top. Libby slid the napkin into her hand as she took a drink. She returned the plastic ID card, tucked between the napkin layers, to its proper pocket.
A few hours later, the three of them drove back to campus together. Of course Simon had offered her the front seat, but Libby wanted to sit in the darkened back and think about the mission: small, simple, meaningless. And the most exciting experience of her life.
Her eyes stung and she looked out the window, across the unlit desert.
She was really gonna miss this.
* * *
—
When Libby returned to her dorm, she found Casey waiting at the front desk, her bright red curls framing her head like a lion’s mane. “What are you doing up so late?” Libby asked, knowing their resident assistant preferred early morning hours.
“Sweetie, your mom called. She said it was really important that you get back to her tonight.”
Libby’s stomach fell. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Casey shook her head. “She didn’t say. Today’s code to call off campus is 4-5-4-6. It resets at midnight, so you have to call right now. I’ll give you some privacy, but knock on my door if you need me.”
As Casey left the lobby, Libby circled around her desk to the telephone. She should’ve asked if her mother sounded drunk. Bracing herself, she dialed home.
The line picked up on the first ring. “Liberty?”
“Yes, Momma, it’s me. What’s wrong? Is it Daddy?”
“Honey, nothin’s wrong.”
Libby frowned. That was obviously a lie, but her momma didn’t sound like she’d been drinking. “Then why am I calling you at two a.m. eastern time?”
Her momma sighed. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. Your daddy would’a done it himself, but he had to get back to Washington.”
Libby’s stomach churned. Something bad was coming.
“A long time ago, there was an incident between your daddy and me. Now, it’s ancient history, we’ve worked through it, and all has been forgiven.”
“Momma, please. I can’t take the suspense, and you’re really scaring me.”
“You know your daddy loves you, right? And he loves your brother, and he loves me. And I love him.”
“Momma,” Libby said sharply. Were they getting a divorce? They would never do that—certainly not during an election year.
“Your daddy had….There was a short time in our marriage when he was seeing another woman.”
Libby felt nauseous. She sat down in Casey’s chair.
“The only reason I am telling you about this is because someone called the house making some empty threats.”
“What are you talking about? What kind of threats?”
“They said if he doesn’t drop out of the election, they’re going to the press with the affair. Well, you know perfectly well your father is like a dog with a bone, and all that did was rile him up even more.”
“Is he in danger?”
“Of course not. I just wanted to tell you myself. In the unlikely event that the caller follows through, we didn’t want you hearing about it on the morning news.”
Libby felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. All this time she’d resented her momma for drinking so much, for making things so hard for her daddy—who was just the sweetest man alive. But maybe this was why she’d started drinking in the first place.
For a second Libby thought she might be sick. She pressed her hand to her mouth.
“You still there?” her momma asked.
She took a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah, I’m here. But it’s late and I need to go.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. How about you? Are you okay?” What she really wanted to ask was, are you gonna drink over this?
“Honey, I’m fine. We’ve gotten through a whole lot worse together; we’ll get through this. Call me in a couple days?”
“Yes, Momma, I will. Tell Daddy I love him. Love you.” Libby hung up the phone and rested her head in her hand.
A moment later Casey’s door opened. “Everything okay?”
Libby jumped up and threw a smile on her face. “Yeah, everything’s great. Well, my brother broke his ankle skiing, so that’s not great, but he’ll be fine. He’s always doing stuff like that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Casey said. “I was a little worried. Sleep tight, okay?”
“I will, thank you. You too.”
Libby was halfway down the hall before she remembered that the phones were tapped. Every Desert Mountain employee with clearance had just witnessed the airing of Senator Bishop’s dirty laundry.
Nadia struggled to open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy, stuck together. Every muscle ached, like she’d been shoved in the trunk of a car all night. Her head throbbed—it took a minute to remember what had happened.
Sunlight poured across the popcorn ceiling from a small, grimy window high on the wall. Was it Sunday? Or had she been out for an entire day? Did the school know she was missing? She wasn’t due back until Tuesday. How long had she been gone?
My tracking device. Had Sensei checked her beacon yet?
With effort she lifted her head. She didn’t recognize the queen-sized bed, the small room. Under the blanket her wrists were handcuffed together. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she searched for a weapon—anything heavy or sharp to use on Damon at the first available opportunity. Nothing. She tried pulling her hands apart, but the restraints wouldn’t give.
Frustrated and angry, she dropped her head onto the pillow.
A few minutes later she heard footsteps outside the bedroom door.
Damon entered the room and offered a small smile. “How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling? Are you out of your mind?”
“Scoot over.” He pushed her toward the center of the bed and sat on the edge, then gently pressed two fingers along her throat. “Your pulse is good,” he said. “I know you don’t wanna be here, but if you pay attention, you might learn something. So here’s your first lesson: don’t ever accept a drink from someone you don’t trust.”
“I did trust you.”
“That was your first mistake. You know what they say, once a traitor, always a traitor.”
“That’s ‘cheater.’ Once a cheater.”
“Potato, potahto,” he said.
“Uncuff me. I have a splitting headache. Where’s my bag?”
“Yeah, sorry. That’ll go away. It’s the Datura—I might have used too much for your size. It’s hard to gauge with plants. Why do you want your bag?”
“You drugged me?”
“A little bit,” he said.
“Uncuff me!” Her head pounded and she instantly regretted raising her voice.
“Not until we get some things squared away.”
She scowled. “I need my bag.”
“I already tossed your tracker.” He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry I drugged you. And restrained you. But sometimes you can be stubborn, and I need your undivided attention.”
Anger rose in her chest. Without her tracker, she had no shot of being rescued. She’d have to do it herself. She tried again to loosen her wrists, which already felt raw from wrestling against the restraints.
“I need you to listen.” Damon placed a paper clip and a safety pin on her blanket. “I have a plan, and I can’t do it without you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you think I would ever agree to help you?”
“For starters, I’m the only person in your entire life who’s had the decency to be honest. You got my dead drop?” He propped her pillows against the wall, then gestured for her to move back.
“Oh, please. The faked recruit file? I should’ve known it was from you.” She pressed her feet against his thigh and tried to push him away. He didn’t budge. “Move.” She kicked at him.
With one hand, Damon grabbed her ankles and swung her legs off the bed. “You can throw a tantrum if you
want, but the faster we get through this mission, the faster you get rid of me.”
His reasonable reaction infuriated her—she wanted a fight, a way to release the anger building inside her body. She held out her chaffed wrists. “Take these off.”
He nodded toward the paper clip and pin. “Open them yourself.”
“How?” When he didn’t answer she rolled her eyes, unfolded the paper clip, then bent the tip to make a tiny loop. She bit down on the clip to tighten the hook, then inserted the makeshift key into the lock. “I don’t know what the locking mechanism looks like.” Again, no response. She shoved the clip into the hole.
He took a deep breath. “The file I sent you is real. I can prove it.”
“I’m sure you can. I just have to complete a series of treasonous crimes first, right? Then you’ll tell me everything? Offer more fabricated evidence?”
“I’ll show you proof long before the treasonous crimes begin.”
She scowled at the handcuffs. “I can’t get them. It’s too hard.”
Damon scoffed. “It’s a whole lot easier than the training I went through.”
Against her will, Nadia felt a flicker of curiosity. “What, am I supposed to thank you for your graciousness?”
“You want to hear about my first time?” She refused to answer, but after a moment, he continued. “Roberts had these agents working for him, ex-special forces. Those guys beat the hell out of me. But this was one of my lessons.” He nodded toward her wrists. “Getting out of handcuffs. So they put me in this cinderblock room with a concrete floor. There was one chair—wooden, straight-backed—and they sat me down. Duct taped my feet to the legs, cuffed my wrists behind the back of the chair. The guy dropped a straight pin, a safety pin, a paper clip, and a pair of reading glasses on the ground. Left one bottle of water near the door. Said he’d be back when I got myself out. It took me two days.”
“That explains your lack of hospitality.”
He smiled. “Right? The worst part was having to knock myself over in the chair.” He mimed the forceful movement. “I dislocated my shoulder. Then I figured out how to open the water bottle behind my back, but the only way I could drink it was to dump it out and lick it off the floor.”
