Fatal Exchange

by Cindy M. Hogan

  “We’re supposed to be under the radar. Helicopters would never work,” Markay frowned. I could tell he was nervous.

  “Lighten up, Markay,” Ace said over his shoulder, “the kid did good. No way would you have fit into those air ducts.” He handed me a piece of mint gum and I popped it into my mouth.

  “You call that good? The alarms went off! She was fired upon! We got nothing. The mission was a disaster.” He shook his head and huffed.

  “Things are never textbook when working with this one,” Halluis said, swiping at my messed up hair. He stared me down, a slight smirk on his lips.

  I sighed. “It’s always an adventure with me, Hal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, it wasn’t my fault—you guys saw those two goons that broke into Dufor’s office. I couldn’t make a clean getaway without alerting their attention to me. I’m sorry I triggered the alarms, but I think I got something!”

  Markay looked at me sharply. “It was way too close for comfort.” He shot Halluis a look of disgust.

  “Hey,” Ace spoke up. “It’s not like I can read the hotspots’ minds. I told Christy they were exiting the elevator. She’s the one who chose to ignore them.” He winked at me.

  “And it’s a good thing I did!” I shot back, blood rising to my cheeks. “Yes, they caught me, but did you guys hear what they said?”

  “No, we only saw them for a few seconds before the feed went dead, and once you were in the ducting, we couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “They were looking for the drive.”

  Halluis raised an eyebrow at me. “Yes, and?”

  “And that means they don’t have it.” I let that sink in for a moment. “They were the ones who killed Dufor, but they didn’t see the exchange—they didn’t see me. That means the pickpocket had no idea what he was stealing, and he wasn’t part of their team. We have a chance now—to get the information before they bury it forever. All we have to do is convince Siron to let us go after the pickpocket.”

  “Easier said than done,” Halluis said, his pencil-thin mustache twitching as he scowled.

  “It’s the only way, and you know it. These guys are desperate—they tore Dufor’s office to shreds searching for that drive. You think they’re just going to stop? They’re going to find out what happened to it, and then they’ll go after the pickpocket. We have to find him before they do.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “You said you found something?” Ace asked, finally.

  I pulled the pad of paper out of my bodysuit after unzipping it. “Maybe.” I tapped the paper. “I hope so.” I truly hoped it was worth alerting the bad guys to our presence. “Does anyone have a pencil?”

  Halluis fished around in his pockets and pulled out a stubby yellow pencil. He grinned.

  “You’re just like a boy scout!”

  His grin faded, “A what? Excuse me?”

  I laughed and turned to the pad of paper in my lap. I gently rubbed the pencil over the page, hoping my hunch was correct. As I scribbled, the barely noticeable indentations became swirls, boxes, letters and then words. Dufor was definitely a doodler. I smiled, thinking it comical that a man so rigid, formal, and precise could be a doodler, until the words spread all over the page grabbed my attention: Liberté, égalité, fraternité – the national motto of France: liberty, equality, fraternity. Each word had been crossed through with an angry slash. Vertically along the side of the paper Dufor had scrawled, “Poverty is the mother of crime, and he is the father.” In one corner, he’d drawn a man with a dagger in his back. In the opposite corner, he’d written, “I am a dead man if they catch me.” There was a circle around this statement and under the circle, the phrase “So what?” was written three times. Ice seemed to chill my veins. The name Henri appeared in several places on the paper, sometimes by itself, but sometimes as part of other phrases—“For Henri, I must,” “Henri deserved better,” and “Henri, I will not let him.”

  I frowned. Henri was Dufor’s first name—was the man a bit loony? Why was he referring to himself in the third person? What did it mean?

  The largest phrase on the paper, the one that stood out the best, as though Dufor had gone over it several times, read, “This cannot go on.”

  I held the page out for Halluis and Markay to study. Markay’s eyes darted all over it before he finally shook his head in frustration. “This makes no sense!”

  “Just a moment,” Halluis murmured. He stared at the page, letting his gaze settle for a minute or two on each scribble before moving on. “This here,” he said, pointing to the vertical phrase about poverty. “This is a famous French quote, but altered. The original says ‘lack of good sense is the father.’”

  “What do you think it means?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  I bit my lip. “I think Dufor was conflicted. He was using this doodle to try to work something out.”

  “Hmm. He was trying to convince himself to go through with it—informing us. That may be true.”

  “Yes, but it still doesn’t tell us anything about what he had,” Markay insisted. “All this tells us is that the man was insane—and really bad at drawing.” He scowled.

  “Perhaps,” Halluis shrugged. “I still think we ought to send it to our analysts. Maybe we are just missing something.”

  I shook my head before lying back, sucking hard for air and rotating my shoulders, trying to ease the ache that swelled there. I’d hoped for more, some clue that would point us in the right direction. I stared at the paper a while longer, but all it told me was that Henri Dufor had decided the risk was worth it. This cannot go on.

  ***

  The chill in the air at Division HQ sent an ominous shiver through me. Something was up. Instead of greeting us, like usually happened as we entered the main room, people avoided looking at us. All the screens around the room were focused on one thing, a protest at the Palais Bourbon, which housed the National Assembly of France, the lower house of government. Perhaps that was why everyone was on edge. The French people were mobilizing, and that usually meant trouble.

  The information ribbon at the bottom of the screen gave a snippet of the story. The people apparently wanted to oust the President a year early for alleged corruption. It seemed the second the elections were called four years ago, and the President had put Prime Minister Alden in office, the people had been out to get him. I shook my head in disgust. Politics were nutso everywhere. It was nice to work for Division, which did not hold any allegiance to any one country. We were there to help the good guys no matter where they hailed from.

  Siron walked out of her office and caught our attention. She pointed to the collaboration room, her lips pressed into a scowl. Something told me she knew how close I’d come to blowing the mission, again. I ducked my head down and hastily walked with the others toward the room.

  The unease in the room spiked as Siron stood at the head of the table and we took our seats. A terrible feeling of foreboding hit me hard. I needed to speak up and fast.

  “I’ll be reporting on the mission, Director.”

  Siron scoffed. “Markay already reported.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your carelessness cost us the mission. If you had managed to find something, your mistakes could have been overlooked, but that isn’t what happened, is it?”

  Fire crept up my neck at her persistent stare, the heat spreading over my face. “But I did find things. Sécurité Un doesn’t have the drive. It was only a pickpocket that took it. I can identify—”

  Siron planted her hands on her hips and shook her head, stopping me. “You have no idea who those men were, or if they even worked for the company.”

  “Didn’t you say one wore the company’s uniform?” Ace asked.

  “Yes. One was in uniform.” I nodded my head so fast, Siron turned to a blur.

  “And can you tell me with total certainty that this man in the uniform wasn’t an employee of some other company that wanted the drive?”

  The thought
hadn’t even occurred to me. Halluis’s head jerked toward me.

  “You were impulsive and careless in your conclusions. And we are left to pick up the pieces. Poor Dufor. He didn’t have a chance, did he?”

  I still had an ace up my sleeve. I held the paper up and said, “I have this.” Siron peered down at the paper like it was a bug she’d smashed. It had been stupid to bring it to her attention. No one knew what the doodle even meant.

  “You have a piece of paper with some indecipherable doodles and you think it holds all the answers?” She snatched it from my hand and crushed it before throwing it into the nearest trashcan. The quiet sound of paper hitting paper filled the room. No one moved.

  “You are sloppy, impulsive, and careless.”

  “But, Director.” Ace spoke up, a vein popping in his forehead. “The pickpocket could turn out to be the lead we need.”

  Siron sneered. Her eyes were dilated, her posture stiff, unyielding. “Seriously, Hadden, did you hear what Renauld said? You’ve poisoned your entire team, making them chase a fantasy. Creating an atmosphere on your team where unprofessional and ridiculous ideas are entertained is a poison like none other. You couldn’t make a good decision if it hit you over the head. Such sloppiness is unacceptable in an agent for Division. You only think of yourself and not the consequences others have to face because of your poor decisions.”

  My heartbeat raced, and my stomach knotted, and a slight twitch developed just under my eye. It was like I could feel my whole team shrinking, feeling very, very small.

  “Yes. I can’t seem to find the words needed to express my complete and total shock that Christy was in the middle of a mission and quite nearly blew it.” The sarcasm in her voice was readily apparent. She let her eyes pause on each of the team members in turn. My nails dug into my palms. She wasn’t done yet.

  “I want there to be no mistaking the fact that there will not be another chance at getting into Dufor’s office.” Her eyes then landed on me. “As for you, Christy. I have contacted your supervising officer, Jeremy McGinnis, and he will be overseeing your formal discipline once he arrives.” Her lip curled, and her eyes narrowed. “I understand that in the United States you are considered somewhat of a star. Perhaps that has led to your impertinent and dangerous actions tonight. However, I will not allow you to waste any more Division resources on this absurd plan. You’ll never find that boy. Ever.”

  She huffed, her eyes rounded orbs of fire. “Leave your weapon, phone, and any other Division devices you might have on you here. You are officially confined to your apartment until Jeremy comes for you.”

  I growled in complete frustration as I stood up, my mind feeling like a ton of bricks pressed on it. Then exhaustion took over and I set my hands on the table, leaning hard on them. “That boy couldn’t have been involved with the company. If he had, they wouldn’t have sent anyone to Dufor’s office to look for the drive. They would have known where it was. Face it. Without me, you don’t have a chance at getting that drive back and if you would take a step back, you’d realize that.” Heat filled my chest. A large part of me wanted to take back what I’d just said and fall to my knees to ask for forgiveness, but another part of me rejoiced in being able to speak my piece. Besides, I was too tired to deal with this.

  Hal lifted his head and said, “We really couldn’t have done—”

  One sharp look from Siron cut him off, and the other three who had been nodding froze.

  To my utter joy, Ace spoke up despite her death stare. “She did get us info we needed. We now know who the targets are. I never would have thought to pull that pad out of the desk, and the residue—”

  I reached into my catsuit and pulled out the baggies of material and set them on the table.

  “Enough!” she snapped, and her eyes flashed. “She’s out until Jeremy arrives and takes her in hand. We save lives, we do not take them. I will not have another Dufor on my hands.”

  The proud feeling I’d had at my team’s words vanished as shame and regret washed over me and my face flamed. I turned on my heel and left the room.

  ***

  After changing into regular clothes, I left HQ. Crestfallen, I made my way home.

  Sitting on the train was not a good place for me to be. The memory of what happened to Dufor stomped through my mind. He was really dead. My actions had allowed his death to occur. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes and nausea settled in. I stood to disembark, hoping I wouldn’t puke before the train stopped. As I moved toward the door, a young boy, no more than fourteen, his dark head down, sidled up to me. No way was this happening—I did not need this right now. Sure enough, he darted his hand out and scoped my pocket.

  Quick as a flash, I had my hand on his wrist, wrenching it away from my pocket and behind his back. He didn’t cry out, but a tear slid down his cheek and a look of anguish filled his face. I felt no pity.

  “Get your filthy hands off me,” I hissed in his ear, the French words sounding powerful. “And if I catch you doing this to anyone else, I’ll duct tape your nose to your butt and put you back in the subway wearing a sign that tells everyone you’re a filthy pickpocket.”

  He nodded frantically. I released his arm and gave him a slight push just as the train doors opened. He stumbled out and soon disappeared up the stairs. My blood was boiling. I’d endured these pickpockets for too long. Up until now, I’d taken precautionary measures like any good Parisian, keeping valuables well out of reach and always being on alert. Except for that one moment, one second when I’d been focused on identifying risks for Dufor—and I’d been taken advantage of. I hated Paris.

  I stopped at a small park down the street from my apartment and tried to find some peace, some hope. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Siron’s words sat at the forefront of my mind. Careless, thoughtless, unprofessional, poisonous, impulsive. She was right, of course. Jeremy was going to be so mad, so disappointed. It was easy to see how ashamed and embarrassed by me he would be. He’d regret speaking so highly of me. The thought of seeing him made me feel queasy.

  Chapter 5

  I’d been up half the night working on the Sécurité Un mission, so after a long, hot shower, during which I could barely stay awake, I walked the fifteen steps from the bathroom, past the kitchenette, and slipped into bed. The second my head hit the pillow, my traitorous mind began running around in circles. I stared out the crusty old window that helped give the apartment its charm, then at the small sofa across the room and then at the kitchenette, trying to get my mind off everything. At some point I fell into a fitful sleep, but I must have woken up a thousand times. Exhaustion ate at me until a breeze whispered over my face. I bolted upright. I hadn’t left a window open. In two seconds flat, I located the intruder and was on him a moment later.

  “Stop hitting me!” he yelled, and at the sound of his familiar voice, I reeled back, barely stopping myself from landing another kick.

  “What?” I gasped in disbelief.

  “Stop hitting me, girl. It’s me—it’s Halluis!”

  I reached out and slapped the light on, revealing the tall, thin Frenchman dressed all in black, a look of utter disgust on his face. He had one hand pressed to his side where I’d kicked him. “This is how you treat your friends?”

  “This is how I treat intruders! You know, the type of people who sneak into your apartment in the dead of night.” I crossed to the window and yanked it closed, adrenaline still coursing through me and making my breath short. “My friends typically knock.”

  “Knock? I’m a trained spy; I’m not going to announce myself on the doorstep like some sort of civilian.”

  A soft rap sounded at the door, and we both turned to it in shock.

  After a split second of hesitation, I walked cautiously over and peered through the peep hole, then yanked the door open with an exasperated sigh. “Come in, Ace.” His face registered surprise when he saw Halluis already inside, and he rubbed awkwardly at the greying scruff on his jaw before shoving his
hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Hi.”

  Halluis snorted. “Civilian.”

  I rolled my eyes at the smug look on his face. “Okay, what is going on here?”

  “I came—” they both started, then glared at each other.

  “One at a time,” I said, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. I suddenly felt very tired. “Halluis, why don’t you go first?”

  “I came to find out what your plan is, and to offer you my assistance.”

  “My—what?”

  Ace came over and sat beside me, holding something out toward me. I took it before realizing what it was—a cellphone.

  “I came to bring you this. It’s completely secure, and no one at HQ knows about it, so you can communicate with me whenever you need to. The first number in the address book will reach me, the rest are dummies.”

  “But—”

  Halluis scoffed, “Always trying to show me up, aren’t you, Ace? Well, I did not come empty handed, you know.” He unzipped one of his many pockets and pulled out something sleek and black. He sat down on the other side of me and held out a familiar-looking pouch—the same one I’d been forced to relinquish to Siron mere hours before.

  “My knives?” I blinked in confusion. “Why did you—?”

  “You didn’t think we would leave you alone in this, did you?” Halluis looked hurt. “Ma petite, I am offended.”

  “Honestly, Christy, I thought you knew us better than that,” Ace chimed in.

  I looked back and forth between the two of them. The identical looks of consternation and reproof on their faces were almost comical. Suddenly, I understood.

  “You guys think I’m going after the pickpocket.”

  “Of course,” Halluis scoffed. “Wait—aren’t you?”

  “Are you crazy?” I stood and walked over to the apartment’s nice sized kitchenette, keeping my back to them to shut out the absurdity of their expectation. I realized I was still holding the phone and the pouch of knives, and I set them down on the counter with a dull thud. “You heard what Siron said. There’s no way I could—”