Zero Zero (An Agent Zero Spy Thriller—Book #11)

by Jack Mars

  Strickland couldn’t help but wonder if Barren always spoke like a robot. So mechanically, almost crassly, about a man who, for two whole days, had been his son-in-law.

  “Director,” said the vice president, “is there any reason to believe that whatever is… motivating Zero’s action might have anything to do with our efforts here?”

  Barren shook his head. “None, ma’am. I don’t believe the information Zero was after had anything to do with the accord, nor do I think he knows anything about it. However… if that is a legitimate concern, there is an asset that we can employ.”

  “What asset?” Strickland blurted out.

  The DNI regarded him as if he was a child demanding answers from an adult. “Classified.”

  Strickland gritted his teeth to keep his mouth from opening again out of turn. He and Zero had not been on speaking terms since Maria’s murder—and since Zero had bested him in a fight and left him behind in Morocco—but still, if they were sending someone after him, Todd wanted to know. Especially if it was going to be some trigger-happy goon squad like the Division had been.

  Rutledge drew in and released a long sigh. “Fine. Send whoever you can. But let’s not make a big mess of this. I want him brought in to answer for all of this. That means alive, and make sure your people know it.”

  “Yes sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”

  Rutledge suddenly looked drained. “You two. Anything more to add from your report?”

  “No sir,” said Penny. “We just have to finish a handful of clearances before we depart.”

  “Get on it, then. Dismissed.”

  Strickland rose from the seat and collected the file folders in front of him as Penny shut the laptop lid and scooped it up. They left the Situation Room, remaining silent as they were escorted down a corridor by a pair of Secret Service agents. It wasn’t until they were outside again that either of them spoke. And even when they did, they kept their voices low.

  “Did you know anything about that?” Strickland asked.

  She shook her head. “Not a thing. Any idea what it’s about?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I really don’t like how the DNI came running straight to the president with it.”

  “What are you thinking?” Penny asked.

  “I’m thinking that it was a lot less about EOT and a lot more about letting the president know that Zero’s gotten into some trouble…” He didn’t want to say it aloud. “So that it’s not all that surprising if he ends up dead. And whatever this asset is, Barren clearly wanted permission from the top.”

  Penny nodded, furrowing her brow, thinking, when her phone rang. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “One moment.” Then she answered. “Hello?”

  She rolled her eyes slightly at Todd as she said to the caller, “Uh-huh… Yes. Okay… I will.”

  She ended the call. “Mrs. Carmichael says I forgot to give her Bathsheba’s eye drops.” She groaned. “Do you think you can run those remaining clearances while I dash home and fix this quick?”

  He nodded. “Not a problem, as long as you’re back by wheels-up.”

  “Of course I will.” She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

  “And what about the Zero situation?” he asked as she turned.

  “Todd, I don’t think there’s much we can do about that. We have a job here, a serious one. It’s not like he reached out to us. There’s going to come a time when he does, and we’ll have to decide then whether we put ourselves on the line to help him, or move on. But right now… it quite seems like he’s on his own.”

  “Yeah,” Todd agreed quietly. “You’re right. Go, do what you gotta do. See you soon.”

  He watched as she hurried toward the White House parking garage and her car. She was right; Zero hadn’t come to them, and they couldn’t jeopardize all their work to go looking for him. They had been tasked with international security. There was nothing more important at the moment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Zero had reached out to her, and she was jeopardizing all their work to go looking for him.

  Penny drove as quickly as she could without breaking any major traffic laws back toward Bethesda. She hated lying to Todd. But for all his charm and innocence, he was entirely too honest to trust with something like this.

  She hadn’t even told him about the possibility that someone was tracking down and killing anyone who knew about the memory suppressor program. For one, she was afraid he’d tell someone else, try to escalate it to someone like Shaw or Barren or even Rutledge. He might even tell the others on EOT and endanger their lives. And two, no one outside of their little clique even knew that Todd knew Zero’s secret—so as long as he didn’t talk about it, he was safe. Or as relatively safe as he could be given his position.

  Todd had heard only one side of the phone call. How it had actually gone was:

  “Hello?”

  “Penny. It’s me. I’m nearby.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can we meet? It won’t take long.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  “Make up an excuse and meet at your place.”

  “I will.”

  And instead of telling Todd the truth, she’d instantly invented a lie about her cat. It wasn’t entirely a lie—her neighbor Mrs. Carmichael really was watching Bathsheba while Penny was in Cairo, and her surly British Shorthair really did have a mild infection in her eye. But she certainly had not forgotten to give Mrs. Carmichael the eye drops.

  It took her twenty-five minutes to get to Bethesda in her hybrid hatchback. She pulled around to the rear of her building and let out a groan of frustration; someone had parked an ancient Civic in her dedicated parking spot. So she pulled into a visitors’ spot and hurried up to the second floor.

  She liked her building; it had a lot of character. The exterior was more than a hundred years old, but the apartments had been renovated only three years prior, updated and modern. They’d knocked a wall down in her unit to make it more spacious. And the first floor housed a flower shop, so it always smelled like springtime.

  Penny took her keys from her purse as she reached the second-floor landing. As she searched for the house key, Zero came around the corner and startled her so badly she dropped the key ring.

  “Jesus! Do your shoes ever make noise?” she scolded. “And calling my personal cell? What were you thinking? I gave you a special number for situations like these!”

  “I tried it,” Zero told her. “It went to voicemail.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized she’d left the second cell in the apartment. “It’s… inside.” She scooped up the keys and unlocked the door. “Well, come on.”

  He followed her inside. She locked the door behind him. Then she started shouting.

  “Just what the hell is going on out there?! You kidnapped Shaw?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And what happened in Zurich?”

  “Guyer is dead.”

  “New York?”

  “More people are dead.” Zero rubbed his face. He looked exhausted, like he’d aged five years since the last time she saw him. “Penny, just listen a minute. I was right. The CIA never ended the memory suppressor program; they just moved it out of Langley. Krauss has one implanted in him, because Shaw gave the tech to Bright, who in return is eliminating anyone who worked on it or knows about it so that the agency can wash their hands of it.”

  Penny blinked a few times. “I… what?” She felt like her head was spinning.

  “It’s all true, and we have zero evidence. But there may be someone who does,” Zero explained. “I think you know who that person is.”

  She did. “Bixby.”

  “Right. Shaw said someone was going to blow the whistle on the suppressor tech. It was him. They haven’t found him yet. If he has hard evidence of it that he was going to go public with, he’s our best shot at keeping anyone else from dying—and to bring down Shaw, Bright, and the whole thing.”

  Penny reache
d out and grabbed the back of a chair. She knew that her mentor wasn’t just going to vanish, that he’d be keeping tabs on things as best he could—and though he hadn’t been specific, she also knew that the memory suppressor tech was certainly one of those things.

  Being involved in that was one of Bixby’s biggest regrets. If he discovered that the research had continued, he certainly would have wanted to put a stop to it.

  “It’s not just about evidence,” Zero said gently. “He’s my friend. But he was closer to you than any of us.”

  She nodded. Bixby had been more than just a mentor; he’d been a father figure. He’d taught her how to have a sense of humor. His eccentric wardrobe had inspired her own colorful choices.

  “His life is in danger,” Zero told her. “He didn’t dare give any of us a clue about where he would go, or where he could be found if it was absolutely necessary. But something tells me that maybe, just maybe, he gave you one. Did he, Penny? Did he leave you a clue?”

  She sighed. Her chin came to rest near her collarbones. “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was… it was just a word. He left me one word. I don’t know what it means. It could mean a thousand different things. Or it could even be a code, or a cypher. You know how he was.” She’d thought about that word innumerable times since Bixby had left. She tortured herself over it, wondering what it could mean and coming up with nothing.

  “What was the word, Penny?” She felt his hand gentle on her shoulder. “What was it?”

  “Turtles.”

  “Turtles?” Zero repeated.

  “Yes. That was it. Just the word ‘turtles.’” She turned to him, not even attempting to hide the hope in her eyes. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Zero looked at the floor and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. Wish I could help more. What will you do now?”

  He shrugged. “Try to find him through other means. If he really was the whistleblower, he might make it a little easier on me.” Zero chuckled. “Though I doubt it.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” She crossed the dining room to the attached kitchen and pulled open a junk drawer, atop which was the secure cell she kept for emergencies. “There, got it now. If you need me…” She trailed off. There was a text.

  From Sara.

  “Zero, look!” She waved the phone in his face.

  It’s Sara. I’m safe. Keeping the phone off.

  He put a hand over his heart and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. That’s her cell number, too. When was that sent?”

  “Little more than an hour ago. She must have turned it back on just long enough to send a message.” They were both silent for a long moment, sharing in the relief of knowing that their hopes had been confirmed and Sara had gotten somewhere safe. “Are Alan and Mischa with you?”

  Zero nodded. “They’re close. But I should go. And you should keep yourself safe.”

  “Actually…” She knew she shouldn’t be telling him this, but it was Zero. No one kept secrets like he could. “I’m getting on Air Force One in about two hours.”

  “Oh? Heading where?”

  “Can’t tell you that.” She smiled.

  “Right.” He smiled too. “I’m not part of the club anymore.”

  “Nothing personal. But the only CIA around will be Todd and EOT. I’ll be fine.” Her smile faded. “You’re sure you don’t know what ‘turtles’ means?”

  He shook his head. “Wish I did. Sorry.”

  “Me too. I’ll have the secure line with me, but this is where we part ways. For now. Take care of yourself, Zero.”

  “I will, Penny. You too.”

  *

  As Zero got back into the old Honda he realized he’d parked in a numbered spot that was probably reserved for one of its residents. No matter; it wasn’t like he’d been there long. He circled the block and double-parked outside a coffee shop where Alan and Mischa joined him. Reidigger handed him a coffee. Mischa sucked happily on some frozen caramel-colored drink in the backseat.

  “How much sugar is in that?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But judging by the flavor, I would say ‘a lot.’”

  “Terrific.” Zero pulled the old car out onto the street.

  “Well?” Alan asked him. “How’d it go? Did she know about Bixby?”

  “Yes and no. He’d left her a clue, but she had no idea what it meant. She thinks it’s a cypher or something.”

  Alan frowned. “Then why leave her the clue?”

  “Because it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for her to give to me.”

  He knew exactly what it meant the moment she said it. But he wouldn’t put Penny in any further danger.

  “So? What was the clue?” Alan prodded.

  “Turtles.”

  “Ah.” Reidigger chuckled and shook his head. “So I guess we’re going to Rome.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Maya didn’t know where she was. By the light of a streetlamp she knew she was on Rue Quatre, but she had no idea how far she’d gone from the vacant apartment, from the dead gunman, and from Trent Coleman.

  She had nothing. No gun, no phone, no money, not even an ID. All of it had been left behind when she fled. She had found a working payphone and attempted to make a collect call to Penny’s emergency line but the call wouldn’t go through to the States.

  Twice she’d stopped and tried to ask a stranger if she could use their phone, but her French was rusty, a bit clunky, and they hurried away from her.

  There was hardly anyone on the streets now. She imagined it would be dawn soon. Every now and then someone would pass by with their hands in their pockets and their head low, the international signal for not being bothered.

  She stopped at a bench across the street from a small park and sat. She needed a plan. Come dawn, she would navigate her way out of Paris. Perhaps hitchhike, put some distance between her and the city. Then she would only have to hope that the generosity of the French countryside was in more abundance than here, that some stranger would let her use a phone.

  Or, she reasoned, you could steal one.

  Maya didn’t much like the thought, committing a crime for the sake of avoiding one, but desperate times and whatnot. The irony of moral ambiguity was not lost on her.

  She didn’t want to believe that Trent Coleman had anything to do with the attempt on her life. The more she thought about it, replaying the events in her head, she realized that if the gunman was only after her, then perhaps Trent had just panicked in the moment. Maybe he was just as freaked out and alone as she was at the moment.

  One thing was certain: their op was a sham. The man in the apartment was no sleeper cell. This was a setup to get her in the right place at the right time, to make it look like an accident had occurred on the job.

  Maybe even to frame Trent as the shooter.

  Assuming he isn’t involved.

  Had Walsh predicted that she would argue against splitting them up? Was she that easy to read? Or… was she that much like her dad?

  Now wasn’t the time to worry about all that. Now was the time to get the hell out of Paris.

  Maya heard footfalls from nearby and went on alert. A man approached, walking casually toward her bench. His hands were at his sides and appeared empty. She stood to cross the street to the park.

  “Pardon?” The man was close now, and speaking to her. “Est-ce que ça va?”

  Excuse me. Are you all right?

  She glanced him over. He’d paused about fifteen feet away, his hands still at his sides but his fingers spread unthreateningly, as if showing his hands were empty. He smiled at her; his face was clean-shaven and angular, his hair long, nearly to his neck.

  “Um… parlez vous English?” she asked sheepishly.

  His smile broadened. “Yes, I do.” His accent was thick. He was, admittedly, quite handsome. Maya imagined that under different circumstances she might have felt a little flutter at the wa
y he spoke. But currently she only felt an icy distrust.

  “Are you lost?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she told him. “I am. Do you have a phone I could use?”

  “I am afraid not.” He looked remorseful. “I was just out for a stroll to help sleep. How do you say, cannot sleep? Insomnie.”

  “Well… thank you anyway. I should be going.” She stepped into the street.

  “Do not go that way,” he warned.

  She paused.

  “The park,” he said, “lovely in the day. But at night, sometimes, uh, not so nice people are about.” He frowned for a moment, as if thinking. “I live close. My phone is there. You can come, use it, if you like.”

  Maya bit her lip. Despite her situation, she wasn’t about to follow a stranger home. “Thank you, but I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Of course. I understand; you do not know me.” He chuckled. “I do not think my wife would be very pleased if I brought a young girl home anyhow. Can I help you find your way?”

  Maya almost laughed at that. “I don’t think you can. Thanks though.”

  He nodded. “All right then. Be safe. Au revoir.”

  He turned and headed back the way he’d come. Maya stood there for a long moment, wondering if she was being paranoid or smart. Hadn’t she been thinking about stealing a phone just a minute earlier? Hadn’t she already asked strangers on the street, and now one was offering her help, and she was denying it?

  “Wait.”

  He paused and glanced over a shoulder.

  “Um… actually, a phone would be nice. Assuming you won’t get in trouble with your wife.”

  He smiled. “She will understand. Come, it’s this way.”

  Maya caught up with him and walked alongside him, or mostly so, lagging just a half-stride and keeping an eye on his hands. Just because she might be paranoid didn’t mean she couldn’t also be streetwise.

  “So,” the man said. “You are tourist? Or, maybe student?”

  “Tourist.”

  “Ah. And may I ask what happened? Were you, separated, from your… friends? Family?”

  “Yeah. Separated from family. I tried to ask around, but…”