“All the more reason to start saying it.”
The islands passed them by. Talia dipped her oar to navigate the river bend and sighed. “I . . . I can’t.”
“Oh.” Jenni sounded so disappointed. “Okay.”
“I can’t tonight, I mean. I have a prior engagement. How about tomorrow night?”
She could hear the smile return in Jenni’s voice. “Well . . . tomorrow night is Bible study night at the church. Sometimes we chitter-chatter too long on the back end, so the timing is hard to pin down. But if you came with me, we could do a late dinner at the house afterward.”
Talia laughed. “Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
“No. You don’t.”
The boathouse came into view. Talia balanced her oar and leaned back to stretch, and Jenni trapped her in a one-armed hug. “Welcome home!”
THE SMELL OF ROASTED COLOMBIAN BLEND drew Talia into a detour on her way to the Directorate’s Russia Eastern European Division.
Luanne showed no surprise at her reappearance after the two-week absence. “Back to the grind, huh, rookie?” she asked after Talia ordered a venti semi-diet morning dessert. Luanne glanced at the tip jar as she turned to the machines. “Another day, another dollar?”
“You’re right.” Talia slipped a bill into the jar. “I’m glad to be home safe and sound with my overbearing boss.”
“Mm-hm.”
Talia watched her work for a few seconds, then added a second dollar to the jar. “You know what? Make me a Frank Special as well, please.”
“Will do. But just so we’re clear, you orderin’ that ’cause you wanna make him happy, or ’cause you wanna kill him?”
“A little of both.”
BRENNAN ACCEPTED THE COFFEE without a thank-you. He took a swig and set it down beside his donut. “Our man at Incirlik says you made quite an impression on the boys in his unit. After the mess you made of Ivanov’s island, they’re calling you Nyx.”
Talia scrunched up her brow. “Nyx?”
“The Greek goddess of night, daughter of Chaos.” Brennan shrugged. “There’s a lot of Hellenistic influence in Incirlik’s operations area.”
“I had help with the chaos.”
“They know that. But guys like that prefer legends to facts.”
Talia hesitated at his desk. There was a conversation she wanted to have, and she decided it was best to have it before Eddie showed up.
“Something else on your mind?”
“How much did you know?”
“More than you. Even now.” Brennan took a bite of his donut and kept talking as if he hadn’t. “And before you say anything else, you need to understand that I’m not under duress, here. Tyler may have pushed me regarding your involvement, but he’s an old friend. And there’s a bigger picture beyond the two of you and your dysfunctional past.”
He had wasted no time in coming to the heart of her concerns. Talia had seen Brennan’s edited version of the after action. A key line was missing from the part she had written. “You’re talking about the Agency conspirator Ivanov mentioned.” She hit him with the question on her mind point-blank. “Was it you?”
“Would I have helped you and Tyler take Ivanov down if it was?”
“Then why remove the reference from my report.”
“Simple. We can’t risk alerting the real traitor, the one Tyler suspects of being Archangel.”
Archangel. The name hit Talia hard. She had let her anger go, but this was still the person who had ordered her father’s murder. And after-action reports from REED’s various sections stayed in house. That meant Brennan suspected someone inside their little corner of the Clandestine Service.
He finished the donut, licking the powdered sugar off his fingers and wiping them on a well-worn napkin. “Now that we understand each other, we can work together on this. The operation you just completed was the first step in a long sting—or maybe a long con, as your new friend Valkyrie would put it.”
How could stopping a missile attack be the first step in a con?
Talia blinked. “The data from Gryphon.”
Brennan touched his nose, exactly as Tyler had done on the ekranoplan. “After Visser’s kidnapping, Tyler came to me with the suspicion that Ivanov had a contact within the Agency—even had a notion as to who. Once a bad seed, always a bad seed, even after fifteen years.” Brennan looked down at the lonely crumpled napkin in the space where his donut had been. He frowned. “It’ll take weeks to mine through all that data from Gryphon and from Avantec’s other servers, but somewhere in those files are links that will help us build a sting to take the traitor down.”
“Why not tell me all of this from the beginning?”
“Need-to-know.” In the absence of another donut, Brennan turned his attention to his deadly coffee. He took a long drink and wiped the drips from his mustache. “Sometimes, in the greater plan, we only get the information needed to help us do our part the way we’re meant to.”
Talia folded her arms and frowned. He was starting to sound like Conrad.
Brennan leaned back in his chair. “That’s how life works, kid. Might as well get used to it.”
She couldn’t argue with him. Talia sighed. “That leaves the Russian—Bazin. He can’t be innocent in all this. It’s a shame he got away.”
“Give him time. He’ll turn up. Bad rubles always do.”
There was a knock at the door, and the knob was already turning as Brennan called, “Enter!”
Mary Jordan stepped into the small office, keeping her arms close to her body, as if a brush against any surface might contaminate her clothes.
“Chief,” Brennan said, not bothering to stand. “Funny you should show up. We were just talking about you.”
Chapter
seventy-
four
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
BRENNAN’S GLANCE SPOKE VOLUMES, enough to knock Talia back a step—away from Mary Jordan. We were just talking about you. Talia struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Archangel?
“You.” Jordan ignored Talia and headed straight for Brennan’s desk. “You took a new recruit—my recruit—and used her to subvert my authority.”
Brennan spread his hands. “Why, Chief, whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t play that game with me. You authorized a dozen outlandish expenditures that should have come across my desk. You sent an operative beyond Other Branch’s area of responsibility, causing police incidents and terror task force responses in no less than three allied nations. And you deployed a US special operations team on foreign soil without notification to any authority, let alone the proper authority.”
“Actually”—Talia raised a tentative hand—“Mr. Brennan had nothing to do with the special ops team. Our man on-site notified the unit commander of a threat to the US, and the commander made his own decision.” That earned her a glare. Talia tucked the hand behind her back and cleared her throat. “As to the larger expenditures, it is my understanding that the civilian liaison for this mission covered them out of his own pocket and has not asked for compensation.”
“You mean Tyler. This is all him, isn’t it?” Jordan let out an angry chuckle. “Don’t be fooled, sweetie. You have no idea what kind of man he is.”
“What kind is that?”
“The kind a rookie like you shouldn’t be conspiring with, if you know what’s good for you.” Jordan gave her a look that said Pipe down, the grown-ups are still talking and then returned her attention to Brennan. “You and I are not finished. There will be repercussions.”
“Like sticking me in a broom-closet office for the rest of my career?”
“Oh, Frank. You want to play it like that? Fine. How about I start by removing the best young operative you’ve ever had from your command?” She turned to Talia. “You stopped a major attack. I can push that with the higher-ups to get your career back on the fast track. Your penance in Other is done. Report to the Russian Ops desk first
thing in the morning.” She left them both and headed for the door. “Starting tomorrow, Talia works directly for me.”
Russian Ops. It was a major step up, one small leap away from Moscow Station. But how could Talia do that to Brennan? Her hand came up in protest, but a sharp glance from Brennan shut her down. He wanted her to take the job. Why? Talia could only assume he wanted her to keep a closer eye on Jordan. The broom-closet remark had been a calculated push. Brennan had just played his boss like a mark—as well as Tyler or Val ever could have. Talia gave him a subtle nod to let him know she understood, then made an additional gamble. “Wait!”
Jordan turned in the doorway. “Excuse me?”
“Could . . . Eddie come too? He worked as hard on this op as I did.”
“Ah. Yes, what a wonderful idea.” Jordan gave Brennan a thin but triumphant smile, as if she had won another small victory, stealing another good operative. “Gupta can join us as well.”
Brennan raised his coffee in mock salute. “Good riddance. That kid eats all my donuts anyway.”
His unruffled response didn’t help Jordan’s mood. She held him with a glare for two more heartbeats and then stormed out of the room.
Poor Eddie arrived at precisely the wrong moment. He had to throw himself flat against the wall to avoid the flying door and the angry division chief. He sidestepped across the threshold and looked to Talia. “What did I miss?”
Jordan answered from the hallway. “You work for me now, geek. That’s what you missed.” There was a slight pause, followed by “And lay off those donuts!”
THAT EVENING, Talia and Eddie ventured far beyond the confines of the DC metroplex to a place both had heard rumors about but never seen.
The mansions scattered among the islands of Chesapeake Bay were the stuff of legend. Some said they were the summer homes of politicians and movie stars. Talia subscribed to a different but popular theory—that several belonged to the big defense corporations, whose CEOs needed comfortable places to camp while lobbying Congress for bigger contracts. Most of these estates could not be easily reached by car, so Tyler had made other arrangements for his two friends.
Mac met them at a marina near Londontowne with a midsize runabout.
“I see he’s still got you driving stuff other than planes.” Talia let the Scotsman help her down into the boat. “I thought this sort of thing wasn’t in your job description . . . Wheels.”
“One more time.” Mac pushed up the throttle and started out into the darkening bay. “And only for you, lass. Let’s not make a habit o’ this.”
In place of a dock, the house across the bay had a long rectangular inlet lined with stone walls and boxwood hedges, lit by gas lanterns. A cozy little place I’m watching for a friend. That’s what Tyler had called it. “Cozy. Right.” Talia counted the lighted windows as Mac coasted in. She estimated over twenty rooms.
Conrad met them at the door and took Talia’s bag. She had not brought much. They were only staying the one night. Tyler had something special planned.
“Where is he?” Eddie asked as they followed the cook up a grand central stairway.
“I’m afraid he hasn’t arrived. But he requests your presence at breakfast in the eastern sitting room. Five thirty sharp.”
Talia waited until Mac and Conrad had gone, then slipped into Eddie’s room and closed the door.
Eddie spun around, shirt up under his armpits. “What are you—” He jerked the shirt down to his beltline. “That’s not okay, Talia. Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean you don’t have to knock.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I wanted to talk.” She sat down on a cushioned bench in Eddie’s window. “Tyler didn’t give me any details. What are we doing here?”
Eddie pulled the copper fidget spinner from his pocket and twirled it, balancing the center point on his thumb. “I don’t know . . . exactly.”
He was acting nervous. She crossed the room and snatched the spinner away. “You know something. What is it?”
“Okay. Don’t be mad.”
That was never a great phrase to hear. “Don’t be mad about what?”
“I made a copy of the Gryphon data before turning it over to the Agency. Tyler asked me to. And before you freak out, Brennan knows. He’s on board. With everything.”
That much Talia could have guessed from her conversation with Brennan. “Okay. What else?”
“Tyler had other data, a thumb drive full of number strings. I don’t know where he got it, but I found a similar set in the Gryphon files and we merged the two. The combined numbers formed the pass codes for the escrow accounts from Ivanov’s auction.” Eddie shrugged one shoulder. “We . . . emptied them.”
“You robbed a bunch of terrorists?” Talia backed up, sitting down on the bench again. She had so much trouble wrapping her brain around the thought that she almost started twirling the fidget spinner herself. Where were the lines in this world of spies?
“Actually, we repurposed funds the terrorists had already spent. Ivanov wasn’t going to use them, and the US couldn’t confiscate them without acknowledging events that officially never happened. We put part of the money into an account to pay the fees Tyler promised each of our thieves. He’s brought them here to this meeting to collect their paychecks.”
Talia frowned. Old worries—old accusations—were cropping up in her mind. “And I suppose the rest went into Tyler’s bank account.”
“Not a dime. The rest went to an organization that feeds and educates kids all over the world.”
Talia tossed him his spinner. “How much?”
Eddie made his You wouldn’t believe me if I told you face.
TALIA RETIRED TO HER ROOM to read her worn copy of The Cat in the Hat, keeping to her pre-sleep tradition for a new place. She started a new tradition as well, adding a chapter of scripture. A ribbon in the Bible she found by the bedside had marked Ephesians chapter four. And at the bottom of the page was a verse about thieves stealing no more, and doing honest labor so they could give to those in need. She fell asleep wondering if Tyler had made that very thing his mission.
Morning came early. Talia tromped down the stairs at twenty after five to find the rest of the team seated beside a crackling fire, with the dim blue of twilight gathering on the water outside the sitting room’s picture window.
Tyler entered from an adjoining hallway with Conrad. The cook carried a tray of small plates, each with a pair of pastries. Tyler carried a tray of steaming mugs and teacups. “Welcome. All of you. We have tea, coffee, and hot chocolate. Your choice.”
“Why are we doing this so early?” Val took one of the coffees and tucked it close to her oversize sweater.
Darcy chose a mug of chocolate. “Because he is a sadist, no?”
“No,” Tyler said. “We’re here at this hour because dawn is a special time of day.”
Eddie bit into a pastry, eyes half closed. “For sleep, you mean.”
Tyler ignored the hacker’s remark and took up a position by the fireplace mantel. “In the past, I have put teams together for onetime operations, disbanding them afterward. But this team is different.” He glanced around at their faces. “I don’t think any of you can deny that we work well together. You all have unique talents. And last week you used them to save lives.”
Mac raised a finger. “And to get paid.”
“Yes. You’ll get the money I promised. But I’m asking you to look at the bigger picture. I know you can, Mac, because I watched you make the same choice on Gryphon.”
The Scotsman opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again and looked down into his coffee.
Tyler looked to the rest of them. “I’m asking you all to make that choice. Work with me. In the past you used your talents to enrich yourselves. Now use them to make the world a better and safer place.”
The first rays of sunlight filtered in through the windows, painting the room in rosy hues, and six sets of eyes darted around, questioning one another. They all finally settled on Tyl
er.
Talia gave him a nod. “You know Eddie and I are in.”
“Me too,” Val said, “although I have very specific travel and housing requirements.”
The others made similar comments—all in the affirmative, with small addendums.
That was enough for Tyler. “Excellent. Then I believe a toast is in order.” He raised his mug toward the rising sun. “To a job well done, to good friends, and to new horizons.”
Chapter
one
VOLGOGRAD, RUSSIA
WHARF DISTRICT
PRESENT DAY
THE CAB DRIVER cast a nervous glance down the alley at the unlit streetlamps and iron bars guarding blacked-out windows. An old man in a mud-stained coat stumbled out of the darkness and passed through the headlights, talking to himself in the singsong voice of the permanently delirious.
The cabbie honked his horn at the bum and turned in his seat with a wrinkled brow. “Vot? Ty unveren?” Here? Are you sure?
Talia Inger smiled, answering him in flawless Russian, refined at the Central Intelligence Agency by America’s top accent coaches. “Oh yes, my friend. This is exactly where I want to be.”
She climbed out and paid him, slipping in an extra five thousand rubles because he hadn’t wanted to drive to that side of town in the first place.
The driver thumbed through the money and smiled up at her—a soft, worried smile, as if his next words might be the last she’d ever hear. “You are a nice lady,” he said in his native tongue. “I will stop at St. Peter’s and light a candle for you.”
She reached through the open window and squeezed his forearm. “Spasibo,” she said, thanking him, then took in a deep breath as he drove away. The night air stank of drizzle and old fish.
Glorious.
The entrance to the Som—the Catfish—lay at the bottom of a steep set of stairs halfway down the alley. Like many of the most interesting places in the world, the Catfish could only be found by those who already knew where it was. It had no webpage, no Instagram feed, no neon sign, just three Cyrillic letters scratched into the hunk of black-painted iron that served as its door. Talia pulled it open, absorbing a blast of heat, noise, and cigarette smoke, and waltzed past the bouncer like she owned the place.
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