by PM Kavanaugh
Anika longed to follow through on her threat. The urge to pull the trigger was almost overpowering. She wanted to obliterate the look in Ryan’s eyes. It seemed like the only way to avenge Mari’s death and defuse her own anger. She started to squeeze the trigger.
Ryan’s gaze zeroed in on her finger and froze. The color leached from his face.
Doubt snaked through Anika. She worried that killing for vengeance, instead of for protection, would corrupt her. She would cross a moral line that she couldn’t step back from. But Ryan couldn’t suspect her doubt.
“I can’t discharge this laser into your brain until the intel you’ve given us is confirmed,” she said. “Don’t worry. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” She released the trigger and her breath at the same time.
The spark in Ryan’s eyes died. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
Anika spun around and stalked out of the room. In the corridor outside, while the mega-sized guard continued to stand watch, she paced. Up and down. Up and down. She clutched her handheld and stared at the dark screen, willing it to activate, impatient for an update from Gianni.
Come on. Confirm the damn intel.
Even as the words repeated themselves in Anika’s mind, doubt continued to wind through her. How would killing Ryan resolve anything? It wouldn’t bring Mari back. It wouldn’t even stop future attacks. While Ryan might know about the attack in Seattle, his boast about being the cell’s mastermind was just that. A bullshit boast by a man desperate to save his own skin. If he were the mastermind, U.N.I.T. would keep him alive. Extract as much additional intel as possible. Or hold him for a future trade. No, Mick Ryan wasn’t that important. Just a low-level foot soldier in a terrorist network. That was the real reason U.N.I.T. had approved his termination. Anika had been through enough training to know that much.
So, how would her killing him make a difference? Or was this just another part of her advanced training? To learn how to kill on command, no questions asked? To play on her emotions, her feelings over Mari’s death, to do the agency’s dirty work? This wasn’t like the time in the training facility when she had killed to save Mari and stop a terrorist from escaping. This time, she would be killing a man who had already been neutralized, who would never be able to take another innocent’s life. But what about Mari?
Anika stopped pacing and leaned against the side wall. She pulled up the image of her friend’s face on the handheld. How can I make it up to you? Is preventing the attack in Seattle, finishing the mission you gave your life for, enough? Anika returned to home screen and scanned in vain for a message from Gianni. Where are you? She couldn’t keep pacing here as the questions and doubts continued to chase one another through her mind.
“I’ll come back,” she told the guard and was awarded a micro-nod of his massive head.
She visited the training facility. The familiar sights, pungent smells, and clamorous sounds were a balm, soothing her agitation. A sense of calm settled over her. Was this what home felt like? As a kid growing up in the orphanage, she had always wondered.
She knew where she wanted to spend the remaining wait time. She headed toward the back of the gigantic space, past the different zones where agents practiced running, punching, throwing, shooting. When she reached the rappelling area, she harnessed up and started her ascent. At the end of the third rappel, her handheld buzzed. The screen lit up with the message she had been hoping for. Intel confirmed. Proceed with termination.
Anika toweled the sweat from her face. She looked up at the wall that had instilled such fear in Mari. A fear her friend had overcome in order to save innocents. Those innocents were now being saved. Maybe not by Mari, but by the agency that had rescued her from a lifetime of imprisonment. Given her a chance to do something more with her life. Just as it had given Anika.
She continued staring up at the wall until it disappeared from view into the darkness high above. Something settled inside her.
Mari’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. She had died for something she believed in.
But what should Anika do about Ryan? The agency had made the decision about his fate; if she didn’t carry out the termination, someone else would. Anika brought up her friend’s picture again. Do you want ME to terminate him? I’ll do it, if it’s what you want. But I’d rather not.
Mari’s voice whispered through her mind. “Don’t.” The voice grew louder. “Don’t do it.” And louder still. “Don’t let this place turn you into someone you’re not.” Anika waited, but nothing more came. It was enough. A calm wave, born of certainty, rolled through her.
She punched the buttons on her handheld and contacted Clinic. After providing her tracking ID number as verification, she said, “There’s a patient for you in the interrogation zone, ‘A’ Room.”
“Terminal or viable?” the medic asked.
“Terminal.”
Anika’s hands and heartbeat were steady as she released the rappelling harness. She had just given an order to kill. Regardless of the euphemism the agency preferred, termination was still killing. No pang of remorse arrowed through her. Or regret. Was that because a part of her had died? Maybe. But the waves of emotions that Gianni’s mention of the interrogation had roused in her—surprise, vengeance, anger, determination—told her she had plenty of life left. She wasn’t dead inside. She was restored, resolute, and ready to resume her training.
Chapter 22
Gianni did find Anika upon his return from the mission, though not in the way she wanted. At least he had the decency to let her know, via e-message, the mission in Seattle had been a success.
After that, their contact was limited to one-way communications sent to her handheld. Gianni assigned her a list of advanced training tasks: tracking time with breath-counting during extended mission sims; infiltrating multi-secured compounds; dismantling ever more intricate bombs; devising attack plans for hostiles embedded with innocents.
For several days, Anika trained with a commitment and intensity she hadn’t felt since her first weeks as a recruit, when she had been terrified of failing. Terrified of being kicked out of U.N.I.T., the one place in her life that had chosen her. A choice that began to heal the deep wound of rejection inflicted by being abandoned by her birth mother and never being adopted.
She turned down invitations from Evan to get together for drinks at Amnesia. Partly because she didn’t want alcohol and a late night to interfere with her next day’s performance. And partly because she wasn’t ready to face Evan and the memory of their last interaction, when the tech ops officer had delivered the devastating news about Mari.
In between her assigned tasks, she spent time in the training facility and honed her physical skills. At the end of each day, she reviewed her scores. Satisfaction, like well-chilled wine, coursed through her when she set new agency records—as did frustration, like wine gone sour, when she didn’t.
Never once did Gianni send feedback. No words of praise or encouragement. Or even criticism.
It wasn’t at all what she’d expected when he’d told her after her very first mission—their first mission together—that he’d be supervising her advanced training. At the time, she’d thought that meant more time with him. She still remembered the buzz of anticipation that had shot through her when he’d promised to teach her how to pilot a jet plane. They had been standing on the tarmac after the harrowing escape from the North Korean embassy. The custom aircraft had resembled a sleek mechanical bird, outlined in the moonlight. Anika had imagined the two of them together in the small cockpit cruising through an endless sky.
Instead, she was stuck on the ground, with Gianni nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was better this way. Without him around, there were no distractions to pull her focus from becoming a top agent.
Then, two weeks after their return from El Salvador, Gianni showed up. Anika had just finished a long, muscle-relaxing soak when her front door buzzed. Through her security monitor, she studied him. He was dressed casually, in jeans, boots, and a leathe
r jacket, his hair hanging loose around the collar. Slung across one shoulder was a warming pouch. In his hand, he held a bottle of wine.
At first, she was cool toward him. As he crossed the threshold into her loft, she asked in her best neutral voice, “What’s in the bag?” She hoped her coolness masked the anger and hurt caused by his distance, his unexplained absence over the past days. And she hoped it masked other emotions—anxiety, doubt—fueled by her trainers’ cautions not to get emotionally involved with anyone, including a fellow operative. And by Second’s warning not to confuse Gianni’s behavior with real feelings of affection.
“Dinner,” Gianni said, unpacking the bag. “Pollo alla cacciatora. My mother’s special recipe.”
The mention of his mother disarmed Anika. Gianni had only mentioned her once before, during their mid-mission dance at the North Korean embassy, while they were pretending to be a couple. He had told Anika she reminded him of his mother, whom he described as intelligent, strong, brave, and protective of others.
A tantalizing aroma of tomatoes, onion, and garlic scented the air. Anika’s stomach clamored in response. “It’s a good thing I’ve earned extra food credits from all the training this past week,” she said.
“This meal is within your allotment.”
“How do you know?” She shot the question at him. So much for trying to remain cool.
“I’ve been following you.” He pulled out a red rose from the pouch and walked over to stand close to her. “The past two weeks.” He held out the flower.
“Really? From where?” Anika crossed her arms. “Where have you been?”
“I wish I could tell you.” He lowered his hand with the flower still in it. “But you know why I can’t.” His gaze steadied on her.
Anika huffed out a breath. “A mission. One that I’m not part of. So I can’t know about it.”
“Yes. I leave again tomorrow. I don’t know for how long. I should actually be prepping for it now.”
“Then why aren’t you?” she demanded.
“Because,” Gianni said, “I’d rather spend the time with you.” His eyebrows drew together, a hint of concern in his gaze. “If you’ll have me.”
Anika could feel herself softening toward him. He was choosing her over work for a change. He was asking for her understanding, her acceptance. Could she give it?
In the silence of her hesitation, Gianni spoke up. “I know things have been difficult between us lately. I’m sorry for that. I haven’t wanted to be gone so much. But I don’t control the timing of...my assignment. We can have tonight. If you say so.” He held out the flower to her again. “I hope you will.”
She took the flower and inhaled its rich scent, a balm to her troubled emotions. “Just dinner.”
He smiled, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “As you wish.” He finished setting out the food, poured the wine, and proceeded to seduce her all over again.
The food and drink were intoxicating enough. But it was the stories Gianni told of his family that captured her heart. Even while they also made it bleed a little.
Although an only child, Gianni had grown up with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Lots and lots of cousins. They gathered often, for weekly meals, birthday parties, holiday celebrations. Get-togethers filled with laughter, tears, shouts, hugs.
With each memory he shared, the lines around Gianni’s eyes and mouth softened, the emotional distance between them shortened.
“My cousin, Marco, and I had our first, and last, real fight over a girl,” Gianni said. “She was in our same grade at school. We were twelve.” He took a sip of wine, his gaze turned toward the past. He lay on floor pillows next to the couch where Anika lounged. Opera music played in the background. “We agreed that the only honorable way to decide who should pursue her was with our fists. Our older cousin refereed.”
“Who won?” Anika asked
“I did, of course.” Gianni smiled up at her. Its tenderness stole her breath.
“So you got the girl?”
Gianni shook his head. “She was already dating someone else. He was two classes ahead of us. And a foot taller.”
“Foolish girl,” Anika whispered under her breath.
“If she had been you, I wouldn’t have walked away so easily.”
Gianni’s gaze heated her skin and melted her determination to keep him at arm’s length. How could she resist him when he looked at her like that? She glanced away. “It sounds wonderful. To have grown up with such a big family.”
“It was,” Gianni said.
“Do you get to visit them much now?”
“No, not since...” Gianni’s voice trailed off. The lines around his eyes deepened. “Not since joining the agency.”
Sadness crept over Anika. “Well, you have your memories.”
Gianni sat up and placed his hand over both of hers, which had somehow formed a tight grip in her lap. “There’s still time,” he said. “For making new memories.”
She looked at him, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Do you really think so?”
“I do.” He brushed the tear away.
“Even inside the agency? With its rule against emotional attachments?”
“The rule is a means to an end. Mission proficiency. As long as we perform to the agency’s standards, we have some leverage.”
She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. So much was at stake for every mission. At the thought, pressure built in her chest making it hard to breathe. “We have to be excellent. Always.”
“Yes.” Gianni cupped her chin in his hand and lifted it so she would meet his gaze. “With excellence comes advancement, seniority. And privileges. If we’re patient.”
Looking into his eyes, Anika could almost see it. A path forward. A way to have both Gianni and U.N.I.T. She took in a breath.
“I’ve thought about agreeing to...the procedure. To prevent a family. Permanently.”
Every Level 1 was offered sterilization. The agency presented it as a convenience, even as a safety precaution, especially for female operatives. An unwanted pregnancy would be, at best, a distraction from fieldwork and, at worst, a physical risk during an extended deep cover assignment. There was also an unspoken understanding that agreeing to the medical procedure would signal an operative’s strong commitment to the agency. That held appeal for Anika.
For her, it hadn’t even seemed like that big of a decision because she had never imagined herself as a mother. She had never gushed, like the girls at the orphanage or at school, when they talked about their plans for having babies. She didn’t get all gooey over images of women who were pregnant, or pushing strollers, or holding the hands of wobbly toddlers. She knew nothing about motherhood, except for its absence. That didn’t seem like a good foundation for bringing a child into this world. Still, she hadn’t gone ahead with the medical procedure. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe the man in front of her had had something to do with her decision to hold onto that part of herself.
“Don’t agree to it.” Gianni squeezed her hands. “Promise me.”
The pleading look in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen before. It crumbled her resolve to resist him. And strengthened her resolve to stay open to the possibility of a newly-imagined future. “I promise.”
She wanted him to lean forward and kiss her. Craved his lips against hers.
Instead, he removed his hand and stood. “Well,” he said, “I know it’s getting late.” He turned away and started packing up.
Late? Anika was revved, as if her skin had absorbed a dozen WideAwake strips.
When she realized he intended to follow her directive about leaving after dinner, she stopped him with an outstretched hand and the only words that came to mind. “I’m thinking...dessert.” A fiery river of desire raced through her.
Gianni’s lips across her fingertips fed oxygen to the flames. “I didn’t bring any.”
“I did.” Anika stood. “Upstairs.”
Gianni smiled, then gest
ured toward the staircase. “After you.”
Chapter 23
“To Mari.” Anika clinked Evan’s glass and tossed back a shot of whiskey. The icy liquid refreshed her like a deep dive into a plunge pool.
Evan refilled their glasses from the bottle on the table. Her head bobbed to the thrumming beat from Amnesia’s sound system. They sat near the dance floor and watched bodies undulate to the techno-world music. “Want to dance?”
“Maybe later.” Anika ran her finger around the rim of her glass, but didn’t pick it up. The whiskey was already making her head feel fuzzy and her limbs boneless. The rigorous training and strict diet from the previous week had lowered her tolerance for alcohol. Still, she was glad she was here. She had been the one to suggest to Evan they meet up.
“Do you think Mari appreciates our tribute?” Anika smoothed her hand over the wig she had borrowed from Wardrobe. Both she and Evan wore the same style, cut and shaped like their friend’s newly-shorn hair, before she had gone out on her fateful, final mission. The contact lenses in their eyes matched Mari’s robin’s-egg-blue color. They had even painted a sprinkling of freckles across their noses and cheeks to add to the likeness.
“I think she’s laughing her ass off,” Evan replied. She was already two shots ahead of Anika. “To you.” She touched her glass to Anika’s still full one. “You’ve earned it.”
Anika tipped back the contents in one smooth turn of her wrist. She had earned it. And she deserved a break from her grueling training regimen. After all, no list of new tasks from Gianni awaited her. In fact, she hadn’t had any more communication from him since their night together. He had disappeared again.
For weeks, she hadn’t seen him in the agency’s corridors, inside or outside briefing rooms, or in the training facility. Different trainers, each with a particular specialty, supervised her now. Evan had conducted today’s series of challenges. After Anika had completed the final one—hacking into a fake military security system with next-gen AEG encryption—she had offered to buy Evan a drink.
