There were several giggles from both groups, the ops officers, and the paramilitary team. Thing Two gripped his cattle prod and glared. Talia had not made a friend.
“Thin.” Brennan looked unimpressed. “If that’s all you had, then you took an unacceptable risk just now.”
Talia uncrossed her legs and sat forward, locking eyes with her boss. “Oh, I had more. To be honest, I got everything I needed from the drive to the Compound. Speaking of which, what happened to my car?”
Brennan frowned at her attempt to change the subject. “It’s fine, being detailed as we speak.”
Jordan waved him off. “Are you telling us that you mapped the route in your head?” She glanced at one of the paramilitary officers, most likely the driver.
He swallowed and dropped his gaze to his boots.
“Don’t blame him.” Sugar and caffeine had brought Eddie back to life. “Talia is ridiculously good at that sort of thing. This one time, our class tried to stump her with a multidimensional blind man’s bluff involving four Metro trains, three Ubers, and a cat we—”
Brennan glared.
Eddie sheepishly returned to his drink. “I guess you had to be there.”
That seemed good enough for Jordan. “Stand, please.” She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Talia Inger. Eddie Gupta. You have walked through the fire and entered the circle.” She gestured at the seal beneath their feet. “It is time to swear you in.”
The entire episode—the kidnapping, the interrogation, the shocking of poor Eddie with a low-voltage cattle prod—had all been part of a mystery play created for their swearing-in ceremony.
“What if we had cracked?” Eddie asked.
Brennan slapped his knees and heaved himself up, allowing Thing One to take his chair. “Then we’d have kicked you to the curb. More cake for me.”
He wasn’t joking. Two of the knuckle-draggers brought in a table with an elaborate American flag cake. Brennan loudly declared that it had to be eaten in its entirety before the end of the night, for the sake of national security.
So that was Talia’s final induction into Directorate of Operations—the Clandestine Service. She’d been kidnapped by assassins, delivered to the Agency hog-tied in the back of a truck, and sworn in by a man she had betrayed only hours before.
But when she looked for him after the ceremony, Brennan had disappeared.
TALIA FOUND HER BOSS on Sublevel 3. Brennan waited at the door to their broom-closet office, holding a piece of cake so big it threatened the integrity of his paper plate.
“Took you a while,” he said, checking his watch. “But I knew you’d come looking for me. Got something to say?”
Talia chose her steps carefully as she stepped into the office. “Jordan told you.”
“She didn’t have to. I saw it plain as day on your face when I found you in her office, and I put the rest together when she questioned me about my files.” Brennan gestured at her workstation chair, strategically placed in front of his desk. “Come in. Sit down.”
Talia did as she was told. “Are you mad?” Dumb question. “You’re mad.”
Brennan put his plate down and sat as well, looking tired. “I’m not much to look at, Talia. But I’m no traitor. However”—he sighed, pulling the file from its drawer and laying it down next to the cake—“I did overreact when you tried to take this file. And that made it look like I was hiding something.”
“You were hiding something.” Of that, Talia was certain. Microexpressions did not lie.
“Correct. The swearing-in ceremony.” Brennan dug a plastic fork into his cake. “Or hadn’t you figured that out yet? I couldn’t let you in on current ops because we hadn’t sworn you in, and I couldn’t tell you the time or nature of the ceremony because of our traditions.”
His argument made sense. Brennan’s story met all the points of logic required to explain his behavior. So why were her instincts still crying foul? Maybe she was worn out, frazzled by the night’s events. “Okay. What now?”
“We move on.” Brennan’s expression shifted. He picked at his frosting. “This is good cake, isn’t it? Nothing but the best for our new operatives.” With his other hand, he pushed the file across the desk. “Our new field operatives.”
Field operatives. Brennan wasn’t simply sharing current ops. He was sending her out into the wild. Talia hesitated and then snatched up the mystery file. A smile spread across her lips, until she scanned the first few lines.
NEW INTELLIGENCE: MOLDOVA/TRANSNISTRIA, OTHER BRANCH
SOURCE: MR. ADAM TYLER; REGIONAL BUSINESSMAN; IMPORT-EXPORT
SOURCE RATING: CREDIBLE
FREE TEXT: MR. TYLER REPORTS RUMORS FROM HIS TIRASPOL BUSINESS CONTACTS OF A POTENTIAL ATTEMPT TO STEAL TECHNOLOGY FROM AVANTEC, A MOLDOVAN AEROSPACE CORPORATION WITH US DEFENSE CONTRACTS.
It went on, but the file was nothing—a basic RIR, a raw intelligence report, covering a minor theft threat against some backwater Moldovan tech firm based in the unrecognized territory of Transnistria.
“You and Gupta will go in undercover to assess Avantec’s security protocols.” Brennan looked up from his cake. “Your job is to ensure the safety of US-related projects.”
Talia flipped back and forth between the two scant pages, searching every line for signs of something truly sinister, or at least interesting. She found none. “This is rent-a-cop stuff.” And then Talia understood. “No. This is a punishment. I read the country profile. Moldova is the moldiest, sweatiest armpit of Eastern Europe.” She closed the file. “You are mad about my thing with Jordan. You said I was forgiven.”
“I said we were moving on. Besides, even when we’re forgiven, there are often consequences for our actions.” Brennan’s mustache could not hide his smirk. “Take it on the chin, Inger. You’re going.”
Worst Monday ever.
Chapter
fifteen
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
AFTER SOME ADDITIONAL PUSHBACK from Talia, Brennan had added a coffee to her penance. She picked it up on the way in on Tuesday morning.
“Skinny?” Luanne asked when Talia ordered a tall white mocha.
Talia lowered her eyes. “Yes. And add Frank’s usual. On me.”
Luanne typed the order into the register. “One skinny white mocha for the rookie, and one Frank special: a venti half-sugar, half-fat combo with a little coffee thrown in.” She stuffed Talia’s cash into the drawer and went to work adding milk from two separate jugs to a pair of steel cups. Talia expected her to use whole milk for Frank’s, but the jug read, HALF AND HALF. Luanne shook her head. “One day, Frank Brennan is gonna keel over, and the po-lice gonna haul me in for the world’s slowest murder.”
When Talia didn’t laugh at her joke, Luanne glanced up from the cups. “Who kicked your cat today?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Girl, please.” She left the two milk cups to froth and returned to the counter. “You in trouble with the boss. If I seen that look once, I seen it a thousand times.”
Talia lifted her eyes. “You already used the ‘thousand times’ line with my badge picture.”
The barista dropped a shoulder. “Then how ’bout this, rookie. If I had a dollar”— she cast a pointed look at the tip jar—“for every time I seen a downcast face on a new recruit, I’d be a wealthy woman. What’d you do, lose some classified file?”
Talia wished she could lose that file. She slipped a bill into the jar. “I had a rough night. That’s all.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure. That’s all.” Luanne finished Frank’s dessert and Talia’s worthless diet caffeine concoction and set both cups on the counter. Talia tried to take them, but Luanne held on, forcing Talia to meet her eyes. “Here’s the thing, girl. Pretty soon, you gonna head out into that great big, messed-up world, and life is gonna come at you hard. Death too. And you gonna wish for the good ol’ days when all you had to worry about was an overbearing boss.” She wheeled around in her signature Luanne turn—hips first, he
ad later. “That’s my two cents, anyhow.”
Pretty soon. Talia walked away with her coffees.
Down on Sublevel 3, she set Brennan’s mocha on his desk. “Your fat bomb, sir.”
In return, Brennan held out a scarred leather portfolio. “Your tickets.”
“That was fast.” She opened the portfolio, scanning the documents. Air travel, hotel, rental car. She scrunched up her brow as she read. “What’s Tram Air?”
“Your only option for getting into Tiraspol.” Brennan handed her an additional folder. “Read this before you leave, but don’t take it with you. You’re going in as Natalia Wright from Wright Way Security Consultants. Your job is to gain the principal’s trust and evaluate his security.”
The principal was a Dr. Pavel Ivanov, a young engineer and the CEO of Avantec Industries. The photo clipped to page one showed a confident man in his late twenties with an olive complexion and an expensive suit. The man had coin and connections, with a state-of-the-art compound near Tiraspol and investments all over the European Union.
“Once you have the layout,” Brennan continued, “report back.”
“To what end?”
Brennan gave the answer she was hoping for. “If”—he frowned, gesturing at her with his coffee—“If you can convince me that US interests in Avantec are well protected, I’ll bring you home. We’ll get started on something with better surroundings. Like Bucharest.”
“Deal.” Talia would be out of there in a week, maybe less. She turned to go. “I’ll find Eddie and get him prepped.”
“Wait.” The word was muffled, as Brennan was halfway through a gulp of mocha cream. “You’ll have some additional help. Remember the source that brought us this intel?”
The name appeared in Talia’s head, unbidden. “Adam Tyler. Businessman.”
“He has ties in the area. I’m sending him in with you to grease the skids. Don’t worry. He’s worked with the Agency before.”
A civilian? More babysitting. Talia forced a smile. “No problem.” She would do with Tyler what she had done when foster parents brought her in as a nanny instead of daughter—ignore her charge from the moment she arrived. Let him run wild. What did she care?
“You’re meeting him at the Jefferson Memorial this afternoon. Details are in that folder I gave you.” Brennan narrowed his eyes, clearly reading her microexpressions. “Play nice.”
“WHAT DID YOU DO, TALIA?” She and Eddie were in the elevator, headed down to Franklin’s goblin cave. Eddie untucked his pink button-down and showed her the red marks on his side. “Last night I was tortured. Now we’re heading to Transnistria, Eastern Europe’s Wild West.” He stuffed his shirt back into his pants and began idly playing with his fidget spinner. “I looked it up. Did you know their hospitals have tiny ants that infest closed wounds by hiding in the surgical instruments? Their ants, Talia. They infest people.” Eddie stopped the spinner and frowned. “We’re suffering more than your average rookies. What aren’t you telling me?”
She watched the numbers tick by above the elevator doors, counting up even though they were heading down. It felt weird. “This is a little setback, that’s all.”
Franklin reversed his chair into view as they entered his lab. “Ah, here you are. Heroes of the Directorate’s latest swearing-in. Last night, you passed a trial by fire. Today you venture deep into the dark cave to receive boons from the Goblin King.”
Talia hung back. “Boons? Last time you stole my phone and deleted my contacts.”
“Did I? That was an accident.”
“Not the stealing the phone part.”
“But I gave you a new one.”
“With no contacts.”
Franklin’s bright expression dimmed. He shifted his gaze to Eddie. “You said she was cool. This”—he gestured at Talia as if she were an inanimate object—“is not cool.”
Eddie gave him an apologetic head tilt. “She’s kind of intense sometimes, but she’ll grow on you. Give her time.”
“Time is all I’ve got.” Franklin’s grin returned and he looked Talia up and down. “You look like an Oakleys girl,” he said, and drove back to his keyboard.
“Ray-Bans, actually.”
“Bup, bup, beh. I’m working here.” Franklin waved away her input, typing with the other hand, and then snapped his fingers. “Phone.”
With a glance at Eddie that said, I will kill him if I lose my contacts again, Talia handed it over.
“Bueno.” Franklin opened a standing cabinet, drew out a pair of Oakleys, and passed them to Talia over his shoulder.
The lenses were a little large for her taste, but otherwise they looked normal. “Shades?” she asked, turning them over and back in her hand.
“Because your future’s so bright. Try them on.” Franklin pressed a key, and the dark lenses faded to a light, translucent blue.
The moment she had the glasses in place, the word READY appeared in bold green letters, hovering before her. Talia whipped them off again and checked the lenses, but could see no word from the front side. She put them back on. “Okay, that’s pretty cool.”
Franklin snapped the fingers of both hands. “She likes ’em. Now. Watch this.” He toyed with her phone and the word hovering in front of Talia changed to PAIRED. An instant later, Eddie and Franklin—the whole lab—grew sharper, as if Talia’s already-perfect vison had improved. “What is this?”
“CLEO. Color Light Enhanced Optics—a perfect storm of sensors. Your phone acts as the CPU, optimizing the image from the cameras in the bridge and sending it back to the lenses.”
“So it’s Bluetooth,” Talia said.
“Whoa.” Franklin gave Eddie another What’s wrong with her? look. “Don’t make ’em sound so cheap.” He handed over an Oakley case, along with her phone. “Eddie can link up via SATCOM and send videos, images, documents—whatever—straight to your eyes.”
“Um . . .” Eddie patted his own chest. “I like shades too.”
“Sorry. Ops Os only. Budget cuts.” Franklin led them across the lab to a pedestal with two handguns and four small magazines. “But you can have one of these.”
“Those are Glocks,” Talia said. “I carry a SIG.”
The chair slowly rotated. Franklin sighed and let his head loll to one side to look up at her. “You ever see the movie Frozen?”
“Are you saying I should let it go?”
“Hey, the girl shows promise.” He raised his hands, waggling them in the air. “All good things. All good things.” Then he passed them each a weapon. “These are Agency-customized Glock 42s. Zero metal parts. The rounds are high-density ceramic. Use them wisely, you’ve got six each. Standard .380 ammo will work for reloads.”
TALIA SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY memorizing Ivanov’s file and prepping for her meeting with Adam Tyler, her civilian deadweight. Brennan gave her very little background on the American-born businessman. He was nearly twenty years her senior, with his financial fingers in several sketchy fly-by-night companies. The file focused more on Tyler’s intel. His contacts in Moldova had told him of a small weapons deal and a dispute among local thugs. The rumors spoke of an outsider, an underworld boss called Lukon, planning a move to steal some of Avantec’s technology—although the rumors did not specify the nature of that technology.
In the parking garage, on her way out to the meeting, Talia ran into Mary Jordan. They chatted in cryptic terms about the previous night’s adventure, and then Talia broached the subject of her mission. “You did sign off on this, right?”
Jordan read the not-so-subtle Are you really going to make me do this? and nodded. “I like the idea of getting you out in the field early, gaining experience.”
“On a glorified rent-a-cop security job?”
“Don’t sell this mission short, Talia.” Jordan cracked a smile. “Dr. Ivanov and Avantec give America a firm footing in the Eastern European defense sector. It’s important to protect our interests there.”
“Right.” Talia hadn’t looked at the
op from that point of view. “But what about this source, Adam Tyler? I’ll be working with him on location.” A flash of the eyes told Talia Jordan hadn’t heard about Tyler’s involvement. “You didn’t know?”
Jordan regained her usual unreadable expression. “I gave Brennan free rein on the logistics. And Tyler has a . . . history . . . with the Directorate.” She narrowed her eyes. “But watch him carefully.”
“Why? Tyler’s the one who brought us this intelligence in the first place.”
“True.” Jordan turned and walked away, clicking a remote to unlock a nearby Mercedes. “But when the devil brings a gift to your doorstep, he’s usually coming after your soul.”
Chapter
sixteen
NATIONAL MALL
WASHINGTON, DC
ARM’S LENGTH. Maybe a ten-foot pole.
Talia resolved to keep Tyler well out on the periphery of the mission. Her cryptic conversation with Jordan had not inspired confidence.
A late cold front whipped the last of the cherry blossom petals into swirls above the gently curving sidewalks of the National Mall. Passing the reflecting pool, she drew her new shades from her peacoat and slipped them on. “Let’s give the Faux-kleys a test run, shall we?” The lenses darkened with the sunlight.
A discreet earpiece connected her to Eddie’s workstation back at the compound. His voice came through crystal clear. “I’m sending you Tyler’s description now. Stand by.”
Height, weight, age, complexion—the data from Tyler’s file floated in space to the left of the path, close enough to read but far enough it wouldn’t block Talia’s vision. Six foot two, one hundred ninety pounds, dark brown hair. To the right, Tyler’s photo appeared, rendered in three dimensions by predictive software, slowly rotating back and forth. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
An extra voice came over the comms, distant but readable. “Ha. I told you she liked ’em.”
Talia frowned, glancing left and right before quickstepping across Independence Avenue. “Eddie, are you in Franklin’s lab?”
No answer.
The Gryphon Heist Page 6
