It’s been two days since I made that deal with Alex. Two more until she publishes. I need to do something to protect the kids. Disappearing, or coming clean, accepting my punishment, getting my family into some sort of protection program. I’ll be in jail, won’t be able to see them, but as long as they’re safe—
My phone rings. The sound startles me.
I turn toward the kitchen. It’s on the counter, screen lit, vibrating. I pick it up, check the screen—
Unknown.
Panic washes over me.
“Who is it?” Drew asks from the other room.
“Not sure.”
But I am sure, aren’t I? It’s them.
I answer the call, expecting to hear that robotic voice, the one that still haunts my dreams. “Hello?”
“Jill? It’s Alex.”
Alex. I let out a breath. “Thank God.”
“I talked to A.J.’s fiancée. Blaire.”
Blaire Delaney. The name comes to me now. I met her on a trip to Damascus once, but I’d completely forgotten about her.
“And his mother, too.”
“The overdose—was it suicide?” I ask. I want to say Or was it murder? but Drew’s within earshot.
“I don’t think so.”
I don’t, either.
“I found a video. A message. He recorded it before he died.”
“Yeah?” Apprehension is swirling inside me.
“Family thinks it’s a suicide note.”
The authorities do, too, I’d be willing to bet. That’s probably the evidence Vaughn mentioned. “But you don’t?”
“Could have been. It’s clear he was feeling extremely guilty about something. Any idea what that could be?”
Requesting encryption for a dangle? Giving him COVCOM? A.J. died the day after giving Falcon the COVCOM. And that was four days after Owen was kidnapped—
Did he know they were going to come for Owen?
“Jill?”
“No. I don’t know.”
She’s quiet. She doesn’t believe me.
“It may not have been a suicide message,” she finally says. “But either way, it was a goodbye message. He knew he might not see Blaire again.”
I glance into the family room. Drew’s watching me, concerned.
“He knew they were coming for him.”
“I need to go,” I say. I need to get off this call. Get away from this conversation.
“A.J.’s secret, whatever it was—it got him killed. If he’d have just come clean, told someone the truth…”
She trails off. And I know what she wants me to think. That all would be well. That he’d be alive right now, that he’d be safe.
Would he?
When the call disconnects, I place the phone down on the counter and stare at it. Drew walks into the kitchen.
“An overdose?” he asks quietly. “Who?”
“An old co-worker.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
He pulls me into a hug. “How terrible.”
I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. I need to tell him the truth, but my mind is spinning right now, trying to make sense of it all.
“I can see why you didn’t want to talk about this in front of the kids,” he says.
There’s my out. He thinks this is what I wanted to tell him. That I found out an old co-worker died. I can keep my secret a little bit longer.
Alex’s voice rings in my head. A.J.’s secret, whatever it was—it got him killed.
* * *
—
I pad downstairs into the darkened kitchen before dawn. Flip the switch on the wall, flood the house with light, squint as my eyes adjust. I turn on the coffee maker, listen to the gurgle as it brews, the only sound in the silent house.
I think about last night’s conversation. Alex, the revelation about A.J.’s video message. He felt guilty about something. Was it sending the cable? Did he know the truth about Falcon?
When the coffee’s done brewing, I take the steaming mug and wander through the house.
I stop first in the doorway of Mia’s room. She’s sprawled practically sideways on her bed, unicorn sheets twisted awkwardly around her, wild curls splayed everywhere. Her stuffed bear has fallen to the floor. I walk over quietly, pick it up, place it back in her bed, beside her. She never stirs, her chest rising and falling slowly, methodically.
Then on to Owen’s room. I lean against the doorway and watch him sleep. He’s on his side in the center of his bed, Spider-Man sheets still tucked neatly around him, his stuffed elephant just barely peeking out from where it’s nestled in his arms, like it is every night.
He’s safe, but he won’t be once this story comes out.
I did the unthinkable once to protect him. Made the worst decision of my life, but made it for the best possible reason. I did what I thought was best, at the time.
And that’s what I need to do again.
I’m going to tell Drew.
No more of this indecision. It’s time to act.
I take the coffee back down into the kitchen. Sit, looking out the sliding glass door, as pink streaks appear in the sky, as the birds begin chirping.
Drew’s alarm starts chiming at five-thirty. A few minutes later he walks into the kitchen, squinting into the light. “You’re up early.”
He grabs a mug from the cabinet above.
“Drew, we need to talk.”
He turns, blinking as his eyes adjust.
This is it. This is the moment everything’s going to change, forever.
I take a deep breath. “Four years ago, Owen was kidnapped.”
* * *
—
I tell him everything. Every last detail. I owe him that, at least.
He listens quietly, just taking it all in. Must be that lawyer training. Listen, don’t talk, maintain a blank expression. But I wish he’d react. I wish he’d say something.
I finish telling him about Alex, and then I go quiet. That’s it, that’s everything.
He just stares at me, says nothing. Silence descends. Outside, I can hear a neighbor rolling a trash can to the street.
I’m desperate for him to say something. To know what he’s thinking.
“Why did you keep this from me?” His voice is low. I can hear the anger simmering underneath.
“They told me to keep quiet—”
“I’m your husband. Owen’s father.”
“I know, and maybe I should have—”
“Maybe?”
“I should have.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I know it’s what he needs to hear.
He shakes his head. “And now it’s all going to come out? They’re going to come back?”
My throat feels tight. I nod.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
This is why I didn’t tell him years ago. Because in his mind, everything’s black and white. There’s a right and a wrong. He doesn’t see the gray, never has.
“I didn’t know if that would put him in more danger—”
“So you decided you’d protect him?” It’s practically a shout. He throws up his arms. “On your own?”
I can hear one of the kids getting out of bed upstairs. Little feet on the floor. “I thought I was doing what’s right.”
“And what about now? Are you ready to go to the police now?”
“Probably. But I don’t know. I wanted to talk—”
“What do you know?”
“That if we go to the police, I’ll go to jail.”
“Well, maybe that’s exactly where you belong.”
The words sting, coming from him. But it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do the same thing over again, if given the opportunity. It doe
sn’t mean that I didn’t protect Owen.
I’ll do it. I’ll go to the police, admit everything. Because I have to do something before they come back. And running seems impossible. There’s just no way we could give the kids a decent life if we run—
My phone rings, and I reach for it. Drew’s glaring at me.
I check the screen. Jeremy.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jill.” His voice is tense.
I cover the mouthpiece and say to Drew, “I need to get this.”
“Seriously?”
I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the back patio, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.
“Did you look into the source?” I say to Jeremy, once I’ve closed the door behind me. There’s no one outside at this hour; I’m completely alone.
“What kind of encryption apps do you have on your phone?”
“I’m sorry?”
“We can’t have this conversation on an open line. What do you have? WhatsApp? Signal? Stronghold?”
“I don’t have any of those.”
“Okay. I’m going to send you a link. Download the app, wait for my call.”
The call disconnects. I pull the phone from my ear, stare at the screen. A moment later the text comes through. I click the link, and the Stronghold app begins downloading.
I look out at the lake in the distance, still and quiet. What’s he going to tell me?
The app finishes downloading, and immediately there’s a call. A different ringtone; the icon for the app flashes. I tap it, and Jeremy’s number appears. I tap again, and the call connects.
“Hi,” Jeremy says.
“Hi.”
There’s a pause, like each of us is waiting for the other to begin.
“Well,” he says, breaking the silence, “first things first. I confirmed a person with the same name as our source works for Syrian defense, with access to biowarfare programs.”
I wait, because he said “with the same name,” and that makes me think there’s more.
“But I can’t corroborate it’s the same person A.J. was meeting with. Doesn’t mean it’s not the case, just means I can’t confirm it.”
I wouldn’t have been able to, either, if I’d done the work I was supposed to do, vetted the cable the way I was supposed to. Is that what they didn’t want me to find? “So he’s a dangle.”
“Well, not necessarily. He could be legit. He gave us a lot of good information in the beginning. Real information, the kind that only an insider would know. And the kind the Syrian regime wouldn’t want getting into our hands.”
That’s the same thing I heard from Vaughn Craig. “But?”
“But the reporting’s changed. It’s much more…sensational now. Says the regime has a weaponized strain of anthrax ready to go. And that it’s prepared to use it.”
“Which makes you think he’s not a real source?” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, what he’s thinking.
“It makes me unsure. We don’t have anything else to corroborate this line of reporting. But that’s because we don’t have access. So it could be real.”
“Or it could be fake.”
“Exactly. But I’ll tell you this: Policymakers are eating it up. It’s led to an increase in military expenditures, a troop buildup in the region—”
His dog starts barking like crazy in the background.
“Max! Quiet,” he yells. Then, to me: “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I’m still trying to process everything he’s saying, everything I’m learning. “Could it be someone else using the COVCOM?”
“No. Everything checks out. It has, in every message. Verification protocols, biometrics, style and language, everything’s been consistent.”
I watch a trail of ants on the other side of the patio, heading toward crumbs under the kids’ plastic picnic table.
“Fact of the matter is, I can’t say whether he’s legit or not. But that’s not what you asked. You asked who I thought it would be running the source if he is a dangle.”
“Right. So who do you think it is?”
“Well, I’ll say this. The source’s reporting has been bringing us ever closer to war.”
And inching toward war means expending resources unnecessarily. “So it’s an adversary that wants us weak? Russia? China?”
He’s quiet. “It’s possible.”
“But?”
“But you asked my opinion. And my opinion is it isn’t either of those countries.”
In the distance I can see a fish jump in the lake. It lands back in the water, disappears, and all that’s left is ripples.
“If either of those countries were running the source, there’s no way they wouldn’t be trying to use him to get access to our new COVCOM system. It’s all their security services care about right now.”
The new system. Vaughn mentioned the same thing. And Falcon has no interest. Won’t meet face-to-face with anyone.
I rack my brain, trying to think of another adversary that would have the capabilities and the motivation to run this source.
“I think their goal is for us to dramatically increase our military expenditures,” Jeremy says. “And right now it’s working. That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“Okay. So who’s running the source?” Why’s Jeremy being so cagey?
He hesitates. “I don’t think anyone is.”
“What do you mean?” That doesn’t make any sense.
“The messages look like they all originate in Damascus, right? But I found an anomaly in the way the IP addresses are recorded. Did some digging, talked to a friend in Science and Tech. Figured out why it looks that way.”
“Why?”
“There’s a device attached to the COVCOM. Something called a Z23. State-of-the-art technology. Changes an IP address, makes it very difficult to ascertain the true origination point.”
“It’s not so unusual we’d install that, is it?”
“No. But what is unusual is where these messages are coming from.”
“You figured it out?”
“Once I understood how the system works, I was able to backtrace. Got as far as the country of origin, no further.”
He’s going to say China. Or Russia.
But he also said he doesn’t think it’s either of those countries.
“You’re losing me here, Jeremy. Who’s running the source?”
“That’s just it, Jill. I don’t think there’s a source to be run. I think it’s all made up.”
A breeze blows through, rustling the palm fronds.
“Who’s making it up?” There’s a pit forming in my stomach. I can hear the hesitancy in Jeremy’s voice, the fear.
“Us, Jill. The United States Falcon’s messages came from inside our country. I think we’re fabricating this information.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jill
Of all the things I expected to hear, imagined hearing, this wasn’t one of them. I feel like the floor has dropped from under me.
“You think we’re running this source?” I say it quietly. I shouldn’t be having this conversation out here. Shouldn’t be having it over the phone. Shouldn’t be having it at all.
“The messages are being sent domestically. The source, if he’s a dangle, is a perfect avenue for stealing our new COVCOM, and no one’s tried.”
My mind is spinning, trying to make sense of this. “Agency?”
“It’s Agency hardware. Seems likely.”
I feel like pieces are snapping together in my mind. If it’s us, if it’s people on the inside, that explains how they knew about me, about my role. How they knew the cable would end up in my queue.
And when they told me to put the phone in my pocket, it’s because they knew I was wearing pants and
not a skirt, because they were watching me. They were probably right there in the building.
They weren’t bluffing when they said they’d know if I didn’t follow their instructions. And they weren’t relying solely on my phone, either. If I’d have slipped someone a note in the office, there’s a good chance they’d have seen it.
The thought chills me. Thank God I didn’t try anything.
That means this is coming from the inside. Intelligence about another country possessing a weaponized strain of anthrax, intel that’s leading to a troop buildup in the Middle East, that’s leading us ever closer to war. It’s fabricated, and my own country is fabricating it.
My own country had my son kidnapped to keep the truth hidden.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
“Coordinated, or some rogue operation?”
“No idea. I don’t even know for sure it is the Agency, or even the U.S. That’s just my guess. Because nothing else makes sense.”
I watch a seagull drift by slowly overhead, almost like it’s lost, like it’s strayed too far from home.
He’s right. This makes the most sense. Syria couldn’t pull this off, and the source provided information Damascus wouldn’t want us to have. More sophisticated intelligence services would be making a play for the new COVCOM system—
“Jill, will you tell me what’s going on?” he asks.
The sliding door of the next house over opens, and old Mrs. McIntosh steps outside onto her screened-in patio.
“Listen, I need to go,” I say quietly. “Let’s chat soon.”
I end the call and stare out at the lake. It’s still and peaceful, just like before. But now it doesn’t seem calming, reassuring. Now it seems dangerous. Like the calm before the storm.
What am I supposed to do now? My plan was to go to the authorities, the FBI. But the authorities might very well be behind this. Anything I say might be shared with the wrong people.
I can’t trust our own law enforcement agencies.
I don’t know who I can trust.
No one can protect us from the entire CIA. I need to know exactly who’s behind this, or talking to the authorities is just going to put my family in grave danger.
You Can Run Page 13
