by Cate Dermody
“There’ll be a commendation in your file,” Rockwell went on. “I’ll be happy to emphasize that such loyalty should receive adequate compensation.”
“Thank you, sir,” Philippe blurted, then clamped his mouth shut, wise enough to know when silence was more valued than words. Rockwell gave him a quick smile that didn’t reach his blue eyes, then turned to Alisha.
“If you’ll come with me, Ginger, we have a debriefing to do, I think?” He offered an elbow.
“Absolutely.” Alisha, despite her misgivings, stepped forward to take Gregory Parker’s offered arm without hesitation.
The hall into private offices stretched long, Alisha’s footsteps silent on the gleaming floors as Gregory’s clacked. Neither spoke, walking together with the ease of long association, until the door latched behind them and Alisha stepped away as if a viper were on her arm.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Where’s Brandon?” The questions came at almost the same time, Greg and Alisha both stepping warily around one another, making a circle filled with accusation and anger between them.
“What’s going on with Cristina?”
“Who are you working for?” They fired questions at the same moment again, though Greg’s broke Alisha: she laughed, a sharp hard sound that was absorbed by the lush office walls. It had to be a room where they brought the VIPs to impress them, Alisha thought. The parts of the facility she’d seen were more functional than beautiful, but warm gleaming wood made up this room’s walls, and the long table that dominated the room was lined with comfortable chairs. Alisha’d put the table between them before she noticed doing it, though not before Greg noticed it. She curled a lip, tasting anger so shortly after that laugh, and told the only truth she could see.
“I’ve gone into business for myself. What are you doing here?” Back to the fundamental question, though the answers she could come up with herself were ones she didn’t like.
“I’ve come to collect you,” Gregory snapped. “My protégée, gone rogue. You’re making me look very bad, Alisha.”
“You’ve done that all by yourself, Greg. I noticed Crown Enterprises has the Sicarii crown as its emblem.”
“The Sicarii crown?” Greg scoffed.
“The same one as on the lighter you gave Brandon,” Alisha said through her teeth. “He didn’t think the crown meant anything. I might’ve believed it if I hadn’t just seen it emblazoned on all those suitcases. I give you credit,” she added, voice rising. “I’m so used to the nasty end of the business I didn’t think of coming in with suits and briefcases. I was expecting guns blazing and windows shattering. I really must get out more.”
“Where is Brandon?” Greg repeated, more than the anger of a moment earlier in the words. Parental concern was there, worry for a child. Alisha spat laughter, disbelieving.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Why’d it take almost a full day to track the quantum drive? Who’s losing their touch, you or your princely masters?”
“Alisha.” Greg’s voice rose and broke. “What do I have to do to convince you I don’t work for the Sicarii?”
“Resign from the CIA,” Alisha said without missing a beat. “Expose Nichole Oldenburg for who she really is.”
Darkness fell in Greg’s eyes. “I can’t do that, Ali.”
“Then I have nothing else to say to you.” Alisha stalked to the door, more out of a real desire to escape than a need for the last word.
Greg’s voice lashed out behind her. “There are military police waiting in the parking lot, Alisha. You may as well come quietly with me. Anything else will only be embarrassing.”
Chapter 15
Alisha went still, the doorknob cool under her fingers. “What, then?” she asked after long seconds. “What happens now?”
“We exit together,” Greg said quietly. “Like civilized people. You remain in custody until we reach Langley.”
“Really,” Alisha said. “Then do you let me go? Or do you toss me into one of the Guantanamo pits where they put people to forget about them?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Greg’s voice sharpened. “You’re not under arrest for sedition.”
“What exactly am I under arrest for, Greg?” Alisha turned back to her former boss, spitting the question. “Leaving the country? I wasn’t aware that was a state crime.”
“We’re bringing you back to the States for your own protection, Ali. The British government may be our allies, but that doesn’t mean they like Americans sneaking into their country.”
“And what about the release that’s gone out saying I’ve gone rogue and should be brought to the authorities? Is that for my protection, too?” Everything had gone pear-shaped. Alisha stepped closer to the door, putting her forehead against it. No way out was a phrase she didn’t like, but for the moment she couldn’t see one. Short, she thought, of taking her chances against Greg, who was older and slighter than she, but also her handler. He knew her well—better than almost anyone, as a combatant—and that gave him an advantage.
“Alisha,” Greg’s voice gentled again. “You left the country with my son, who’s blatantly stolen government property. You did a good enough job hiding yourself. It took us this long to catch up with you.”
“You caught up with Brandon,” Alisha snapped, unwilling to give that one detail up. “I just got caught in the crossfire.” As her family had been caught, she reminded herself. Anger flared and she clamped down on it, unable to afford the emotion.
Spin the positives, Leesh. Returning to the States might allow her to come into contact with Cristina, and if not Cris, then at least the Englishwoman following her. Emma and Reichart were supposed to be in contact, a contact Alisha was reluctant to make herself, with circumstances as they were. If she could avoid associating herself with the Infitialis, all the better for that clandestine group.
There had been no indication of Reichart’s success or failure, either, Alisha reminded herself. She would be able to find those things out at Langley, through people who were still her friends and allies within the Company. “All right.” Her voice was low and resentful, no more an act than Greg’s own anger. That was good: Greg wouldn’t be fooled by pretending to be happy about her involuntary return to Langley. She hadn’t been last time, either.
Oh, Leesh. The sigh that escaped her was unintentional. Her actions told the story of where her loyalties lay more clearly than her mind was willing to see. Agents of the Central Intelligence Agency were not supposed to be dragged reluctantly back to the fold. She’d left emotionally long before she’d left in truth. “All right,” she repeated. “I just want one thing when we get there.”
“You’re not in a position to negotiate, Alisha. What do you think you’re going to do if I say no?”
Alisha turned from the door to give Greg a clear-eyed gaze. “Take my chances against you and the MPs.”
Greg studied her, then shook his head, chuckling. “You would, too, wouldn’t you. You’d lose, but you’d try. All right, Ali. What’s your condition?”
Alisha looked away again, naming the one ace she had left: “I want to talk to Erika. Alone.”
“You look like hell, Ali. When’s the last time you slept?” Erika’s opening volley came before Alisha registered the sound of the door opening. She came to her feet as Erika swept across the room to pull her into a hug.
“I slept the whole flight over,” Alisha said into the hug. They had, at least, given her a shirt to wear under Anton’s torn jacket, which Alisha was moderately grateful for. “I just need a shower. Instead they put me in here.”
She gestured around as Erika released the hug, both of them taking in the beige CIA safe room surroundings. She’d been brought to Langley, not a safe house; this was one of the rooms dignitaries were brought to for their own safety. The walls were just slightly too dull, the room just slightly too small for the overstuffed furniture in it, the lights just slightly too dim to adequately light it. The effect was subtly claustrophobi
c, making for rising tensions which would help the unwary to slip and say the wrong thing for prying ears to overhear.
“You know they’re listening,” Erika said, the perfunctory observation making Alisha smile as it followed her own thought.
“I know they’re trying, but I know you, too.” She made a show of studying her friend’s attire—her usual low-cut jeans and sports bra under a black leather biker’s jacket. “I’m guessing it’s the earrings.”
Erika touched one of the big golden loops dangling from her lobes. “Come on, I spent a million years making these look a hundred percent fashionable. How’d you know?”
“You usually wear long, dangly feathery things when you wear earrings at all, not hoops.” Alisha dropped back down into the couch, smiling weakly. “What kind of disruption do they do?”
“Everything on any regular CIA, FSB, MI-5, and Mossad frequencies. I’m still working on the rest of them. Only problem is they give me a headache. Still working on that, too.” Erika tapped a fingertip against her lips, then smiled, pulling the earrings off. “Here. You’re right. Hoops are more your style. I’ll work up some that suit me more.”
Alisha took the earrings, idly testing the holes in her ears before sliding them in. “Mossad, huh? Something I should know about?” She passed the question off with a wave of her hand, and leaned forward, feeling the hoops brush against her chin. “Forget I asked. I’m not part of that world anymore. No batteries? No on-off switch?”
“Check out the diamond-cut pattern,” Erika said triumphantly. “Mini solar panels. But here’s the neat part. If you squeeze the circumference of the right loop with your whole hand, instead of creating white noise they’ll start picking up sound and broadcasting it back. You just run your fingers around the whole loop to turn them off entirely. Tell me something, Ali,” she added. “Do you tell yourself you’re out of the spy biz every night before you go to bed, like your prayers? Does it make you believe it?”
“I keep waiting for it to. E, there are about a hundred things I need to know.”
“Good thing you’ve got a friend with all the mighty brain wrinkles, then.” Erika sprawled over an armchair, knees and elbows going every which way like a gangly teen’s. “Where do you want me to start?”
“The Attengee deliveries,” Alisha said evasively.
Erika snorted, an indelicate sound of amusement. “You mean you want to know if Reichart succeeded in ripping off the Afghanistan delivery. He did, but nobody got to the third truck. It’s in North Africa by now. Even with getting to the others, you only set them back by about three days, Ali.”
A small bloom of triumph blossomed in Alisha’s breast, bright warmth that stung her nose and eyes with unlikely pride. Even Erika’s next words didn’t take away from the pleasure of having accomplished as much as they had. “That production facility in Serbia isn’t like the one you blew up in China. It’s actually producing more than just a handful of prototypes. You should’ve blown it up.”
“I didn’t blow up the Beijing factory,” Alisha muttered. It was true. Reichart had, although he had used explosives Alisha herself had set. Still, credit where it was—or wasn’t—due, Alisha thought. “And you’re right. I should’ve. Next time I’ll do that.”
Erika laughed. “Next time. You’re assuming they’re ever going to let you see the light of day again, Ali. Look what you’ve done. Stolen how much government property? Helped how much priceless programming get away? Even if you manage to walk out of here, the CIA is never going to stop watching you, Alisha. Not now.”
“They’ll let me walk out of here,” Alisha said under her breath. Erika’s eyebrows, pencil-thin and round, shot up.
“Yeah? What’s your bargaining tool?”
“I can tell them where the stolen drones have gone.” It was a flat-out fabrication, but Alisha said it with tired ease.
Erika pursed her lips, then cocked her head to the side in acknowledgment. “Why should they believe you? And why would you do that?”
“They don’t have anybody else to believe,” Alisha said with a shrug. “And I’d do it to get myself out of here. I’m starting to think I’ve forgotten what loyalty looks like.” She closed her eyes, Jon’s face and untenable demand coming to mind. It might have been just as well for Brandon that he’d disappeared, though it put her in an increasingly sticky position. “And Emma? Have you made contact?”
“There’s been no sign of her,” Erika said. “Are you sure you can trust Reichart’s girl, Alisha?”
Alisha’s stomach tightened, a combination of anger and concern. “Frank trusts her. It’s enough.”
“Ooh-hoo,” Erika murmured. “Frank, now. I see.”
Alisha cast her gaze to the ceiling and tried not to grit her teeth. “Does everybody know I do that?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Erika’s grin held no repentance. “People love to talk about you and Reichart, Ali. You’re everybody’s favorite failed romance. We’re all waiting to see how the story ends.”
“My life isn’t a story,” Alisha stressed.
Erika’s grin flashed again, bright and open. “Everybody’s life is a story, Ali. It’s just hard to see it from the inside. You Bond types might have a harder time seeing it than most, ’cause what you do really is of world-shattering importance. Maybe you have to pretend really hard that it’s normal just to get through the day.”
“You should meet Jon,” Alisha muttered. “He thinks it’s all a love story, too.”
“See?” Erika’s smile broadened. “Do you love him, Ali?”
“Jon?” Alisha asked. “No. He’s too much of a romantic.” She waved off Erika’s protest, allowing herself the faintest smile before taking a deep breath. “Erika, what about the Firebird’s black box? Have you gotten a copy of it yet?”
Erika’s usually open expression went tight. “Ali, I told you, that thing’s buried deeper than the crown jewels. I’m working on it, but—” She shook her head, then pulled a long face. “That AI Brandon’s cooked up would be a real help.”
“Come on, E.” Alisha’s mouth curved, teasing with an underlying grain of curiosity. “You saying an artificial intelligence can out-hack your all-powerful brain?”
“It’s not just hacking. It’s getting through real, physical people, Ali. Not even I’ve got the security clearance for where they’ve got this thing hidden. It’s like Area 51, only for the important shit.”
“Aliens aren’t important?” Alisha asked lightly.
Erika’s answering smile was brief enough to send a chill of surprise through Alisha. “Area 51, if it’s real, which I neither confirm nor deny, is only full of stuff that could send the country and world into unprecedented paranormal panic. The kind of security I’m trying to get through here is covering up things like who really killed JFK and when Hitler really died. It’s things that bring down governments, Ali. They don’t let just anybody near it.”
Alisha felt her expression fade into neutrality, schooling dismay and disbelief out of it. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack. I’m working on it, Alisha, but I might not be able to come through.”
“You always come through, E. You’re my rock.”
The door pushed open, an irate Greg stepping through. Erika looked over her shoulder at him, then turned an unhappy smile on Alisha. “Even granite wears away, Alisha. I’m sorry.”
“Come on, Greg,” Alisha said before Erika’d fully left the room. “When I said ‘alone,’ I didn’t mean alone with half the Company listening in. What’d you expect?”
“I expected more of Erika,” he said shortly. “Perhaps I should have known better. You two have been thick as thieves as long as she’s been here.”
“A partnership you encouraged,” Alisha pointed out. “Brains, beauty and brawn, right? Who could resist us?”
“I could. What were you discussing, Alisha?”
“Brad and Angelina. You know how important celebrity gossip is to the security of the nation. Why, with
out it, people might turn to more important topics, like why our government is hiding Cristina Lamken behind Nichole Oldenburg’s pretty dossier.”
“You don’t give up, do you?” Greg made a sharp gesture and Alisha stood despite its imperiousness, just as glad to be leaving the claustrophobic safe room.
“I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I did, Greg. So tell me, how many drones went missing in the end?” Another bump of triumph spilled through her at the sharp look Greg shot her way as they left the room for an institutional hallway.
“Over seventy,” he answered, surprising her. “Those drones could have helped end the war in Iraq and Iran, Alisha. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“Those drones would have escalated civil wars that’ve been going on for years into unmitigated slaughter, Greg,” Alisha snapped. “They still will. They’re going to be used against people with nothing to lose and no way to fight technology like that. They’re not peacekeeping forces, no matter what Brandon wished for. They’re killing machines, and every day I can do something to keep them off the market is a day when someone won’t die.”
“High and mighty words for a woman who’s killed in the line of duty,” Greg said softly.
Disgust rose up in Alisha’s throat like bile, so bitter she wanted to spit. “Terminated,” she reminded him. “Executed. Let’s not get mixed up with nasty emotional words like kill, Greg. I never said my hands were clean. You don’t become a secret agent to stay innocent yourself. You do it so others can.” Tears of anger and passion stung her eyes, unexpected vehemence surprising her. “Part of me still believes that’s why people do this,” she whispered. “To make the world a better place. Not to claw their own way to whatever kind of power they can get. Tell me. Which was it for you? I’ve been wondering ever since China.” Alisha heard the tremble in her own voice and forcibly disciplined it, unwilling to let betrayal break her. “Duty to country, or desire for power? At first, I mean. I’d like to think the man who recruited me to the Agency was a good one, not bound up in a shadow organization’s quest to dominate, but you’ve been with the Company thirty years. I don’t think you’re a recent convert to the Sicarii.”
