by Sonja Stone
“I wanted to know how far you’d go to protect your mother. And now I do. Which is also how I know you’ll do whatever you can to keep her in WITSEC.”
“You’re sick.” Damon looks away.
“I’m thorough,” Riley says, his voice cold. “My operatives are ghosts. They don’t exist. And neither do you.”
“Does Roberts know about you? What you do here?”
“Including you, there are seven people on the planet who know the truth about me. Roberts is not one of them. If that number moves to eight, you and I will have a serious problem.” Riley drops a thick manila envelope on the bed. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think it over. Review the offer: your salary, your job bonuses. Accidental deaths pay double. You’ll receive a starter kit, including four identities, four nationalities, four apartments around the world. Any remaining record of your existence will be destroyed. To be safe, our plastic surgeon will alter your fingerprints. You can leave this life behind.” He moves toward the door. “Obviously, you can’t see Nadia again—or anyone you used to know. Damon Moore is dead.”
Leave this life behind. Just like that? Pretend his little brother never existed, that Damon wasn’t responsible for his death? Pretend that Roberts hadn’t burned down his house, taken his mother hostage, and forced Damon to kidnap and betray Nadia? Pretend he hasn’t—and this is the stupidest thing of all—completely fallen for a girl who, as it turns out, is the daughter of a government-sanctioned assassin?
It doesn’t matter whose side he’s on—there are no good guys or bad guys. They’re all bad guys.
But truth be told, he wouldn’t mind a little vengeance.
“Wait a minute,” Damon says. “Do I have any discretion?”
Riley turns back. “What do you mean? Do you get to veto an assignment? No. We say who, where, and when. The why is not your concern, and the how is generally left up to you. But we don’t eliminate without reason. You’re not going to be hunting soccer moms and tax-evaders. We’re talking worst-case scenarios: threats to the public-at-large, terrorists, enemies of the state.”
“That’s not what I mean. I have some unfinished business.”
Riley purses his lips. “Open your envelope.”
Damon slides his finger along the seal and extracts the sheaf of papers. A blank white sheet rests on top. He moves it aside and reads the name of his first assignment. He looks back at Riley. “Is this for real?”
“It’s for real.”
Damon’s eyes return to the dossier in his hand. He nods. “All right. I’m in.”
THREE MONTHS LATER
By nine o’clock in the morning, the weather verges on uncomfortably warm. Nadia sits in a white folding chair on the front lawn facing the wooden stage. Libby, in an oversized sun hat, leans against her left shoulder. Today is the actual graduation; tomorrow the seniors will join their parents at the North Scottsdale Country Club for a scrubbed ceremony—generic, but still confidential. Phones and cameras will be prohibited. In a few weeks, the professional photographer will send his apologies, describing an incident at the lab that damaged his film. There will be no group picture of the graduating class.
The commencement music begins, and Nadia stands with her classmates.
After opening remarks Dean Shepard pauses at the podium. “Esteemed colleagues, I have an announcement. This year CIA Director Vincent has chosen to honor one outstanding candidate as the recipient of the prestigious Marshall St. Clair Paige Covert Studies Award. This award recognizes a recruit who has demonstrated honor, valor, and integrity, above and beyond the Academy’s rigorous expectations. Included with the award is an invitation to continue training at Langley’s undergraduate program. Please help me congratulate Jack Felkin.”
The applause is extraordinary, and Nadia’s heart fills with an overwhelming happiness for Jack. He’s getting exactly what he wanted.
Simon leans over Libby and says, “Couldn’t have happened to a more worthy cadet.”
The audience settles as Jack takes the stage. “Dean Shepard, Dr. Cameron, Hashimoto Sensei, professors, colleagues, classmates, and friends.” He acknowledges each with a nod. “I am honored to receive this award. I pledge to you that I will strive to be an exemplary representative of the outstanding student body trained here at Desert Mountain Academy. I thank you all.” The crowd explodes with cheers.
Nadia smiles and claps along with her friends.
Jack holds up his arms, his graduation gown flowing out like wings. The audience quiets and he continues. “This year has been challenging, difficult, frustrating, and completely satisfying. We’ve learned about friendship, country, loyalty.” Jack pauses as he searches the audience. He finds Nadia and locks onto her eyes. “And love.”
Nadia’s cheeks warm as a few students turn to look at her.
Jack leans into the microphone. “Hey, Nadia.”
“Oh my God,” Nadia whispers to Libby. Her face burns hotter. “What is he doing?”
His words resonate across the lawn. “I’m not your team leader anymore.”
Jack hands his award to Dr. Cameron, who happens to be sitting closest to the podium, and jumps off the stage. He strides down the aisle to Nadia’s chair and holds out his hand.
Her mouth opens. She feels hundreds of eyes boring into her. She slips her hand into his.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get it together,” he says.
“Just bad timing,” she answers. He pulls her up, wraps his arms around her. He buries his face into her hair and her stomach jumps. Someone toward the back starts to clap. A few seconds later, as Jack picks her up and spins her around, everyone joins in the applause.
She laughs, and it’s the lightest she’s felt in months.
Damon’s new training regimen puts Desert Mountain Academy to shame. All-day lectures about untraceable poisons, stealth kills, falsifying autopsy reports. How to befriend a target to access her twentieth-story penthouse. Advanced calculus and trigonometry, so when he arrives at the aforementioned penthouse, he can do math on the fly, a necessary skill for a sniper. Wiring bombs, breaking and entering, moving in and out of the country undetected.
He’s the solitary student, granted undivided attention from the finest instructors ever to grace the halls of the CIA. Jericho created Damon’s legend: his teachers believe he’s preparing for an undercover black-ops mission deep inside the Middle East.
They don’t even know Corpus Opera exists.
He’s given a suite at the Hotel Hartford a few miles from Langley. Between twelve-hour classroom sessions, overnight survival courses, and hand-to-hand combat training, Damon barely finds time to run the decryption program on Roberts’ thumb drive. But, given that his first target is his archnemesis, he makes time.
It takes weeks for the brute-force algorithm to finally break through the firewalls. He scrolls down the document titles, hoping one will catch his eye. And then one does, but it’s not what he’s expecting. Instead of a lead on Roberts, Damon finds Operation Cyprus, Unredacted. He pulls it up, skims the report.
Not believing it, he reads through a second time.
“Holy hell,” he says to the empty room. Poor Nadia.
This is why Riley’s man questioned me about what I told her. He was trying to find out how much Damon knew.
He looks back at the screen. Should he tell her? He has to—but how? He can’t risk Riley intercepting a message.
Nadia’s from a small town—everybody knows everybody. She’s got neighbors.
He closes his eyes. She’ll be devastated. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her.
If it were him, he would want to know. But she’s not him. His eyes open.
Damon reads the report one last time, just to be sure he understood.
OPERATION CYPRUS, 78655985
CLASSIFIED: EYES ONLY
RELEVANT FILES: 78655986
OPERATIVES: Black Sheep, Scout, Jericho, Lincoln
POST-MISSION ASSIST: Nightingale
OBJECTIVE: Eliminatio
n of SWANDIVE, declared a national threat
RESULT: FAILURE. Wetworks incomplete.
JERICHO opted for extraction (see 78655986).
BLACK SHEEP: debriefed, deported.
SCOUT: compromised. No longer field-eligible.
JERICHO: requests legend for SWANDIVE.
LINCOLN: injured. Medical leave required.
NIGHTINGALE: success.
SUCCESS: Negative. MISSION FAILURE.
OPERATION BRIEF: JERICHO acted independently and against orders.
While instructed to eliminate SWANDIVE, the sole creator of PROJECT GENESIS, JERICHO instead exfiltrated the target, claiming the target can be further used as an asset to the United States of America. As part of the continued undercover operation, JERICHO will propose marriage to SWANDIVE. JERICHO asserts with certainty that SWANDIVE shall remain unaware of the ruse. JERICHO assures the agency that he will maintain cover by any means necessary, including children.
Damon snaps the laptop shut and stares at the wall, wondering what to do.
Nadia’s mother created Project Genesis.
To gain access to the technology, Nadia’s father married her, and to continue his undercover operation, had a baby.
Nadia’s entire life is nothing more than someone else’s cover.
Back in Virginia a week after graduation, Nadia lounges on her front porch swing reading a magazine as the cicadas hum a steady song. The humidity clings to her, leaving a sticky film over her skin. She stops reading to fan herself. It’s almost enough to make her miss the 110-degree Phoenix mornings. A few minutes past noon, the mail carrier arrives with a bundle of mail. She flips through the stack and finds an envelope addressed to her from Desert Mountain Academy.
Dear Nadia,
We are pleased to announce that you have been selected to serve as a team leader during your senior year. Please respond with your intention to accept by June 18.
Sincerely,
Dean Shepard, Interim Dean of Students
Nadia smiles as she refolds the letter and slips it into the envelope. She’s about to go inside to drop the mail on the kitchen counter when her next-door neighbor crosses the front yard.
Mrs. Chapman waves hello. “You look happy as a june bug sitting out here in the shade.”
“Hi, Mrs. Chapman, how are you?” Nadia says loudly, knowing her neighbor doesn’t hear well.
“The postman delivered your mail to me. It wasn’t his fault this time, it’s addressed incorrectly.” She extends her hand, a postcard clutched in her bony fingers.
“Thank you,” Nadia says.
The picture features Manhattan’s skyline at night. Nadia flips it over and reads the single word: Aloha.
Her heart skips. It can’t be.
She sits back down and checks the postmark. The date stamp is two days old.
A smile spreads across her face.
Damon’s still alive.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my sister, Rachel Smith: once again, this book wouldn’t exist without you. Words can’t express my gratitude. Monica Rosen, thanks for plotting with me—for brainstorming, for encouraging, for insisting that somewhere in the stack of pages there was, in fact, a coherent storyline.
Mom, though you have no free time and very few moments of quiet, you read draft after draft. Thank you for your generosity.
Jude Stone, I am grateful for your quick text responses to my redundant grammatical questions; Morgan Stone, for your indispensable advice on teenage language; Kaitlyn Kemppainen, for single-handedly increasing my readership tenfold. And for listening to thousands of variations of a single paragraph to find the one that was just right.
Details of this story were shaped across many miles—hikes through the Sonoran Desert, across the fields of wildflowers surrounding Crested Butte, in the crevices of Antelope Canyon. Thank you to my favorite hiking partner and co-conspirator, Stu Kemppainen. I’m sorry I killed you in chapter 56, but you kind of had it coming.
As I’ve often discovered, it’s better to be lucky than clever, and good fortune connected me to an amazing group of thriller writers—my blog sisters at roguewomenwriters.com. I am forever grateful to Gayle Lynds, K.J. Howe, Christine Goff, Francine Mathews, Jamie Freveletti, Karna Bodman, and S. Lee Manning. Thanks also to my critique group: Betty Webb, Art Kerns, Eileen Brady, Sharon Magee, and Charlie Pyeatte.
Thank you to architect Terry Stone for disabusing me of the notion that I can escape a room by crawling through the air ducts, or set off the sprinkler system in a ten-story building by holding a lighter under a single head; and thank you to Nicole and Ryan Minnick, my official munitions experts. Deniese Hardesty Reinhardt, Anna Kline, Kristy Steck, Ellen Steck, Ann Tyburski, Helen Johnston, Dr. Angela Bowers, Ian Chappel, Logan Garrison Savits, thanks for being such great sounding boards. Alan Gratz, you are as generous with your knowledge and experience as you are talented.
To my Sensei, Michael Cerpok: my editor found your koans as frustrating as Nadia found Hashimoto Sensei’s. Nevertheless, I am grateful for your wisdom. Speaking of wisdom: thanks, Dad. After four and a half decades of conversations, I’m still learning new words.
Kelly Loughman, my tireless editor at Holiday House: thank you for loving these characters, and for helping shape their destinies. Sally and Pamela, thank you for your enthusiastic comments during the copyediting process, and Terry, thank you for fearlessly leading the marketing and publicity team.
