“Not good?” Tony asked, seeing her grimace.
“It’s vending machine coffee—is it ever?” They both grinned. “Thanks, though. I needed it, whatever it tastes like. God, I can’t believe I actually fell asleep while you were questioning Adam.”
“You were very tired,” he pointed out. “You’ve been through a lot in the past couple of days, so I can’t blame you for taking a nap. I just hope that when they play back the tapes, they can filter out your snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” she protested, before realizing that he was teasing.
Another grin. “You do drool, though.”
“I do not!” she cried, putting a hand to the side of her mouth—and finding it damp. “Oh. Apparently I do. Ugh.”
He chuckled, then sipped his coffee. “It’s kind of cute, so don’t worry about it. Anyway, I wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything you’ve done. However the mission turned out, the fact remains that we did stop al-Qaeda from getting hold of nuclear materials. And we still got a lot of actionable intel from al-Rais’s persona.”
“You didn’t get the man himself, though.”
“We will. Next time.”
“If there is a next time. The way Harper was carrying on, it sounded like he wanted everyone at STS court-martialed, or whatever it is you do.”
“We’ll see. But you … you’ve got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud, in fact. We asked you to do things that were way beyond what you expected—what we expected—and you came through amazingly.”
She blushed, even as she basked in the compliment. “Thanks. Although I really would have preferred not to be shot at.” Her mood dampened as she remembered that others in the team had also been fired upon—and not all had escaped unharmed. “God. We could all have been killed. We nearly were.”
Tony crouched in front of her, putting a hand on her arm. “Hey. The main thing is that it’s over. And you … you did great.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
They were both silent for a long moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Tony was the first to break the spell. “So. You should get some proper sleep.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“You want a ride to your hotel? I’m probably going to head home myself soon.”
“Thanks, but there’s something I need to do before I go.”
“Check on Adam?”
“Good guess.”
“It wasn’t a guess.” He stood. “And this isn’t a guess either—you want to ask me about the side effects of having a persona imprinted more than once.”
“You’re good at this. You should be a spy or something.”
Tony laughed. “I wanted to design skyscrapers when I was a kid, but things didn’t work out that way.” He sat on the couch beside her. “The second time I took on Najjar’s persona, it felt … smoother, maybe, like it was quicker for me to adjust to it. But it was also …”
His expression became troubled. “What is it?” Bianca asked.
“It’s hard to describe. It felt like … like a tumor. Something that shouldn’t be there, growing inside me. It was a relief every time the persona was wiped, but … it made coming in for the next interrogation worse because I knew this thing would be back. I started getting sick to my stomach every time I went to the lab.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
He shook his head. “No, because I’m a macho idiot.” The self-deprecating admission made her smile. “And I wanted to bring al-Qaeda down using that son of a bitch Najjar’s own knowledge. Which we did—we took out a whole bunch of his top men. Unfortunately, not all of them. Al-Rais survived. And now we’re back in exactly the same situation.”
“Not quite the same. This time it’s Adam doing it.”
“Yeah. And I hope he doesn’t go through what I did, but … well. It’s like that definition of insanity: doing exactly the same thing and expecting a different outcome.” He straightened. “You should talk to him. Persuade him not to be a macho idiot.”
“That might be tough.” They both smiled. “But yes, I’ll try.” She stood. “And Tony … thanks.”
“For what?”
“For telling me all that. I know it must have been hard.”
“Not as hard as actually doing it. If you can help Adam avoid it, you’ve certainly got my blessing.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She left the debriefing room and headed through the corridors to the Bullpen. Only a few of the workstations were manned at this early hour, a skeleton night-shift crew standing in for the regular team members. She went to the Cube and hesitantly tapped on the door.
Adam replied immediately. “Yes?”
“It’s Bianca. Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She entered. Adam had changed his clothes, an open wall panel revealing a small wardrobe. “Morning,” she said.
“Hi. Are you okay?”
“That was going to be my opening question. Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.”
She detected an unsettled air to his answer. “Did you have the same dream again?”
“I always have it. But there was something about it this time …”
“Was it different? Did you remember something?”
“Not remember, as such, but … I’m more certain than ever that it was something real—up until the part where I see myself dead, anyway. Qasid’s got something to do with it. I don’t know how I know, but … I know.” He shook his head. “As for how much sleep I actually got, it was enough to erase al-Rais’s persona.”
“That must be a relief.”
“It is. But you’re still worried about the effects, right?”
“Yeah.” She sat facing him. “I just talked to Tony about … about what he went through with Najjar’s persona. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Thank you. I’m fine, though.”
“You’re not just being a macho idiot when you say that, are you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Tony’s words, not mine.”
“Tony called me a macho idiot?”
“No, that’s what he called himself. For not telling anyone what he was going through.”
“Right.” He said nothing for a moment, lost in thought. “It did feel different the second time.”
“How so?”
“It’s hard to put into words. It felt … like getting into character for a play, I suppose. If you’ve rehearsed it, it’s easier to do.”
“So I assume you’ve acted in a play before, if that’s the first metaphor you thought of.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I was in the drama club at school.”
“Well, you are a spy. There’s a lot of acting involved.”
A wry grin. “It’d be good to have a complete script once in a while.”
“Preferably one with a happy ending. But did you feel any ill effects from taking on al-Rais’s persona again? Anything … deep down?” She didn’t want to use Tony’s words to prompt him, hoping he would come up with his own description.
None was forthcoming, though. “No. Unless you count disgust, now that I know some of the things he’s done. John was right. We should have killed him when we had the chance. He deserves it. Only now …” He sighed. “He’s on the loose again. And he knows about the Persona Project.”
“He can’t know all that much, surely?” said Bianca. “Even though we didn’t give him any Mnemexal, all he’ll remember is that we did something to him—but he won’t know what. Maybe he just thought the PERSONA machine was a fancy lie detector or something.”
“He knows our faces.”
That thought cast a pall over the room. “Hopefully someone’ll catch him before he can find out who we are.”
“We need more than hope.” Adam leaned back, thinking. “He’s got assets he can use against us. But we’ve got one we can use against him.”
“His persona?”
“No. We got the most crucial information in the first interrogation—anything else is just going to be extra detail. But we’ve also got Qasid. He knows one of al-Qaeda’s moles—someone high up in Pakistani intelligence. If we find out who … maybe we can turn them.”
“And get them to tell us where al-Rais is?” Adam nodded. “Only problem is, Harper doesn’t think Qasid’s worth the effort. What if you can’t get permission to make a transfer before he gets shipped out to Guantánamo Bay?”
“I already know I won’t get it,” he said. “They’re only interested in al-Rais. But Qasid knows something. And not just about the mole—about me too. He’s seen me before.” Another thoughtful pause, then he stood. “I’m going to find out where.”
“You’re going to interrogate him?”
“No. I’m going to use the PERSONA on him.”
“What?” Bianca gasped. “Wait a minute—if you don’t have permission, won’t that get you into a lot of trouble with Morgan? And with Harper?”
“I’ll have permission—they just won’t know about it. I can hack into the system and give myself authorization.”
“That sounds like a really bad idea, Adam.”
“Oh, it gets worse,” he said, giving her a humorless smile. “Because I can’t do it without your help. So … will you help me?”
Visions of orange jumpsuits jumped unbidden to her mind. “Are you insane? I don’t want to end up in the cell next door to Qasid!”
“Nobody’ll ever find out. And this is the best time to do it—there’s hardly anyone on duty. The full day shift won’t come in for another couple of hours. I’ll only need a few minutes to get what I need from Qasid’s persona.”
“What about the security cameras? And the guard on the cells?”
“If nobody knows anything happened, they won’t have any reason to look at the security records. And the guard will check his computer, see we’ve got permission, and not think anything more about it. Bianca, please!” he said, suddenly pleading. “I’ve got to do this. Qasid knows something about my past. If he’s taken away, I’ll never find out what it is.”
“I want to help you, really I do,” she replied. “But it’s too dangerous!”
“You went undercover with a violent arms dealer. That was dangerous. So was hiding in the back of a snowcat full of terrorists. All you have to do here is get the PERSONA gear from the lab and oversee the transfer—it’ll take ten minutes, tops.”
“But if we get caught …”
“We won’t be,” he insisted. “I know what I’m doing.” Seeing that she was still reluctant, he softened his voice. “Bianca, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve done something for me that nobody else has—you made me start thinking about who I really am. And now I’ve got a chance to find out … but I’ll never know if you don’t help me. I need to do this, Bianca. Please.”
Several seconds passed before she gave him a reply. “Are you absolutely sure you can do it without anyone finding out?”
“Yes, I am. Do you trust me?”
Another pause, but shorter. “Yes,” she said, before repeating the word with more certainty. “Yes.”
“Will you help me?”
Seconds passed before she replied. She would be risking a lot: her career, the Luminica deal, even her freedom.
But Adam was right. She had started his search for answers about his past, and since he had saved her life—more than once—in Russia, she owed him the chance to find them.
“I … yes,” she said. “But if anything happens …”
“I’ll take all the blame,” he said firmly. “But it won’t come to that. Like I said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“I’d better not get mud on my bum again,” Bianca told him, her old spark resurfacing. “Okay, so what do I have to do?”
“Go to the lab and bring the PERSONA gear.”
“Including the recorder?”
“No, I won’t need it.”
“Good. The damn thing weighs a ton.”
He smiled. “Then meet me outside briefing room C in five minutes.”
“Briefing room C, that’s, ah …”
“Out of the back-left exit from the Bullpen, turn left, then right.”
“Gotcha.” She rose and went to the door—then hesitated, looking back. “Adam …”
“Trust me,” he said. She nodded and left the room. Adam followed her out, going to one of the unoccupied workstations. A surreptitious check to make sure none of the night-shift staff was paying him any particular attention, then he started to enter commands.
Bianca went to the lab, feeling as though everyone she passed was regarding her with deep suspicion. She almost expected her ID card to be rejected when she put it into the lock, but the light turned green as normal.
Heart pounding, she entered and opened the cabinet to collect the equipment. It was the first time she had done so without Kiddrick watching hawkishly over her shoulder, and she still couldn’t escape the sense that there was someone right behind her.
But a glance around assured her that she was being paranoid. Relieved, she turned back to her task, collecting everything she needed. She picked up the cases and was about to nudge the cabinet closed with her knee when she paused, noticing something. One of the memory modules containing the recorded personas of the test subjects was labeled with a familiar name: CARPENTER, A. Tony was short for Anthony, obviously. She looked along the cases for a GRAY, A., but saw none.
No time to wonder about the omission. She shut the cabinet and hurried out, heading through the building to briefing room C.
Minutes passed as she waited outside it, feeling increasingly conspicuous and nervous. If anyone wandered by and wondered why she was hanging around with the PERSONA cases at her feet …
She heard someone approaching. Wishing that she had spent the time devising a semi-plausible excuse for being there, she turned—and to her relief saw Adam. “What kept you?” she demanded in a half whisper.
“I had to get something from the equipment room. You’ve got everything?” She gestured at the cases. “Okay, good. Come on.”
He picked up the large case and started down the corridor. Bianca collected the medical equipment and followed him to a security door bearing the sign HOLDING. Adam inserted his ID card. The light on the lock turned green, and he opened it.
Beyond was a short, windowless corridor with three heavy doors leading off it. A uniformed security guard sat at a desk beside the entrance. Monitors showed the interiors of the cells; one was occupied. He hurriedly put down his newspaper, evidently not expecting visitors this early in the day. “Mr. Gray, sir. Morning. Uh … what can I help you with?”
“We need to talk to Qasid,” Adam told him, matter-of-factly. “Mr. Carpenter’s authorized it.”
“Okay, sir, let me just check …” He tapped at the computer on the desk. “Ah, yeah, here we go. He’s in number one.” He indicated the nearest of the three doors, then pushed a button on a control panel. A loud clack came from the door as the lock was released. “He’s all yours. Just wave at the camera when you want to come out.”
“Thank you.” Adam opened the cell and entered, Bianca behind him. The door swung shut.
Qasid lay on the bed. A metal toilet bowl and a tiny washbasin set into the wall were the only other furnishings. The terrorist had been asleep, the noise of the lock rousing him. He looked blearily at the new arrivals—then sat bolt upright, scrambling back as he recognized Adam. “Gray!” he snarled. “You bastard, you traitor! You set us up!”
Adam put down the case. “Do you know me?”
“Of course I know you! What sort of stupid question is that?”
“Where did you meet me? Before Russia, I mean. Where do you know me from?”
Confusion joined anger on Qasid’s face. “Why are you asking me things you already know?”
“Answer the question.”
“I won’t tell you anything!”
“Yes, you will.”
“Are you going to torture me?” he sneered. “And you Americans call us animals!”
“I’m not going to torture you,” said Adam, taking something from a pocket. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.” Before Qasid could react, he pushed the prongs of a stun gun hard against the terrorist’s chest and thumbed the trigger. There was an electric flash. Qasid instantly slumped into a twitching heap.
“Jesus!” gasped Bianca, nearly as shocked as the Pakistani. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that to him!”
“Did you want to put the cap on him while he was still awake and resisting?”
“Well, when you put it that way, no. But—”
“We don’t have a lot of time,” said Adam, stepping back.
Still shaken, Bianca booted up the PERSONA before taking out the first skullcap and pulling it over the stunned man’s head. “What about the camera?” she asked, glancing at the lens staring glassily down from above the door. “The guard’ll be watching us.”
“We won’t be doing anything he hasn’t seen before.” Adam started to put on his own skullcap.
“You know, I don’t find that very reassuring.” She secured Qasid’s cap and connected its cable to the PERSONA. “Okay, now I need to work out the drug dose …”
“Don’t go through the full routine,” said Adam. “We don’t have time.”
“What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly.
“I mean, the whole charade Roger asked you to do so he can stay on the project.”
She looked up at the camera again. “I, uh … I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t have audio. Your secret’s safe with me. I said you can trust me.”
Bianca glared at him. “How long have you known?”
“Well, you just confirmed it.” On her horrified realization that she had dropped herself and Albion in it, he went on: “But I suspected in Macao. You did things in the wrong order, missed out steps—but it still worked, so it got me wondering. After Russia, I was sure.” He handed her his skullcap’s cable. “Is this on right?”
“Do you even need me to check anymore?” she replied, both relieved by his discretion and irked at the amusement he was taking from her embarrassment.
The Shadow Protocol Page 34
