Assassin Games

by Sidney Bristol

  The assignment she’d made for herself was simple. A quick walk around the park, stop into the market, and then home again. An easy foray out into the world to show herself things were fine. Everything was okay.

  Except nothing had been right since the fall.

  It’d begun early last year, when Carol started seeing trends. She worked with a division that monitored Asian activity. Her specialty was China. She was a walking encyclopedia of their economic and political power, their history, their methods. It was her job to remain informed and pass along noteworthy information to the operational department so they could decide how to act, what to do.

  That’s how it’d started.

  Carol had seen a few anomalies. Missions that shouldn’t have gone sideways, enemies knowing things they should have had no way of knowing. So she’d reported it, only to be brushed off by everyone.

  Except Irene Drummond.

  Part of Carol wished she could go back and tell her then-self to keep her mouth shut. How many lives would have been lost if she had? How many would have been saved?

  Charlie Peterson would have successfully faked his own death and absconded with some of the most sensitive information they had. Good people would have died, that was simply a fact. The impact to the worldwide political climate could have been catastrophic. But they’d avoided it because they’d known what to look for; they’d seen the signs, and they’d stopped it.

  Carol could have never predicted the risk to herself in all of this. She’d simply seen a problematic trend and acted to correct it. Her algorithm had begun as a bit of guesswork, and now it was a full-blown, unsanctioned, covert operation. It was what she’d been trained to do. Now, she didn’t know what was going on. She had a sneaking suspicion she was being followed any time she left her home. And the people she should be able to trust were leaving her in the dark.

  It did not make for a comfortable way to spend her days.

  Perhaps it was time she visited a friend. Enzo had been after her to visit him now that he was set up in Paris. Nathan was raving about London. It seemed that her exchange-student siblings were all moving up in the world and she was looking over her shoulder for the dagger that might kill her.

  She was going to think herself sick, going in circles like this.

  This walk, this excursion out of her house, was supposed to be about clearing her head. Not bringing her worries out for a stroll.

  Carol began reciting the names of Chinese heads of state and what positions they’d served prior to taking the reins of the country. It was a soothing exercise, full of routine, that often helped to center her. Lately, it hadn’t worked quite as well. But then, nothing short of medication likely would.

  At the far side of the park, several shops were open and doing a steady stream of business, from coffee and hot chocolate to fresh flowers and hot dogs.

  Carol steered clear of the food and drink. She was already stress-eating her way through early Valentine’s Day candy.

  Flowers, though…

  Little vendors like this were popping up all over the place, what with the holiday bearing down on them. Carol didn’t much care either way about Valentine’s, but the flowers…

  She caressed a cheerful yellow daisy and smiled.

  Maybe what she needed was something indulgent and beautiful.

  Flowers wouldn’t solve all her problems, but something living, green, and fresh might help chase away some of the dread. Something that was soothing, an arrangement to serve as a reminder to calm down. Flowers had a language all their own. Carol’s fascination with the history of multilayered meanings had begun as a footnote in a textbook on Chinese court life. To truly understand the present political and social climate in Asia she’d begun her studies hundreds of years ago, all so she could focus on the now.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Hm?” Carol glanced up at a man on the other side of the bucket of flowers. His sun-bleached brown hair stuck up, and his brow was wrinkled. Stressed-out man looking for something to buy his girlfriend?

  “I’m trying to pick out flowers for my mom and…I don’t want to get her boyfriend flowers. Does that make sense?” He scrunched up his face.

  “I suppose so.” Carol was glad he wasn’t seeking relationship advice. She, like her father, was married first to her work. But flowers? She’d fallen in love with their language. Besides their importance in court life, spies of different nationalities had communicated using the properly selected blooms, while others used them to confess love.

  “Roses… It’s too much, isn’t it?”

  “They’re classic. All women like roses.” At least in America…

  “But my mom’s not really… She’s not a rose woman.” He pushed his hand through his hair, further messing up whatever styling he’d tried to do.

  “What does your gut say? What do you think she’d like?”

  “I don’t know. That’s just it.” He chuckled, lips spreading into a smile that invited her to laugh along with him. “I think I’m doomed.”

  “No, you just haven’t found what you think suits her. Tell me about her.”

  “Mom…” He stared into the distance, eyes growing a touch unfocused. “She’s amazing. No one works as hard as she does. She never expects anything in return. She kept all us boys in line, which was no easy thing to do. I just… I want to show her I care.”

  Damn. Right in the gut with just a few sentences. When was the last time Carol talked to her mom? Their chats were always stilted and a bit awkward, but she was all Carol had. That made her important.

  She’d have to call her when she got home.

  “There are some cultures that have a…sort of a flower language. It’s died out here, but there are still many people that practice symbolic meanings with them.” She gestured to the abundance of roses. “Valentine’s Day and red flowers, for example. Here, it’s a symbol of love, but in some Asian countries thorny flowers, like the rose, are symbols of pain and unhappiness.”

  “Is there a flower that says I’m sorry for being a brat?” He grinned.

  “Pink and white carnations.” Carol walked around the bins to a corner of nearly forgotten blossoms. “They never lose their petals, so they never forget what’s precious to them. Pink is for devotion and love, white for remembrance. Classic apology flowers. Unless you’ve really messed up and then maybe go big with some hyacinths.”

  “I asked the right lady for help.”

  “You happened on the right nerd.”

  “Lady nerd then?” He held out his hand. “I’m Mark.”

  Carol swallowed.

  Was he…flirting? She could never tell.

  She put her gloved hand in his.

  “Carol.”

  “Nice to meet you.” The skin around his eyes crinkled. He had a kind face. “Your mom must get the best flowers from you.”

  “Sadly, I don’t see her enough.”

  “Maybe you should get her some of these carnations, too?”

  “Maybe I will.” Carol could always do with a drive over to Mom’s.

  “Is there anyone who gives you pretty flowers, Carol?”

  She stood rooted to the spot.

  He was flirting.

  She swallowed, but it was hard given how tight the muscles in her throat were. Despite the chill of the day, it was suddenly too warm under the puffy coat.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, no one gives me flowers.” She shook her head.

  “Well.” Mark took a step back, his gaze honed in on her to the point that the rest of the world seemed to fall away. It was the kind of stare that left her a little light-headed. “I think… This one.”

  He plucked a fiery red-and-orange tulip out of a nearby bin and held it out to her. The blossom was still tightly closed, not yet open, perfect. She smiled despite knowing he’d picked it at random.

  The language of flowers wasn’t just about the color or type, it was also the stage at which it was given.

 
A bud, like what he’d just handed her, was a beginning. Something that would grow to be more. It was significant. And yet, it couldn’t be. He was a random guy she’d met walking in the park.

  “I’ve got to go, but…if I wanted to make sure that flower gets a friend or two, think I could get your phone number?” Mark asked. He tucked the bundle of carnations they’d picked out under his arm and fished out his phone.

  She blinked at the shiny black device.

  “Uh…” Carol’s throat tightened even more.

  She was a CIA employee embroiled in what might be the biggest breach of national security in history. But she was still a woman and life went on. Her father, may his soul rest in peace, had come home to Carol and her mother time and time again. He’d said they were his anchor, reminding him why he did what he did. Carol didn’t have that. Maybe it was time she did.

  “Too strong?” He sighed.

  “No, just… Here. I’ll key it in for you.”

  “Make sure to call your phone. That way you know who to pick up for.”

  Carol could feel the heat in her cheeks. She was willing to bet she was blushing like a schoolgirl. But this? It was good. She’d needed to remember there was a life beyond work, outside of the cloak-and-dagger routine. And maybe Mark could remind her of that.

  …

  Monday, somewhere below DC

  Andy sat in front of the monitors, his eyes glued to the video feed of the woman in the kitchen.

  The seconds ticked by.

  He could feel them like the beat of a metronome.

  Five…

  Four…

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  The phone on the counter next to her flashed, but he could not hear the alarm. He’d drawn the line at microphones.

  The woman snatched up the phone, her cooking forgotten as she tapped on the phone screen.

  Andy reached for his phone, swiping his thumb over the dark screen.

  She set her phone down.

  His vibrated.

  Five minutes. He texted, she read it, set a timer, and didn’t respond for a set amount of time. It was always different. Three minutes. Five. Eleven. She had a system down he hadn’t cracked yet. What was the purpose? To make it seem like she wasn’t interested in him?

  The fake him, of course.

  Because Andy wasn’t Mark, but to Carol he was.

  He unlocked his phone and tapped the message.

  Going out with a coworker tonight. Cocktails. Nothing exciting. You?

  Andy would never understand these flirtatious games.

  Carol wasn’t going out, she was staying home. As she had for the last few days since their soft meet. Was it out of some need to appear aloof? Busy? Was it too much to ask to be honest?

  Then again, who was he to throw stones over honesty?

  She didn’t know his real name, what he was or who was watching her.

  Hanging with Mom tonight. Watching TV. She still talks about the flowers. Thanks again.

  Did he send it now, or should he wait?

  This was getting unnecessarily complicated. And yet, here he was, leashed to his phone and unable to look away from the monitors. It was like living a sitcom. He didn’t like it.

  He hit send and focused on her, his insides twisted up with anticipation.

  This was, without a doubt, the best part.

  He leaned forward and held his breath.

  Her phone flashed.

  She set the spoon down and picked up the phone, leaning her hip against the counter.

  There it was.

  Andy sighed and relaxed back in his chair.

  Her smile. It was perfection. She only got that look when he texted, which was why he hadn’t yet stopped. The meet was done, he could stop, yet he was addicted to her now.

  Moments like these, Andy wished he could be normal. That he could be Mark. That this wasn’t a lie.

  …

  Wednesday, DC

  Carol didn’t make it a habit to come home for lunch, but she’d left her phone on the charger after passing out with it pressed to her cheek.

  Mark had to think she was a complete fruit loop.

  She’d fallen asleep while he talked. How rude was that? And then she’d overslept. In her rush to make it to work on time, she’d forgotten the darn phone. Everything was out of synch, but mostly her.

  She couldn’t concentrate, nothing held her attention, because what if Mark replied to her text? What if he was angry with her?

  In her pursuit of a distraction, she’d gone off the deep end.

  Carol dashed through the front door, barely pausing to flip the deadbolt, before she charged upstairs.

  Her phone was where she’d left it, on the charger.

  She picked it up and plugged in the password.

  Two missed texts.

  Don’t worry about it. You sounded stressed and likely needed the sleep.

  You promised me dinner though.

  She laid her fingers across her lips.

  Had she?

  She bit her lip.

  This was so not the time to flirt with a romantic relationship. She was under a lot of stress. It was bad timing, and yet… Having someone to listen to, to talk to like an average person, without the guilt or connections to work… It was a relief.

  With Mark she was a normal girl.

  Granted, she’d been coy when he asked her what she did for a living. She’d have to figure out what to tell him, how to paint her job as the boring, paper-pushing, data-crunching occupation it was supposed to be.

  She should do it.

  Go out with him.

  For herself.

  Because she required it.

  She needed to be human, she needed to see fewer shadows where there were none, she needed to remember why she did what she did. Maybe Mark could be that for her. Her anchor.

  Carol would have to run a background check on him. She had to know more about him before she took that leap. Life would never be simple for her. That was her reality, but she could still be happy.

  She hit dial on Mark’s number.

  An apology like this couldn’t be a text.

  The call rang to voicemail. Right. He had that meeting today.

  “Hey, Mark. It’s Carol. I wanted to apologize again for last night. I think dinner would be a great solution.” She swallowed. A date. When was the last time she’d gone on a date? “Anyway, hope you’re having a great day. I’ll check in later. Bye.”

  She blew out a breath and hung up, swiping her fingers over the screen.

  There was no point in checking into him before dinner. Texts and phone calls didn’t tell her the measure of a man. Only a face-to-face date would. If she still liked him after they shared a meal, then she’d make the call. She’d see just whom she was dealing with. But first, she wanted the butterflies. They made her remember why she did this job, so that people were safe to go about their everyday lives.

  Carol stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

  Was this how her parents met? A chance, happy meeting?

  Did her father come home after a stressful mission and decide he needed someone? Carol had been young when her father was killed, but she still remembered him as the man who smiled, made her laugh. People at work still remembered him, his old partner and friends checked in on her regularly. Watching them and going through what she was experiencing now, it made her wonder about who her father had been behind it all.

  Her phone vibrated.

  A text, not a call.

  Mark’s name made her smile regardless.

  Meeting blows. Stuff is happening at work. Might have to rain check on dinner, or push it out. :(

  Carol sighed and tapped out a quick message. She, more than anyone else, knew how work could blow up. Only in her case, it was quite a literal risk.

  Maybe it was wrong of her to not tell Mark, but for all she knew, he could be a security risk.

  She flopped back onto her b
ed and stared at the ceiling.

  Nothing was ever easy.

  Chapter Two

  Friday, CIA headquarters

  Irene kept the files close to her chest.

  She’d already procured coffee, made the rounds. She hadn’t seen Carol in days, which wasn’t uncommon. They worked in different departments. What worried Irene was that Mitch, who also worked in the Asia division, hadn’t seen Carol either. One of them needed to have a meet with her, and it made the most sense if it was Irene.

  This whole situation was tricky. There was no way to protect themselves from the bad guys when they were disguised as the good ones. Between the three of them, Irene had the most regular contact with Carol. It had to be her.

  Irene paused at the admin’s desk. The poor woman watched after almost an entire department on her own and did it without dropping any plates. A true talent.

  Tina Butler had her chair spun away from her computer, sorting through files on the other side of her desk. She was a mousy brunette with a quick mind and a quiet way about her. Irene liked her. For the most part. As much as she could like anyone.

  “Hey, Tina, the copier’s doing that thing again. I can’t get it to work. Do you mind?” Irene laid a form on Tina’s desk.

  Tina said something.

  “I’m sorry?” Irene tilted her head to the left.

  “Sorry.” Tina spun around, a smile on her ample face. “Talking to myself. You need how many of this?”

  “Just one, please. And thank you. I swear, you’re the only one with the magic touch around here.” Irene shook her head.

  “I’ll take care of this in one tick, okay?”

  “Take your time.”

  Irene proceeded out into the hall. Her department occupied a small suite with offices around a common area and Tina’s workspace. It was meant to be quiet, separate, and provide plausible deniability. No one could see what went on here, which meant no one could admit to the clandestine nature of their work. The eight of them worked with contracted assets in the field. Dozens of people who did what the government couldn’t be tied to.

  She made the trek through the offices to the division that oversaw the CIA’s activity in Asia. That was both Carol and Mitch’s specialty. What with China and North Korea rattling their swords lately, the department had swelled.