Line in the Shadow

by Clancy Nacht

  With desperate hope, Ike opened his email and replied to the message thread they’d abandoned months ago. He wrote, “I thought you’d enjoy this.”

  There were so many other things he wanted to say. So many things he should say. But he couldn’t. Who knew how many eyes would read this email?

  As a hint, he added, “Sorry about the encoding, but I had to zip right through it.”

  Ike took a deep breath. If it stumped Rex, maybe he’d call to ask about it. It would be good to hear from him, to know he was all right.

  There wasn’t much else Ike could do. He hit send.

  Ike stood and pulled the drive from his computer. This information wasn’t safe with him. His feet seemed to weigh a ton as he walked down the hall and knocked on Kaylee’s door.

  “I’m going to check on Vincent. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” Kaylee called without getting up, absorbed in her iPad.

  With the drive in his pocket, Ike went to Vincent’s. He rang the bell and waited as Vincent verified who he was, that he was alone, and unlocked the dozen bolts on his door. When he finally let Ike inside, Ike had to wait for Vincent to check the hallway again. Then, finally, their gazes met with the door secured behind them.

  Slow and deliberate, Ike withdrew the drive from his pocket and handed it to Vincent. “I know what the government wanted: This.”

  Vincent looked down at the drive in his hand and then back up at Ike. “Where’s Kaylee?” His manner changed before Ike’s eyes, shoulders straightening and his usual expression of unfocused anxiety turning to determination. “I need to get you both somewhere safe. Can you spend the night here? It’s as secure as you’ll find on the fly. A safe house or bunker would be better, but we don’t have that luxury. You have a plan for this data?”

  As Vincent spoke, he retrieved a sidearm from a nearby gun safe, checked the clip, and went through a mystifying series of preparatory movements. Then he pocketed the drive, opened the door, and headed straight for Ike’s apartment, seemingly to retrieve Kaylee himself.

  “Whoa, hang on, Vincent. Let’s not alarm Kaylee, okay? Let’s discuss this in your apartment.” Ike looked around, worried that someone would get upset about Vincent with a sidearm. Vincent’s actions were strangely comforting, but Vincent’s apartment was bug-free and they still had things to discuss. The foil around the windows made sense now Ike understood things better. “Need to keep this information secure, right?”

  “You think she’s okay on her own?” Vincent stood in the hallway for a skeptical moment before he retreated into his apartment, shut the door, and put his back to it. His intense gaze fell on Ike. “I hear anything—anything—and I’m shooting first and letting God sort it out. Not letting anyone lay a finger on that baby.”

  Ike smiled. In a warped way, Vincent was more like a father than his real father. Lincoln would probably already be on the phone to turn in his own son, figuring if the government was angry with Ike, he’d probably earned it.

  “I think anyone trying to hurt her will have more on their hands than they bargained for. She’s fine. She doesn’t know about this, and I don’t want her to get upset.” Ike licked his lips. This had to be handled delicately, and maybe this wasn’t fair of him to dump it on Vincent, but Vincent obviously wanted to help. “Thing is, apparently the man who stabbed me worked for the CIA. I think my sister figured something out about him and maybe some other people. I found that drive at my parents’ place last night. I sent the files to my friend, but I don’t know if he’ll get them, and I don’t feel safe with that in the house or with me. I think it’s safer with him.”

  Vincent absorbed the information in silence, then nodded. “Glad you trust me with this, Ike. Means a lot. Feel a hell of a lot better taking that risk from you and Kaylee. Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to either of you.”

  That admission left Vincent unable to meet Ike’s eyes. His voice had grown thick, and he seemed choked up. He reached for Ike and wrapped him in a hug, gave Ike’s back two hearty smacks, and disengaged awkwardly, like he didn’t have much human contact.

  Then he cleared his throat and looked at Ike again. “What do you want me to do with the data? Does it need to be delivered or hidden?”

  Despite the situation, Ike was touched. It took him a moment to clear his throat as well. “I’d really like to get it to Rex. My friend. But he’s not... We’re not... I emailed it to him. I don’t know if he’ll get it. I don’t know how to get it to him. There’s apparently a New York office, but I have no idea where it is or if he’s even in the country. If we can’t get it to him, then it should be destroyed, I guess. I don’t really know who all is involved, and it might not be safe to deliver it into the wrong hands.”

  “This Rex fella... He’s CIA? You know, when the Towers fell—” Vincent paused; living in New York City, he still observed a moment of silence whenever he mentioned it. “Turned out there’d been a CIA office in the city. They’d tried to keep it hush-hush, but these things come out. You can call me a conspiracy nut, but I’ve been keeping tabs since the relocation. Might be dangerous to walk right up to the front door, but I’m in the system. Used to have pretty high clearance. They’ll know who I am. I give ‘em your friend’s name, say I won’t talk to anyone else, I oughta be able to get it to him direct.

  It was almost too good to be true. He remembered Rex’s suspicion when Ike mentioned Vincent, but Rex hadn’t warned Ike away from him….

  Ike smiled at himself. Who was the conspiracy nut now? “I’m really seeing the method to your madness lately. His name is Rex Carver. I’m worried my email was too subtle.” Ike looked down at his hands. “These guys, I know at least one of them was actually in the CIA. They may all be. This is too much to ask, dragging you into this. I’m sorry. I really have no right.”

  “Ike, I’ve got nobody left but you and that child of yours. I know how I sound, how this place looks. You’ve never made me feel like a weirdo despite all that. Anybody has a right to ask something like this, it’s you.” Vincent smiled a little, seeming almost shy. “Besides, this is the first proof everything I’ve thought wasn’t just my imagination. It’s fine if some of it is; I can accept my brain’s fried. But this is a real mission. It’s been a long time since I had one of those. Trust me, it’s a pleasure.”

  Ike relaxed. “You know, those fuckers may have something to do with Kaylee’s mother’s death. Those are her files. She worked at the CIA. Guy who stabbed me was in my mother’s backyard. Those files may be the only chance we have of getting those people away from us. I...” There was nothing Ike could say to express his gratitude. “You’ve been more like family than most people. You take care of yourself, okay?”

  Then Ike laughed. “You know, I have a Christmas present for you. I haven’t even said Merry Christmas. I’m just... Thank you, Vincent.”

  Vincent went to a cabinet and pulled out a key ring, then handed it to Ike. “Anything gets crazy, you two make yourselves at home in here. I’ll be back soon’s I can.” Vincent grinned, looking proportionally more insane the more his teeth showed. “You two stay safe so I got someone to come back to. You can give me my present then.”

  “All right, Vincent, thanks again.” Ike wondered if maybe he shouldn’t be more worried for the bad guys. The thought made him feel a little better. “We’ll have dinner waiting for you.”

  Ike slipped out and back into his apartment. Kaylee was still playing with her tablet, giggling, probably watching videos. He knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.”

  He opened the door and she scooted over on the bed and held out her iPad. On the screen was a kitten sitting in a box. Ike had a seat next to her and lost himself in the cute, silly videos.

  Chapter 11

  “All right, Piper, be good for your mom.” Rex straightened his scarf and adjusted his hat as he prepared to head out into the cold.

  “Okay, Daddy. Um. Rex.” Piper looked so confused that it tore at Re
x’s heart. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose and squeezed her shoulder. Piper had barely seen Rex since Heather ended things. Without any legal tie to Piper, he’d had no right to force visitation. Being her former stepdad didn’t count for much in court.

  “Are you sure you want to go? It’s still early.” Heather stood at the entrance to the mudroom with an anxious look on her face. She was still beautiful, but Rex had slept on the couch.

  “Work calls,” he said, only half-lying. She made the sour face so familiar to him from their years of marriage. Whatever reticence he’d felt evaporated. He opened the door. “Enjoy your gifts, Piper. Call me if you need help with that new computer.”

  Then Rex was outside. Cold winds battered his face and almost knocked off his hat. He held it down with one gloved hand as he made his way to the car. The Brooklyn neighborhood was covered in frost, but it hadn’t snowed. The engine started on the second try. Before Rex could put the car in gear, he heard the chirp that meant he had new email.

  Rex fumbled with his phone, chilly fingers awkward even with the gloves off. When he saw who sent the message, his heart flipped over. Ike. And it had an attachment of some kind.

  Ever since they’d stopped seeing one another, Rex had been watching Ike from a distance, keeping tabs on his movements, trying to keep he and Kaylee safe. This was the first time something closed that distance.

  A sudden pang of desire shot through Rex, almost paralyzing him. He wanted Ike so desperately that every inch of his skin ached. It seemed for a few moments that Rex might die if Ike didn’t touch him. His ass clenched with remembered pleasure, and his cock stirred. Then the moment passed. Rex reasserted control over his body. He wouldn’t read the email till he got back to his room.

  As Rex pulled onto the road and headed back to Manhattan, he was forced to face his actions in a way he’d been trying to avoid. Heather had broken up with Piper’s birth father before Thanksgiving, and she’d called Rex to come spend the day with Piper. Rex had felt awkward about it then and declined, but as Christmas approached, a crushing loneliness descended on him.

  Maybe he had hoped to reconnect with Heather and recapture that sense of family and belonging. Maybe he’d hoped she would ask him to her bed so he could forget Ike and the heart-stopping intensity of their fucking. Sex had always been good with Heather, satisfying and comfortable, but when the opportunity he had half-hoped for presented itself, Rex had felt nothing but a dull certainty that there was no going back. Heather’s sultry smile and the, “I missed you, Rex,” cooed in his ear had done nothing but make it obvious who his heart belonged to.

  Rex was in love for the first time in his life, and no one else could fill the emptiness left by Ike’s absence.

  The Hawthorne investigation had stalled out almost immediately after Rex spotted Broekner that day. Rex had poured all his ingenuity into pursuing the matter, called in favors and enlisted all the aid Masters could offer, to no avail. Ever since he sent Ike away, Rex had banked on the hope that if he could resolve that mystery there might be a way to work things out. After more than a month of full-time investigation and surveillance with nothing but a handful of dead ends and red herrings to show for it, that hope seemed foolish.

  As the engine slowly warmed and sent tendrils of heated air into the interior, Rex’s heart felt even colder. Maybe Ike was emailing to tell Rex to stop watching him. Or to say he had a new boyfriend. Perhaps he wanted Rex to—

  Assess the situation realistically. Apply Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution is likely true. Perhaps he wants to say Merry Christmas to someone who saved his life once. Paranoia drains mental resources.

  Rex took a deep breath, refocused his energy, and made it to the hotel in one piece. The lobby was thronged with holiday-makers, people from all over the world visiting family in NYC for Christmas or just taking advantage of vacation days. He felt a prickle along the back of his neck at the idea that a traitor might be in that crowd, waiting for him. Some sick part of him wished they’d reveal themselves so he could take out his frustration on an enemy he could see.

  He reached his room a few minutes later without that satisfaction. As much as he wanted to read the message immediately, he forced himself to secure the room before he went to the bed, sprawled out with his laptop, and opened Ike’s email. When he saw that it was an mp3, Rex’s heart swelled. The irrational hope it would be a love song Ike had written for him drowned out all practical considerations, and Rex tried immediately to play it with his default media player. When it hung up and announced an error, that happy bubble burst.

  “Goddamn it!” Rex reread Ike’s message.

  “I thought you’d enjoy this. Sorry about the encoding, but I had to zip right through it.”

  It wasn’t particularly encouraging. No declarations of lost love, no begging for a reunion. When Rex stopped and thought about it, he couldn’t imagine why a song named after Ike’s dead sister would have any romantic connotations. Rex couldn’t believe he’d gotten so far ahead of himself. If the encoding was the problem, though, Rex knew where to find a computer that could handle anything.

  Something had prompted Ike to contact Rex after all these weeks, and it was of urgent importance that Rex discover what that was. An itch began beneath Rex’s skin, nebulous and maddening, and he knew it wouldn’t fade until he’d heard this song.

  HQ was almost deserted, a stark contrast to the bustle at the hotel. The lobby was empty of all but the skeleton security crew, and Rex didn’t see any other Company men on his trip to his cubicle. He’d just settled in with a mug of coffee and fired up the computer when his extension rang.

  “Carver,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Yes, sir, this is the lobby. We have a...gentleman here asking for you by name. He is insistent he will not speak to anyone but you.”

  Rex hesitated to reply, giving himself time to digest that information. He’d barely been at his desk in months. What were the chances that someone would show up today of all days looking for him unless he was being watched?

  “Clearance?”

  “Sir, he’s formerly... He is retired from active duty, but he is...certainly interesting, if his dossier can be believed. I do not have access to all its contents, sir. This might be a sensitive matter. He says he’s to report only to you.”

  Rex sighed and braced for whatever fresh hell was about to be unleashed on him. Ike’s message would have to wait.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  He returned the handset to its cradle, locked his computer, and straightened his tie. Then he made the solitary trek downstairs. As soon as he stepped off the elevator into the lobby, he spied a figure familiar to him from his surveillance of Ike’s building: Vincent Whitman.

  “Hello, Mr. Whitman,” Rex said when he was in polite speaking distance. He held out his hand to shake and felt a small object pressed into his palm. Something in Whitman’s eyes told Rex now wasn’t the time to ask what it was or let on that he had passed it to him.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Agent Carver. My observations of target codenamed ‘Songbird’ have turned up no pertinent information. I have noted additional surveillance on Songbird periodically, but have made no attempt to uncover identity of said surveillors. Full disclosure, target Songbird knows nothing pertinent to assignment parameters. Suggest resource reallocation. Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure to serve again.”

  With that crazy stare and unkempt appearance, it took Rex a few moments to realize that Whitman wasn’t just spouting nonsense. There was something purposeful behind his words, a wariness to his body language that set Rex on alert. He’d never met with Whitman previously, but he played along, hoping that it was the right thing to do.

  “Thank you, soldier. Merry Christmas.”

  Whitman saluted Rex; a nice touch, he thought. Rex returned it, and Whitman headed for the door and disappeared through it.

  Rex was still staring at the door when someone behind him cleared their throat. “Working
on a holiday too, Carver?”

  Hawthorne smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A thin bead of sweat dotted his dark hairline, though he took a casual tone. “Defenders of the country need food, too. I was about to grab a bite to eat. I could use the company, maybe some advice. My treat?”

  Hawthorne’s sudden presence set off so many alarms that Rex’s mind reeled. Whitman. Hawthorne must have had his name flagged for security notification should he be mentioned in the system. It just supported Rex’s suspicions that the intrusions into Ike’s life were authorized from at least Hawthorne’s level. Broekner and Barnes hadn’t acted entirely on their own.

  It felt like a desperate move on Hawthorne’s part; what could he hope to gain? Rex couldn’t yet identify specific wrongdoing, at least not in a substantial way. He needed proof if he was going to bring a case against Hawthorne. Even in Rex’s nearly unfettered capacity as an internal investigator, he needed more than his own paranoia to initiate official take-down of a ranking superior agent.

  “Doesn’t feel like much of a holiday to me, sir. I’ll pick up some takeaway later. No place like the office to hide out from family and friends. Enjoy your meal.” Rex gave the man a disarming smile and started toward the elevator. As he walked, he put both hands in his pockets as casually as he could, trying to deposit the drive in relative safely without drawing attention to it. Whatever it was, it was safe to bet Hawthorne wanted it.

  Hawthorne’s footsteps were heavy behind Rex. “Forgot my coat. Too cold out there to go without it.”

  Indeed, he was short a coat, begging the question of what he was going to do if Rex had consented to dinner. “So what’s that about a songbird? That guy hardly looked like he needed some brushing up on his tradecraft. Is he an informant?”

  Rex shrugged and perked a brow at the question like it was all shop talk between colleagues. Despite the well-trained outward responses, his guts twisted with anxiety as Hawthorne joined him in the elevator. “You know I can’t discuss that outside the appropriate channels, sir. That’s exactly the kind of ‘loose lips sink ships’ foolishness I’m employed to prevent.”