Identity
Page 9
“Do your worst, Agent Toles,” Cassidy challenged.
Alex’s claimed Cassidy’s lips with a searing kiss. “Challenge accepted.”
THE NEXT DAY
“Please tell me your annoyingly happy mood is because Dylan is home this Saturday, and not something creepy,” Claire said.
Alex shrugged.
“Oh, God!”
Alex grinned.
“Don’t tell me.”
“Don’t tell you why I’m in a good mood?”
“Not if it involves sex.”
“Things still wonky with Hawk?” Alex teased.
“Things are always wonky with Hawk. And, I don’t mean sex.”
“Don’t you mean, creepy?”
“Oh, God! Stop. Please.”
Alex laughed. “Are you telling me that you think me and Cass having sex is creepy?”
“Definitely.”
“Oh, and you and Hawk in bed is—”
“Not creepy,” Claire said.
“Guess that depends.”
“Can we please change the subject?”
Alex was about to reply when Claire’s phone buzzed.
“El? Yeah? What did he say?” Claire glanced at Alex as she continued to listen to Eleana. “That soon? I don’t know. I expected it would take a while, I guess. No. El, no. I don’t—Okay. Okay! I’ll wait for him to contact me. I’ll be ready. Just—you can go home and—Yeah. I do know. Fine. I’ll let you know.” Claire tossed her phone onto a chair. “Fuck.”
“Somehow, I don’t think we’re on the same subject we were a minute ago.”
“Funny. El says I should expect Gregorovich to contact me—today.”
“That was fast.”
“She also said to expect an invitation to Prague, and to be ready to leave when it comes.”
“Prague?”
Claire shrugged. “Beats most of the holes the FBI has sent me to.”
“Fair. So, what’s wrong?”
“El. She says she’s staying in Minsk until I meet with Gregorovich.”
“And?” Alex asked.
“El doesn’t need to be caught up in this.”
“She’s already in it. We all are.”
“She can—”
“El can take care of herself,” Alex reminded Claire.
“Maybe.”
Alex had worked with Eleana in the field, something Claire had never experienced. Claire still viewed Eleana Baros through the colored lens of a first-love. Alex wondered if Claire would ever see Eleana as the powerful woman she’d become. It’s not that Alex didn’t understand Claire’s feelings. She did. Alex often had to remind herself that Cassidy didn’t need her protection. That didn’t change the fact that Alex felt compelled to act as Cassidy’s protector—always. “Claire—”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Eleana is Krause’s wife, not mine.”
Alex sighed. “I know you still love her.”
Claire made no effort to deny Alex’s claim.
“I get it,” Alex said. “More than you think I do. But, Claire, I’ve worked with El. She knows what she’s doing, and I’m not talking about her ability to translate Russian. She can handle whatever arises. You need to trust—”
“I trust you.”
“Not me. Trust Eleana, Claire. Maybe you need to start seeing her for who she is instead of who she once was to you.”
“I see her.”
“Don’t underestimate her,” Alex advised.
“I don’t,” Claire replied. “That’s why I worry.”
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
“Why contact Sparrow?” Pyotr Gregorovich asked.
“No one is closer.”
“Why now?”
“Boredom?” Kiska offered.
“You want me to believe that Claire Brackett wants to meet with me because she is bored?”
“Who knows why The Sparrow does anything that she does?”
“And, why should I trust you, Illya?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Gregorovich stared at Kiska for a moment. An animated guffaw erupted from his belly. “Spoken like a true agent, Illya. But, tell me; why did you bring this to me?”
“She was worried.”
“Callier’s daughter?” Gregorovich asked.
“Yes. They have—history.”
“From what I understand, The Sparrow has a storied history.”
“Yes, but Baros is—”
“Different?”
“Perhaps.”
“And, you trust Eleana Baros?” Gregorovich probed.
“To the extent that I can trust anyone. She wanted to know if Brackett had approached anyone yet. She hoped I would have that information.”
Gregorovich considered Kiska’s explanation. He had met Claire Brackett once in passing. She intrigued him. He was still unsure what Kiska hoped to accomplish. “Why would I want to talk to Claire Brackett?”
“If Eleana is worried that Claire has contacted someone inside ASA, then there is reason to believe Claire wants to contact us. Few people were as close to Dimitri.”
“Kargen was a fly.”
“Was he?” Kiska challenged.
“Consumed by The Sparrow,” Gregorovich continued.
“That is the food chain, Pyotr.” Kiska waited for Gregorovich to reply. His information had piqued the man’s interest. That much was clear. Gregorovich had carved out his reputation in the past few years as a savvy businessman who could pull strings inside and outside the Kremlin. His talent placed him close to Kapralov. Kiska knew that Gregorovich sensed that Kapralov still held back information. Claire Brackett had secured the confidence of Dimitri Kargen before his death. Kargen, the nephew of ASA founder, Viktor Ivanov, may have been a fly. He was the proverbial fly on the wall. He knew more about the company Pyotr Gregorovich headed than anyone in Gregorovich’s current circle—even President Kapralov.
“What would we do with this sparrow?” Gregorovich asked.
“Test her wings,” Kiska suggested.
“And, what? Learn to trust her or earn her trust?”
“Neither. Earn her interest, Pyotr. Whether she is your bait or whether she is the catch remains to be seen.”
“Very well. Make the contact.”
“I think it best if it comes from you—directly.”
“Why?”
“She will know Eleana came to me.”
“And?”
“It would be better if she believed this is unsolicited. She left the FBI. Word is she is freelancing. Make the overture.”
Gregorovich stroked his chin and sighed. “Do you like to gamble, Illya?”
“That is all we do, Pyotr.”
“Indeed.” Gregorovich looked at a photo on his desk. “Where will you fly, Sparrow? Hither or home?”
“Perhaps the question is where Sparrow will find her nest.”
“Perhaps we will give her one.”
NEW YORK CITY
FRIDAY
“Stop worrying,” Claire told Alex.
“I’m not worried.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Think you know me that well now, huh?”
“You keep pinching the bridge of your nose. You’re worried.”
Alex chuckled. “Been talking to Cass?”
“I talk to Cassidy every day. I don’t need her to tell me about your quirks.”
“I don’t have quirks.”
“Oh, you’re the quirkiest woman I know.”
Alex laughed. “If you say so.”
“What are you worried about—exactly?” Claire asked.
“I don’t trust Gregorovich.”
“Yeah, neither do I. He does have the connection, Alex.”
“To Kapralov.”
“Yes. He is the top man at ASA. In my experience, ASA does not always tow the Kremlin’s line—sometimes it is the other way around.”
Alex wished she would never have to hear the name
, ASA again. Applied Strategic Applications—a technology giant in Europe—a corporation that devoted resources to some of the most egregious human rights violators in the world. It was a company whose leadership possessed no conscience beyond the numbers in its bank accounts. Dimitri Kargen was little more than a hired hitman. Alex placed Pyotr Gregorovich in the same category. “Just be careful, Claire.”
Claire fastened her luggage.
“Claire?”
Claire sat down on the top of her suitcase. “I can’t promise you that, Alex. Caution doesn’t always get results.”
Alex glared at her partner.
“You don’t have to like what I’m saying. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“Don’t be reckless.”
“Alex,” Claire addressed her partner seriously. “They have to believe that I am the same. They have to see The Sparrow, not Claire. The Sparrow flies wherever, and whenever she pleases.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. That was true.
“If you trust me, you need to trust that I know how far I can push.”
“Claire, this could lead us anywhere or to anyone.”
“We both know this is an endless road,” Claire replied. “It will come down to which direction we choose.” Claire stood and grabbed the handle of her case. “You work on things from your end. Let me do what I do. It’s Prague, Alex. I’ll be fine.”
“You had better.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT
SATURDAY
Cassidy watched Alex pace back and forth in the kitchen. She kept one eye on Alex, and one on her task of cutting up peppers. “Alex,” she called gently.
“What?”
“Pacing the floor won’t make him get here faster.”
Alex flopped into a kitchen chair.
“This isn’t only about Dylan, is it?” Cassidy guessed.
“Claire.”
“She sounded all right when I spoke to her earlier.”
“Claire called?”
“When she landed in Prague.”
“She told you where she went?”
Cassidy set down the knife in her hand and walked over to the kitchen table. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“I’d rather you—”
“Were kept in the dark?”
“If it keeps you safe; yes.”
“I think we both know that keeping secrets seldom keeps anyone safe,” Cassidy replied dryly.
“That’s not—” Alex gripped her nose.
Cassidy reached out and pried Alex’s fingers loose. “Talk to me. Before things get crazy here—talk to me.”
“I am worried. Okay? I am. It’s been a while, Cass—for both of us—all of us. I have no idea what we are about to walk into.”
“You’re worried about Dylan.”
“Of course, I’m worried about Dylan!” Alex got up from her seat and walked to the back door. She looked outside and shook her head. Her voice softened. “Do you remember our first Christmas?”
“Kind of hard to forget,” Cassidy said.
The best Christmas present Alex ever received had been the news that Cassidy was pregnant. Alex turned and offered Cassidy a smile before returning her attention to the yard. “Do you remember how Dylan spelled out his name in the yard with your carrots?”
“I do. Uncle Pip told him that the reindeer had sway over Santa.”
Alex laughed. “They do.”
“Alex—”
Alex turned back to Cassidy again. “What if this is what they want, Cass?”
“Who?”
“What if O’Brien did put something in Dylan’s head? What if—”
“Stop,” Cassidy demanded.
“I can’t. What if we’re putting him at risk?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“Have we?” Alex challenged. “We don’t know what O’Brien did or didn’t do, Cass. Here Claire and I go walking into this mess all over again. Why can’t we stay away? Look at Speed.”
“What about Dylan?”
“He could do anything, Cass. Why the military?”
“Alex, you need to stop this right now, and not just because Dylan will be home soon.”
“You still don’t believe it, do you?”
“Believe what?”
“That people can be programmed,” Alex said.
Cassidy wiped her face as if to clear cobwebs. Did she believe that people could be programmed? Yes. She did. She did not accept that people were without choice—not even if someone got into their head. People always had choice. She’d learned enough about her father’s program at the CIA. Lynx had been established both a research program and as a CIA initiative. The purpose had been to study the effects of various methods on programming human consciousness. Similar programs, varying in scope had been instituted in the former Soviet Union, The United Kingdom, France, as well as by competing entities within the United States government. Lynx was an official project of the Collaborative, under the unofficial supervision of the Central Intelligence Agency. Jim McCollum spear-headed Project Lynx until his departure from American life in the early 1980s.
Cassidy’s first husband, Christopher O’Brien had been part of a similar Soviet initiative. O’Brien’s directives included marrying Cassidy McCollum and starting a family. The end-game? No one was sure. There were indications that O’Brien may have attempted to embed something in Dylan’s consciousness. Nothing surprised Cassidy. She did not believe that Dylan was merely a project to O’Brien, and she continued to maintain confidence that Dylan was his own person, unaffected by any nefarious scheme. Alex struggled with the idea. More than that, Cassidy knew Alex wrestled with guilt and with fear.
“People can be manipulated in all kinds of ways,” Cassidy replied.
“You don’t believe it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t believe Dylan’s choices are the result of some program Chris put into his head—no.”
“You were the first person to defend Claire.”
“What are you talking about?” Cassidy asked.
“You. How many times have you reminded me what Claire went through as a kid? She believed it, Cass—that her mother died in an accident—that her nightmares were only dreams. She watched her father murder her mother. She witnessed it. He still managed to convince her that her memory was a lie. Look at all the things she did because—”
“No,” Cassidy stopped Alex’s diatribe. “This is where you and I depart, Alex. I empathize with Claire. I love Claire.”
“I know. I—”
“Listen to me. I also see Claire. I listen to Claire. She would be the first person to tell you that the things she did—things that haunt her—were done of her free will. If you don’t believe me, ask her. She doesn’t blame anyone for her choices, Alex. I don’t blame anyone for mine.”
“You? Cass, we have talked about this a million times, you—"
“We all have choices to make,” Cassidy said. “Sometimes our head leads, and sometimes it’s our heart. Other times, I think it’s our fear and insecurity that pave the way. What people tell us—what we experience; that shapes what we do. It is still our choice.”
“Then how do you forgive them?” Alex asked. “Claire, your father—Chris—”
“I forgive because we have all fallen short—me included. I forgive because I don’t need to carry the weight of their demons on my shoulders, and because I love them. That doesn’t take away their responsibility, nor does it change mine.”
“You don’t think it’s strange—the way we were all led together? Jesus, Cass, look at our world. Candace is in this now.”
“Candace chose to become president.”
“Because that was the road her grandfather paved.”
“Maybe that’s part of it. She loves what she does. Just like you love what you do. It’s in her DNA.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
“I do see—to a point. But you have some idea that we are not the capta
in of our destiny. No one is destined to be or do anything, Alex. We make choices every day that decide where we go and who we become.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe,” Cassidy said.
“What if this—what if—”
“What if. You can’t answer that question. None of us can. You can try, but you will never truly know the answer. Dylan chose the Academy because he has always wanted to fly.”
“Like John,” Alex commented.
“Yes. Maybe he comes by that interest naturally. Maybe he does. He also loves you—you’re his hero, Alex. I remember him gazing up at you in your uniform. You are his superhero. He wants to emulate you.”
“I don’t—”
“He does. When I think about it, it’s a bit like me with Mom.”
“Because you became a teacher too?”
“Partly. Mom was always my rock—my best friend.”
“I know.”
“I admire her more than any person I know.”
Alex smiled.
“She’s the strongest person I have ever met, Alex. Watching her always made me want to try to be better—not better than her, not even better for her; better than I was, better than I am right now. Dylan sees that in you, Love. He saw it the day you walked through our door. The part you keep missing is that you see the same thing in him.”
“What do you mean?”
“You talk about programming.” Cassidy walked over to Alex and looked into her eyes. She put the palm of her hand on Alex’s heart. “Here. Right here, Alex. This is where you landed for Dylan—where he landed for you. It’s where my mother resides in me, and where I hold you. Live here a little more,” Cassidy said. She tapped Alex’s head. “Instead of existing up here all the time.” She leaned in and kissed Alex softly. “Make the best choice you can every day, Alex. Trust that Dylan will do the same. Let go of the past. It isn’t helping you live in the present.”
Alex closed her eyes. “I just want—”
“To keep us safe. I know. We love you for it—I love you for it. Now, do me a favor, and check on the twins so I can work on dinner.”
“Tacos?”
Cassidy’s eyes glistened. Alex’s voice took on a childlike tone. She suspected that if they lived to be 100, Alex would still want to have taco night every week. “What else would I make for Dylan’s homecoming?” She made her way back to the counter.