by Pema Donyo
He let out a curt sound of amusement. “It’s Orpheus’s lyre. Orpheus had a wife, Eurydice. When Eurydice died and was taken away from him, he made a deal with Hades, the god of the underworld. He could take Eurydice out of the underworld, but on one condition: he had to keep playing his lyre as he guided her out and not look back behind him.”
I peered up from the telescope and back at him. “Then what happened?”
“He looked back.” Bitterness marked Adrian’s features.
“Why’d he look back?”
“He had to make sure she followed him. He stopped hearing her footsteps behind him, and he needed to make sure she was all right.”
“But she was still following him, wasn’t she? She was still right next to him.”
“He wasn’t sure.” Adrian’s voice lowered. “He couldn’t risk messing it up. Orpheus couldn’t lose her again.”
“Maybe she wanted him to look back.”
“They never had the future they planned.”
I shrugged. “Not all things go according to plan.”
He brushed his hands down my arms. Then his lips were on mine, like in my dream. His body pressed against mine… and oh, definitely better than any dream boyfriend. I guided him away from the balcony, away from the telescope and away from the cryptic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.
****
As sunshine broke against the curtains, the morning light drifted through the windows and balcony.
I opened my eyes, reached toward the warm body I wanted to find… and touched only the cold emptiness. I groaned. Not another dream!
But as my eyes blinked open, I saw the balcony, the four posts of the bed, and the fireplace. Last night was no dream. So where was Adrian?
My eyes scanned the spot on the bed where I expected to find him. I found only tucked in sheets. Cute. So he’d tucked me in. A post-it note rested on the pillow next to me. “Sorry, early morning meeting. Stay as long as you like” were the words scribbled in his messy scrawl. I plopped my head back onto the pillows.
So much for an early morning make-out session.
After grabbing a robe that lay nearby, I climbed out of bed and headed toward the bookshelves on the wall opposite the mirror. I could always read in bed until he came back home. Or at least until noon, when my next class started.
As soon as I picked up the volume, another book fell out of the bookshelf. I picked up the second leather bound book. Weird, it was a photo album. I thumbed through it. Pictures of Adrian and I filled the first few pages, some taken at our prep school, others taken during our frequent visits to the beach, a certain third grade play where we’d played hero and heroine and where I first developed a crush on him, and a few taken from this year. I had no idea he was keeping pictures of all the memories.
The next few pages traveled back in time. I’d never seen these pictures before. There was a photo of a small baby, blond and chubby with piercing blue eyes. It had to be Adrian. How adorable, I didn’t know his foster parents had his baby photos. More photos of the baby growing up followed, with images of a tiny toddler and a mother holding him in her lap. The woman was familiar.
The next page held a picture of a man and a woman cradling the blond baby. Wait a second. The man looked familiar too. I could’ve sworn I’d seen his face the other day, the same features but slightly older…
Suddenly, I realized why the CEO’s eyes were so familiar to me—the icy cold but clear blue eyes which sharpened in times of alternate stress and charm.
I dropped the book.
The father in the photo, holding baby Adrian and sitting next to Adrian’s mother, was none other than Jack Waterman, CEO of Covert Operatives.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Texts from Jane Lu’s Phone
When will you be back? I miss you! :) – Jane Lu, May 14, 3:45pm
Not sure yet – Adrian King, 4:00pm
I hope everything’s going okay. How are things over there? – 4:01pm
Fine. – 6:45pm
Will you at least be back next weekend? – 6:05pm
Yeah – 7:32pm
I’ll be waiting for you in your apartment then, is that all right? – 7:03pm
K – 8:29pm
“I’m sorry, Miss Lu, but I cannot allow you access to the library.”
“It’s one library fine.”
“One which you have not paid in over three years, amounting to over seven hundred dollars.” The librarian pushed his glasses further down his nose to scrutinize me and my non-library-fine-paying visage.
I scoffed. “How can that be possible?”
“CO library books are very important resources, Miss Lu. As such, our fines are appropriated to accommodate such rarity.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You know the rules: no pay, no access.”
“Can’t I charge it to my credit card?”
The librarian clucked his tongue. “What is it with the young folk and this plastic card? It holds no real value. It is simply an appearance of value which does not exist.”
“It’s a connection to my bank account! How am I supposed to get seven hundred dollars in cash?”
“The magic bank account of yours should do the trick, I imagine.”
I tapped my foot. “This has gotta be a joke.”
“No joke, and no access. Good day, Miss Lu.” The librarian spun around and resumed organizing books behind the check-out counter.
I suppressed the urge to literally knock the librarian unconscious for the next five minutes (a trick I learned from a Tibetan Buddhist monk at CO a few years back) and walk right past him. No, Jane, not ethical. Not ethical at all.
But where else could I get access to the same amount of documents the CO online library stored? There was no larger collection of CIA, FBI, and CO files all in one place. It would take me ages to find the information I needed on my own.
I glanced back at Mr. Skeers, the librarian. He appeared ancient, like he could still tell stories about the days of the Civil War when he’d experienced them. The slight man was at least a foot shorter than me, and he even trembled while he stood up. My eyes flickered to a spot on his neck which would render him unconscious. All it needed was one swift jab.
All right, in times of trouble, bend ethical rules.
Right as I walked toward the librarian with a little Buddhist trick in mind, another agent walked up to him.
“Mr. Skeers!” Her brows furrowed in worry. “I think someone misplaced the last volume of population statistics in Brazil. It’s checked in, but it’s not with the other records on the shelf.”
“Oh no!” Mr. Skeers dropped the books he held and clutched his chest like he was having a heart attack. He followed her into the nearest set of library shelves, disappearing behind the maze of books. “Show me at once.”
I wasted no time.
I rode the elevator to the fourth floor, where CO kept the online databases, a long row of computers holding information on virtually every subject. Every processed and published news article, every published photograph, and every government record—both classified and not—was here. I had to hand it to CO’s hacking department.
I settled into a comfortable leather armchair behind one of the monitors. Thankfully, the few other people checking the online databases sat on the other side of the room from me.
I set the search engine settings to “NEWSPAPER” and typed in “Jack Waterman.”
The monitor whirred to life, processing my request. I bit a nail and wondered why the computer was being so slow. Normally search results popped up within a second.
The words “NO RESULTS” stared back at me.
Hmm. So he kept a low profile. Nothing to see there, then.
Maybe I’d try something else. I scanned around me again and checked to make sure no one could see my monitor. Nope, still the only person on the side of the room. I switched the settings to “CO RECORD.” Surely something had to come up then.
Results appeared on the screen. He s
erved as an agent twenty years ago, completed missions in Tanzania and Australia and specialized in exotic locations. He, like Adrian, went straight on to being a CEO instead of being an executive. He’d been chosen by Hawk Fletcher, the CEO before him. But Hawk was nothing like Jack. He was already old when Jack was appointed, nearly ninety years old. Jack was still young.
“Why do you want Adrian?” I wanted to ask the picture on the screen. The picture was an agent profile of Jack Waterman from 1990. The only differences I found between him now and back then was a slimmer profile and a scar-free face. But otherwise the features were the same.
The record proved disappointing. Spoke Italian, Mandarin. Good at kickboxing, fencing. Average statistics and information which didn’t help me at all.
Yet the bottom of the screen caught my eye. It showed me results from different search settings, including “CIA RECORD.” And there were definitely documents under his name in the CIA records.
I clicked on the thumbnail, calling more documents to my screen. My eyes widened. Now this was more like it.
The CIA had kept tabs on him since he was an agent. There were countless pictures of him which matched the appearance from 1990. His whereabouts couldn’t be determined; he moved from CO base to CO base and kept increasing CO’s empire. They knew he was the CEO and sometimes hacked his e-mails, but they knew little about his personal life.
They did know something though, if the pictures accompanying the documents from 1993 were any indication.
There were pictures of Jack Waterman and another woman, holding hands and embracing. More pictures followed, this time of Jack and the woman kissing. I zoomed in. The woman was the same woman from the obituary. It was Adrian’s mother.
Which made Jack…
I shook my head. Insane. But possible. Adrian had never mentioned his father. But if he knew his father was alive, and he knew his father was the CEO…
No wonder he wanted to be CEO! His father was the CEO, which was why Jack had picked him. Over everyone else, Jack picked Adrian because he knew Adrian was his son and he wanted him to follow in his footsteps. The obituary hadn’t mentioned Adrian’s father, only a mother.
I closed the screen and pushed my chair away from the desk. There was only one other person who knew enough about Covert Operatives to answer my questions.
****
If he knew everything about CO, he knew nothing about cooking.
Not implying I knew much either, of course. But I was pretty sure lasagna was supposed to be a variation of golden and red, not completely carbon black.
“It’s a bit crunchier than normal, still tasty!” Marty coughed, waving one of his hands in the air to dispel the smoke emitting from the burned lasagna. His oven mitts caused his hands to appear oversized and cherry red in the smoky haze. “Now, would you like to try some?”
I winced as he attempted to cut into the lasagna and the knife remained stuck on top. He needed a chainsaw to slice it. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Marty removed his oven mitts and walked behind the counter. He left the knife stuck in the lasagna, as if the room temperature air would somehow soften the lasagna and slip the knife through. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”
I followed him into his workshop. “It’s been a few weeks, yeah. I’ve been busy with contracts and classes.”
“I’m so proud of you for landing those contracts. The work takes real skill, Jane, real skill. You’ve got a gift.” Marty patted me on the back and opened the door for me. I entered, and he locked the door behind us.
Marty breezed his way to his chair. Once seated, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I’ve also got a gift—of spotting a CO executive who needs information. What would you like to know?”
I shifted in my seat. “Not information, per say. General knowledge.”
“Is this about Adrian?” Marty sighed. “Thrilled you two are still together, of course, there never was a better-matched couple. But I imagine it must be frustrating for you to wait around during his missions, wondering when he comes back.”
“I wouldn’t say waiting around.” Having a chance to relay CO information back to Marge was more like it. “It would be wonderful to know where he is going, exactly. Have you talked to him lately?”
“He stopped by yesterday, in fact.” Marty’s brows curved in sympathy. He patted my hand. “I know you’re concerned. He’s leaving for Washington D.C. next week, on Monday I think. He’s trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
Marty frowned. “There are some secrets in CO, Jane. Secrets which shouldn’t be revealed. Not that I know what they are, of course. I know what the general word is, and I’ve spent—what, thirty years with this company?”
I straightened my back, remembering my mission. “Thirty years.”
“A long time.”
“You must have seen quite a few CEO’s come and go.”
“No. Two, and three if you count Adrian’s ascension. Yes, the first who hired me was Hawk Fletcher. Old, old man, even when he was young. Old soul, they say. CO was good under Fletcher.” Marty’s eyes shined, like a father thinking of the accomplishments of his child. “But Jack Waterman was better.”
“Who?” I asked with innocence.
“Oh, it is the CEO’s name. No one refers to him as Jack anymore, of course. He’s so respected now. But I remember when he was still an agent, a troubled kid who was good at leading others. Not the nicest student, but courageous.”
“If he’s so young, why is Adrian being appointed as CEO now?”
“Beats me.” Marty stroked his beard and gazed off into the distance. “Haven’t talked to Jack in a while. I used to every day, when he was still an agent. Used to come to me for love advice, the boy.”
“Advice? For who?”
“Always a different girl.” Marty chuckled. “Never wanted to get too attached. Most men ask me how to get a girl; Jack used to ask me how to get rid of them. The female agents weren’t jumping at his feet all the time, but whenever Jack did get in a serious relationship, all he wanted was out.”
“Did he ever marry?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” He winked. “Random facts about your CEO, eh? There was a girl he got serious with later, I think her name was Harriet… or Halle…”
“Helen?”
Marty snapped his fingers, eyes widening. “That’s the name. She was the last girl he asked me for advice about. He wanted to get rid of her too.”
My throat tightened. “What happened to Helen afterward?”
“Beats me. Poor boy wasn’t one for relationships.”
So Helen hadn’t stayed with Jack. The lack of formal marriage explained why he wasn’t mentioned in the obituary. But Adrian’s mother and Jack were definitely in a relationship around the time Adrian was born. Good grief, he was the son of the CEO! The information sent me reeling. He still had family ties after all. He was so loyal to the CEO because he knew Jack was the last member of his family.
Adrian was loyal to the CEO; he was loyal to CO.
How could he manage to be loyal to me too?
****
I wasn’t the only one who remained quiet.
Adrian returned late to his apartment and I waited for him, as usual. He hung up his coat and made himself food. He then climbed into bed with me. But he said nothing. He was as silent as a ghost.
“I’m headed to DC next week. I’ll be there Monday.” I lifted my folder from the table next to the bed. Professor George handed me my next assignment earlier this morning, with an utterance of “Good luck” and a tight squeeze on my shoulders. Apparently he’d forgotten about my debate blunder.
“Okay.”
I pressed my lips together. Nothing else? He was going to be there in DC too. He’d told Marty himself. Didn’t he want to meet up?
“Where will you be?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“I thought you said you got your mission assignmen
ts at least two weeks in advance as a CEO.”
I watched Adrian clench his jaw. He studied the book he was reading, eyes intent on the pages instead of me. “This time it’s different.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I put the folder down and pressed my mouth against his neck, against the spot I knew drove him crazy.
He flinched first, like my touch burned him. Then he drew his body away from me, further away on the bed. His eyes remained glued to the book. Within moments, all was silent again, as if nothing happened.
It felt like ages before he spoke again. “The Bosnia mission was botched.”
The mission I’d leaked to Central Intelligence.
“And the China mission. And the one in Louisville.”
China and Louisville, both missions I had leaked to Central Intelligence.
I leaned toward him. “But they weren’t your missions, were they?”
“No.” He dropped the book and rubbed his temples. “Which makes it worse. This isn’t one agent’s fault. Someone’s alerting the targets ahead of time.”
“How terrible.”
Adrian shook his head. “I thought the spying was done; I thought everything was fine.”
“You tried your best.” I patted his back with reassurance. “Are you going to launch another investigation?”
“No.”
My hand froze, tensed for his next answer. “Then what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take care of it.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “What do you mean?”
Adrian surveyed me. “We don’t have much time.”
My heart gave a sudden lurch, and I could feel my palms perspiring. “Before what?”
“Before you go to D.C.”
“Oh yeah.” I opened my arms as he leaned toward me. “Don’t worry about the failed missions. Things will improve.”
The lie slipped naturally from my lips. I found myself desperate to say anything which would bring him comfort.
“And if they don’t?”
