“You really do care about her.” Donovan’s voice was quiet.
Scholes looked at him. “Everything Lara does, everything she is, revolves around saving people. To do that she gives everything. It’s like she feels them, like she locks on to something beyond, something in them, something in those fine threads connecting each and every one of them to existence itself. I don’t know. That’s the way she tried to explain it to me once and I can’t explain it any other way. Somehow it’s enough for her to be able to place them in a context she can look at, see and feel, and then she brings them back home. To do that she would have to open herself up in ways I cannot even begin to understand. I sometimes wonder where she goes, how deep she really goes, to save them. To save us. And the toll it must take on her.” He shook his head, worry clear in his eyes. “And she won’t let anyone in, you know? No one. Not anymore. She just goes through it all alone.”
Donovan frowned. Not anymore? But the vice admiral wasn’t about to elaborate, and Donovan wasn’t about to push. This wasn’t the time.
“Help me protect her,” Scholes said.
Donovan looked at him.
“I checked you out, Donovan. You’re a good man. And you stop at nothing when you think someone should be protected, needs to be kept safe. And I also know that service pistol you’re carrying isn’t just for show. They’ve used you in some of those same field operations Lara is now untangling, even after you already joined USFID, before you became too valuable as an investigator for that. So you know what that’s like.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed. Scholes had to have gone to some lengths to get that.
Scholes stood up, walked to him. “You live in the house next to hers. When she’s not here, she’s there, and I’m not asking you to constantly be with her, just . . . watch out for her. Please. I would,” he said, “consider it a personal favor.”
Donovan never really needed to be asked. “I will,” he said.
Before leaving IDSD Missions Donovan wanted to see Lara, but by the time he left Mission Command with Scholes she was in the conference room with some of the people he’d seen sitting around him during the mission. As he followed Nathan out of the war room, on the way to Ericsson’s office where he would be shown the data stolen in the latest data theft, he saw Scholes join them. When the vice admiral walked in, Lara turned to him and caught Donovan’s eyes through the open door. Her gaze lingered for a moment, perturbed, and then she turned away again.
Back at USFID some hours later, Donovan went straight to White’s office. He entered, closed the door behind him, and ordered Sensitive Compartmented Information Mode.
White looked up from his desk screen, then settled back with a smile. “Well. I assume then it was enlightening.”
By the time Donovan finished filling him in, White was wide-eyed, speechless, and a smile was far from his mind.
“Right. I see. So I take it we never had this conversation.”
“You and I did, no one else. That’s the deal with Scholes and Evans.”
“I don’t blame them. I can’t believe we didn’t know about this.”
“We’re not that kind of agency, Leland. We didn’t need to know until this happened.”
“Still, this would have come up. They must have one hell of a blackout on this.”
“They do. Wasn’t enough, but not maintaining it to the extent possible will make things worse.”
White’s interest piqued. “For her.”
“For many people.”
“The other day you were raging mad because she was privy to your investigation without you knowing. Then I think you said you threatened to shoot her. Then all of a sudden you go talking to her, voluntarily brainstorming with her. And now you’ve agreed to watch over her?”
“Doing my job.”
“Yes. Right. Of course.”
Donovan stood up. “Something you want to say, Leland?”
White’s gaze was serious, something soft in it. “I’d be the last person to say anything about this, old friend.”
He watched as the younger man walked out of his office. Here’s to hoping, he thought.
Chapter Thirteen
Donovan slowed down the car near Lara’s house and frowned. The house was dark. He hadn’t considered that she might not be there yet. He’d been waiting to confront her, and her not being home only increased his anger. He swerved into his driveway and was just getting out of his car when headlights appeared down the street. He watched as the garage next door opened, then closed behind her car. He tried to steel himself, considered letting it go until he regained his composure, and found himself at her front door.
Inside, her home system registered him. Standing at the control console at the door to the garage, Lara braced herself and let him in. She dropped her jacket on the back of a couch, then walked to the kitchen and placed her briefcase on the counter, and leaned back on it, IDSD ID at a clear view on her belt, no longer needing to hide. Then she waited.
Donovan strode in, his anger, fueled by a concern he wasn’t used to, getting the best of him. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me what, who Oracle is? Why didn’t you just tell me it was you?”
“That name isn’t said lightly outside the IDSD war room,” she said quietly, not trying to justify, just to find a way to explain, to deal with this situation she had had no idea what to do with from the start. “And you weren’t cleared to know.”
“I wasn’t cleared—” Donovan turned away from her, furious. “Christ!” He turned back, anger flowing from him in powerful waves. “I’ve been running around like crazy because of Oracle, had walls placed at my every move, and all that time this was about you?”
“No.” Her own anger flared. “It’s about them. The soldiers you saw today, the people out there in all those missions, the civilians who would die if we fail. It’s not about me, it’s never about me.”
“It is for me!” He had no idea where that came from. Nor when it had become true.
She was as shocked as he was, that much he could clearly see.
He forced himself to calm down. “I sat here, just yesterday, and you let me talk about computers and human-AI links, and all that time you knew I wasn’t even close. I sat here talking to Oracle about Oracle, and you said nothing.”
She let out a deep sigh. “I couldn’t say anything. Now that you know, don’t you see that?” She wanted so much to make him understand. Needed him to understand. “Oracle has touched so many missions, untangled so many difficult situations. There are missions that would never be thought of, that get further than ever before possible, because of Oracle. There are plans of theirs, the bad guys, wasn’t that what you called them, that were ruined because I got in their way. Elijahn—think about what I did to him. I ruined him. I gave our people, yours and mine, a way in, and I led to the total destruction of his entire base, and with it the future of his group. I did that. You think I don’t know it? You think I don’t know what I am?”
She shook her head. “If they kill Oracle, that’s over. We won’t have that edge anymore. Your people, mine, the entire alliance won’t have that edge anymore. And it’s not only that. Think about it, if they connect Oracle to me, if they expose who I am, then through me they could get to so many people. So many who were in the field the same day I was working on a mission, who were in Mission Command and in TACs and operation centers and in bases all over the world and so many who I speak to on these missions, so many I work with, whether they know who I am or not . . . all those people. All those lives.”
The thought was unbearable, and she walked to her favorite couch not far from the closed patio doors, sat down and tucked her feet under her as if trying to gain some comfort from this small corner of hers, and just then Donovan had an idea of the toll this situation was taking on her. He thought about missions he’d been in, unspeakable situations where out there, in the field, alone, he had had to find a way to protect his people, the many times he’d faced death, the too many funerals he’d b
een to those days. Tried to imagine what it was like for her, the moment she was called to step in, all eyes on her, knowing that if she couldn’t save those on the screen before her, they would, quite simply, die. Wondered how many times she’d lost, what it did to her. What it was like for her, being responsible for so many lives, in so many ways. Thought about the artificial intelligence he had thought Oracle was, safely immune to emotions such as loss and regret, and realized he couldn’t even begin to grasp how extraordinarily strong this woman, so incredibly human, had to be to stand it.
She looked up at him. He was watching her, the blue in his eyes powerful and intense, and it was as if he was reading her, she thought, and was at a loss to realize that she was unable to protect herself, unable to hide under his gaze. “How many will get hurt because of me?” she asked, weary. “I don’t know. Maybe Oracle should stop. Lara’s disappearance can be disguised. Then we can at least protect those who were involved in past missions in which Oracle participated.”
The pain in her voice hurt him. He walked over and sat on the coffee table before her. “How many will die if Oracle is not around?”
She closed her eyes.
“That’s what it’s all about, what’s important here, isn’t it? Frank and I had a little chat. He told me all about how Oracle sees what no one else can. How you save lives no one else is able to.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, and there was no vanity, no acknowledgment of those extraordinary accomplishments he’d heard assigned to her, the achievements she was so aware of. Just weariness and worry. Enough to fuel his own concern. Part of him had thought she had no idea of the danger she was in. But he now realized he was wrong, so wrong. She was very much aware of it. But she wasn’t thinking about herself, and suddenly he wasn’t sure she cared. It was only the others she seemed to worry about. Those who would be at risk if her existence was known, those she would not be there to bring home if Oracle was gone.
His mind went back to what he’d seen in Mission Command, and he wondered about this intriguing woman who talked about what she did as if it was, for her, the most natural thing in the world, this ability no one else could even come close to.
“How do you do it?” he asked. “I saw you, what you did there. You’re a strategist and tactician and behaviorist and so many other things all rolled into one, there is no doubt about it, but there were moments there where none of it would have helped, and then you relied on something that wasn’t even there, intuition, something I can’t put my finger on.” He tried to explain, found he couldn’t. “It’s like you were running, and no one, nothing, could keep up with you.”
“I’ve never heard it described quite like that,” she mused. “But I guess that’s one way to describe it. And it’s also . . .” She thought about it. “It’s like everything around me reaches a wall and stops, but I go through it, without even realizing I have, and then I can see what’s on the other side. Yes.” He was watching her, absorbed, really wanting to understand, and she realized with wonder that she’d never talked to anyone about Oracle this way.
And that they weren’t fighting anymore.
She smiled, a small smile. “It’s nice.”
He looked at her questioningly.
She shrugged. “Not having to hide.”
He thought about that. About the life she had no choice but to lead. About being unable to talk about what she did, about Oracle. About herself.
“Are you afraid?” It came out of nowhere.
The question caught her off guard. “Yes. Shouldn’t I be?” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “If he finds me, this could hurt so many people. And I don’t know what to do, how to stop it.”
He couldn’t help but smile. She opened her eyes and saw his reaction, and understood that that wasn’t what he was asking. Self-conscious, she turned the question back to him. “Are you?”
“What? Afraid? That I might fail to stop Elijahn before he gets to you? Yes,” he said evenly.
She’d meant if he was afraid Elijahn might target him too, because of his investigation. Because he was close to her. It surprised her that he would see things that way. Worry about her, that way.
“If anyone can stop this, it’s you,” she said.
“I hope I can. And in time.”
“You can. That’s why I approved you.”
He started. “You approved me?” He contemplated this. “That’s why you involved yourself in the investigation at the beginning. That’s why you were in that first videoconference.”
She shrugged.
The anger erupted again, out of frustration, this time, at the danger all the delays in his investigation posed for her. “Why the hell didn’t you just confide in me earlier?”
“Are you kidding? You kept coming at me! You made it clear at least on one occasion that all you wanted was to shoot me!”
“Yes, well, I’d love to do that right now!”
“Stand in line,” she said wearily and settled back, closing her eyes. She was so tired. Of having to hide. Of being pursued. Of the possibility that someone would get hurt because of her. Even him, Donovan.
The expression on Donovan’s face changed, and he shifted just that much closer. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You’re investigating, that’s enough,” she said, her eyes still closed. “Thanks to you we now know who he is, why he wants me. But if you get closer to this, it could put you in the line of fire. I don’t want that.” She didn’t know what to deal with first. The idea that he might get hurt, or the fact that she even cared this way, more than she had thought possible.
“It’s not your choice.”
She looked at him then, and there was something new in her eyes, something sad. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper.
He wanted to hold her. The realization struck him so hard he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and not let go. Never let go. This was new, he never . . . He shook out of it inwardly. Forced the investigator to take over the man. For her.
“Then cooperate with me,” he said. “That will reduce the likelihood of that happening.”
She smiled. “Manipulation, Agent Pierce? Really?”
“Hey, whatever works,” he answered, relieved at the smile.
He had her program his priority number into her phone, and programmed hers into his to allow for a call from her to come through even if he didn’t care to answer his phone, which was easily the case if he was involved in an investigation. While she was here, in her home, he said, and he was next door, he was close, and all she had to do was call and he would come.
She didn’t argue.
While she was sending his contact details from her phone to her home system, the phone beeped. She took a look at the message received and her eyes focused. “I’ve got to go.” She stood up.
“You just got back. And you’re tired.”
She shook her head and went to pick up her briefcase, absently making sure her IDSD ID was on her belt, and grabbed her jacket on the way to the door to the garage. “It’s not one of mine, but I’m on standby for it. And if they’re calling me, then it’s going wrong.” She glanced at him, saw his brow furrow, and stopped. “This is what I do, Donovan. It’s what Oracle is.” She gazed at him for just a moment, then smiled, that quiet smile again. “And it’s not like there’s anyone else I can send instead.”
“There really is no one else, is there?” He watched her as she walked to the door, understanding, he thought, just a little bit more.
She stopped again and turned back to him, gazed at him thoughtfully this time, as if sizing him up. “Could you close up? The house will lock down automatically.” She gave him that resigned look again. “Frank gave you access, didn’t he?” And she left.
He remembered then something that Scholes had said. That Lara wanted to live her private life outside IDSD’s security hold. And here he was, with full security access to the very pla
ce she tried to call her own. There was more than one threat closing in on her—and he himself was a threat somehow, too, he’d seen it in her. That one confounded him. That was not a reaction he was used to from a woman. And it wasn’t a reaction he wanted from this woman.
He heard the garage door open and her car move out. He took out his phone and made a call. “Frank, she’s on her way to you,” was all he said. He then engaged the security system and left.
As much as he tried to that night, he couldn’t sleep.
Something about this bothered Elijahn.
The latest part of his plan had gone smoothly. The security agent had been easy to kill. Elijahn had had someone watching him for weeks. A woman. That always worked. When the time came, she killed him—she was dead now too, of course, Elijahn no longer had use for her—and the hacker had used the dead man’s access authorization to get what he was told to from IDSD. The names of the people who were at its missions building on the dates of the three attacks—the destruction of his base and the two attacks in which the name Oracle was mentioned that were included in the data the hacker had managed to get from the data center.
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