Dark Divide

by Sonja Stone

  Nadia sat. Her head began to ache, a low throbbing at the back of her skull. “This is why you warned me about Project Genesis and the student database. Roberts does know my family. My father, at least.”

  “I told you you’d thank me for destroying it.”

  Her thoughts raced too quickly to follow—Roberts, her dad, the Nighthawks, the CIA, Alan’s grandfather. Were she and Alan deliberately placed together? Was Saba on campus to protect them, or to finish what Roberts had started? She looked at Damon. “Is my dad in danger?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Roberts and your father used to be teammates. Last semester, Roberts chose you as his fall guy. He probably wouldn’t have done that if he and your dad had parted on good terms.”

  That made a lot of sense. Nadia looked back at the team photo. “How did you even meet Agent Roberts?”

  Damon hesitated. “He found me. In Baltimore.”

  “Why’d you agree to work for him? The money?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Because you’re a smart guy. There are a lot of ways you could make a living without committing treason.”

  “It wasn’t about the money.”

  “What, then? Not ideology. I know you don’t buy into the Nighthawks’ dogma.”

  “He said he would help me find someone.”

  “Who?”

  Damon sighed. “Do you remember me telling you about my brother? The hit-and-run?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Well, what I didn’t tell you was that the guy’s lawyer got him off on a technicality.” His jaw tightened. “After killing my little brother, he walked out of the courtroom a free man.”

  “Oh, Damon. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  He pressed his lips together. After a moment, he said, “Roberts found the driver.”

  It took her a minute to understand. Roberts found the driver, then Damon went to work for Roberts.

  Roberts killed the man who’d killed Damon’s brother.

  He stood, opened the fridge, rooted around for a bit. When he closed the fridge his anger had vanished. Like he’d just placed it on a shelf and shut the door. “You want a soda? I have root beer.” He smiled.

  Nadia shook her head. “No thanks.”

  His smile faded as his eyes moved to the window. Buried under the lightness lay the heavy guilt she knew he still carried for his brother.

  She had no right to judge the choices he’d made.

  Damon sat back down. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep your father safe, but I can’t do it without you.”

  “What do I need to do?”

  He leaned across the table. “Help me get my mom back.”

  She met Damon’s eyes. “How does that help my dad?”

  “Because the second she’s safe, I’ll kill Agent Roberts.”

  Jack woke in the infirmary, a small, sterile room with two single cots tucked behind Dr. Cameron’s office behind the library. His brain felt too big for his skull. A wave of nausea washed over him as he tried to sit up; he quickly abandoned the idea and remained as motionless as possible.

  The last thing he remembered was finding Nadia on campus. He’d asked her to talk. She’d shouted no, then shot him.

  He’d just wanted to talk.

  Beyond the fabric screen that offered his bed the illusion of privacy, he heard the nurse on the phone. “Yes ma’am, he’s waking up.”

  A minute later she came around the divider to check his vitals: blood pressure, heart rate, temperature. As she finished, Dean Shepard arrived.

  “Do you know the penalty for underage drinking at Desert Mountain Academy?” Shepard asked from the doorway. “Immediate expulsion, no questions asked.”

  “I don’t drink.” His head throbbed.

  She moved to his bedside and stood over him, hands clasped together. “Can you explain why your classmates found you passed out in the middle of campus?”

  “With respect, Dean Shepard, were you not informed of the two tranquilizer darts sticking out of my stomach?” Every word raked his throat and pounded against his head.

  “I was; you are not the first student to engage in an illicit game of tranq-tag. I can only assume that for you to make such a poor decision, one that jeopardizes your entire future, you must have been intoxicated. With whom were you playing?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

  “Of course not, I beg your pardon. I was shot—” Jack hesitated. He didn’t want to say Nadia’s name. It couldn’t be that simple—she wouldn’t just shoot him. Something else had to be going on. “Did you pull the security tapes?”

  “The camera situated along the back wall was deliberately electrocuted, which badly damaged the video. The tech department is working to extract and repair the digital file, but it will take some time. Who shot you?”

  Jack looked at the ceiling. The next words out of his mouth would determine his future. If he lied and got caught, he’d be kicked out. If he told the truth, Nadia might be declared an enemy of the United States of America. A cold chip of ice wedged itself into his heart, causing stabbing pains with each beat.

  Time to sell her out. Again.

  “Jack,” said Dean Shepard. “Who shot you?”

  He took a deep breath and looked Shepard in the eyes. “The last thing I remember was leaving the documents lab.” He shook his head. “I have no idea who shot me.”

  After a few hours’ sleep, Nadia and Damon reconvened over an early dinner of frozen waffles and bananas. Halfway through the meal, Nadia said, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but what’s the plan here? What’s our timeline? How are we getting your mom? I need to get back to school.”

  Damon poured more syrup on his waffles. “Tomorrow night. We’ll go to the warehouse where I met with Roberts. He’s only got one body man, and you and I will both be armed. I give him his files, we get my mom, and the three of us leave together.”

  Nadia raised her eyebrows. “Just like that.”

  He nodded. “Piece of cake. I mean, we’ll iron out the tactical details, but yeah. Pretty easy.”

  She pushed her waffles around the plate. There was more to it—something he wasn’t telling her. Her eyes moved back to his face. Damon had always been an extraordinary liar. She never saw his tells, his reveals. It was just this feeling she had. “These files he wants—they’re the same ones you showed me? The ones you found on his thumb drive?”

  “No.” Damon shook his head. “Roberts probably doesn’t even know the thumb drive is missing. It’s something from last semester. They…wanted me to do something, and I refused. They threatened me, and I told them I had evidence against all of them—against their whole organization. And that if I went down, I was taking them with me.”

  “What did they want you to do?”

  He glanced up at her, then back to his breakfast. “Kill you.” He said the words matter-of-factly.

  Nadia opened her mouth, but found no words. His decision to spare her life had made him a target. Finally she said, “Well…thanks. For not doing that, I mean.” After another minute she said, “But I feel like there’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.”

  “Nope, that’s it.” He finished his waffles in three bites before putting his sticky plate in the sink. “I do need one more tiny favor.” He opened a few cupboards, then placed a small bowl and a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the table.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of the last favor you asked for.”

  “I need you to remove a tracking device.” From under the kitchen sink, he retrieved a substantial first-aid kit. “You’ll have to cut it out of me, so I’ll need stitches when you’re done.”

  Nadia frowned. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

  “You are,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. His abs tightened as he tossed the shirt to the side. He grinned. “Not bad, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re a perfect ten. I’m still not performing surger
y in this cesspool.”

  “Sutures are easy. Exactly like sewing.”

  “I’m a little insulted. What about me gives you the impression that I can sew? Because I’m a girl?” She’d already practiced on the pig’s foot, but she had no intention of easing Damon’s mind.

  “Because you’re clever,” he said. “I’ll talk you through it.” He sat beside her on the bench, his back turned, and reached over his shoulder, pointing to the spot. “It’s here.”

  “Wait, I have to wash my hands.” She pushed him out of the way to get to the kitchen sink. Nadia ran the water for a decade before it turned hot. She meticulously cleaned around her fingernails, then lathered the lemon-scented soap up to her elbows. After a few moments she asked, “How exactly did you find out about my father?” With her elbow, she turned off the faucet, and then grabbed a fistful of paper towels. “You weren’t entirely clear on that point.”

  “I was researching Roberts’ old case files. I thought if I could find out about his previous missions—who he knew, where he went—maybe I could get a lead on my mom.”

  She returned to her seat, doused a cotton pad with alcohol, and swiped it across his shoulder.

  Damon continued. “When I found the file for Operation Cyprus, I recognized your dad from the picture in your dorm room. The one with your parents in front of the dogwood tree.”

  Nadia’s face warmed. Of course; Damon had broken into her room. Now he’d read files about her father. He knew a lot about her family. She placed her hand on his back. Her fingers, pale against his dark skin, lightly traced the muscles between his shoulder blades as she felt for the tracker. Above his right scapula, she found a small, hard lump. “Here?”

  He nodded and turned slightly toward her, his face an inch from hers. She held her breath as he said, “Make a single, shallow slit. Try not to hesitate or it’ll hurt more.” A few seconds passed before he turned away. “Roberts also had a handful of Desert Mountain recruit files on the thumb drive. I don’t know the common denominator, but I’m guessing they’re all people whose DNA he wants. Anyway, your dad was one of them.”

  She opened the first-aid box and found the suture kit and a syringe of lidocaine. “Do you want me to numb it first?”

  “No, I’m allergic to lidocaine. That’s why I have epinephrine in there.”

  “What happens if you take it?” she asked.

  He turned all the way around and looked into her eyes. “I die. So how about you don’t?” He picked up the syringe and tossed it onto the kitchen counter, well out of her reach.

  “I wasn’t going to try it.” Nadia opened the sealed scalpel pouch. She brought the tip of the blade to Damon’s skin. “Do you have a scalpel or should I use this steak knife?”

  He jerked away. “Yes, I have a scalpel.”

  “I’m kidding. Relax.” She pressed her left palm against Damon’s shoulder and used it to stabilize her right wrist.

  “Remember to breathe,” he said.

  She took a deep breath, exhaled, and made the cut, slicing into his skin. It took more pressure to get started than she’d anticipated, but once the knife was in, the sharp blade easily severed his flesh. There was a lot more blood than she’d expected. “Paper towels,” she said. Damon leaned forward, grabbed the roll from the counter and passed it over his head. She pressed a wad of towels against his shoulder, then examined the cut. “I can’t see anything. There’s too much blood.”

  “You have to feel for it.”

  Nadia doused her fingers in alcohol. Tentatively, she slid her index finger into the wound. Damon gasped and she hesitated.

  Through clenched teeth, he said, “Keep going.”

  The squishy stickiness felt like raw meat. Her fingers found the tracker, hard and warm, buried inside. Slick, elusive. She couldn’t get a grip. She tried squeezing it out. Damon groaned. Finally, the tracking device slipped from the cut: a small metal capsule, no markings, no flashing beacon. She set it on the table and leaned around to look at Damon. His face had paled. “Do you want a drink?”

  He shook his head. “Just finish.”

  “The sutures will hurt.”

  “Compared to what just happened? I think I’ll pull through.”

  Piercing his flesh with the threaded needle turned her stomach. The thread kept catching on his skin, separating it from the muscle, forcing her to pull harder. With her left hand, she pressed on either side of the cut. Her right hand drove the needle in, out, around. She sewed a total of three evenly-spaced stitches.

  Damon rested his head in his hand. “How’s it look?”

  The flesh met cleanly, which meant his scarring would be minimal. “Not bad.” She cut the thread and dropped the needle into the bowl.

  Between ragged breaths he said, “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Damon picked up the tracking device and examined the capsule. Carefully, he twisted the two pieces apart. Inside was a small metal cube and what looked like a vitamin—a yellowish gelcap. “That son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Anger flashed across his face. “Do you know what this is?” He held up the gelcap. “A cyanide capsule. Agents used to get these sewn inside their cheeks so if they got captured, rather than divulge any information, they’d bite down, breaking the capsule. It’s a suicide pill. Roberts injected me with a remote-controlled kill switch.”

  “So after you deliver your files, he kills you.”

  “I don’t know if he’d use it if everything went according to plan, but if I was a no-show, certainly. And it would look like a suicide.”

  “I don’t think I’d have the courage to take my own life,” Nadia said.

  “It doesn’t take courage. Suicide is the coward’s way out. I would never do that.” He reassembled the capsule. “I’m sure Roberts is tracking my movements.” He stood, swaying, and put the tracker in the pocket of his jeans. “I don’t feel so well. I think I need to lie down for a couple minutes. Do you mind?”

  Nadia shook her head.

  “You have to come with me,” he said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Please. I need to rest, and I won’t be able to do that if you’re not with me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She pushed past him, stopping at the sink to wash her hands. In the bedroom she sat on the edge of the bed until he settled in, then stretched out beside him. “What if Roberts comes for us?”

  His breath, still rapid, revealed his pain. “He won’t.”

  “But what if he does?”

  “He wants the exchange on his terms. He won’t come here. He can’t control the outcome.” His teeth started to chatter.

  Nadia sat up. “It’s really cold in here.”

  “It’s from the pain—it’ll stop.”

  “No, it’s actually cold.” She covered him with the blanket. “I’m gonna turn up the heat.”

  “No, don’t. The generator’s old and very temperamental. Every time I mess with it the power shuts off, and I’m too tired to go outside and fix it right now. We’ll have to make do.” He paused for a moment. “You know, they say the best way to preserve heat is to strip down—”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even finish that sentence. I’ll fix it if it goes out.” She scooted out of bed and adjusted the thermostat attached to the wall. Back in bed, she slid under the covers.

  “For the record, I didn’t kill Hayden.” He paused for a beat. “I just thought you should know.”

  Nadia twisted around to look at him. “Seriously? He was stabbed, shot, thrown out a window, and his trigger finger severed from his body. You’re telling me it wasn’t you?”

  “Lie back down so I can spoon you. It wasn’t me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I thought about killing him. I mean, fair’s fair—he tried to kill me. He was probably responsible for my mother getting kidnapped. But I didn’t kill him. Somebody beat me to it.”

  “He was dead when you got ther
e?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what, exactly?”

  Damon exhaled, then said, “I thought Hayden might know where Roberts was holding my mom. He didn’t, and before I got around to putting him out of his misery, three guys busted through the door. Israelis. Mossad.”

  Of course. Mossad. “Because Hayden accidentally shot Alan.” She felt his head nodding behind her. “Why’d they let you live? At the time Alan was shot, you were still working with Hayden.”

  “One of the agents asked my name. I told him the truth, and he said, ‘You took care of Alan after he was shot.’ I said, ‘Hell, yeah. Alan’s my boy.’ They told me to be on my way, so I bolted.”

  Nadia smiled. “So Alan saved your life.”

  “Seems like. The irony, right?”

  She hesitated. “Did you meet his grandfather?”

  “No, these were young guys.” After a second he said, “Listen, I couldn’t have taken out the tracker without you. I’m sure Roberts would’ve eventually killed me. I appreciate your help, and what it means for you, personally. The treason, and whatnot. If we get caught, I will swear on a stack of Bibles that I held you at gunpoint this entire time. Whatever I gotta do to keep you clean in this.”

  “I think that ship has sailed.”

  “Nah, you’re still good,” he whispered. Then, “I can smell you on my pillow.”

  “What?”

  “My pillow smells like you.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind.” He exhaled the words.

  She felt him shivering. “Are you sure you don’t want some water?”

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. “I’m good,” he whispered. “Thanks, Nadia.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered back.

  Alan had not slept in days. A thick black cloud pressed around him from all sides, slowly smothering out his oxygen, darkening the sun. He could not think or eat or breathe. The dark circles under his eyes had grown so large that Libby suggested he visit the nurse. His entire world was about to implode, and it was all Simon’s fault.