Traitor Games

by Sidney Bristol

  “Tell me what to do.” She twisted around and slid under the table.

  “What’s going on?” Hernández called out.

  “How much time?” Noah asked.

  Two and a half minutes were slipping through their grasp.

  “Not much,” she replied. “What do I do?”

  “Sit down,” Noah bellowed.

  “Focus, please.” Lillian had been against this bomb plan. As a fallback plan it was silly, even if she understood the need to show strength.

  Noah bent his head, but his eyes were on something across the room. “Take the faceplate off. It’s not sophisticated. Jesse made it so it would be easy to disarm.”

  The time was wrong.

  “That clock is moving way too fast.” Lillian reached up and pinched the digital display with both hands, easing it away from the device.

  “Yeah, well, don’t fire at bombs and maybe they’ll work how they’re supposed to.”

  “We should clear the room,” Hernández said.

  Noah straightened. “Sit your ass down.”

  Lillian got the digital face free and let it hang from the black wires. “Noah?”

  He knelt down. Sweat poured off him now and if it wasn’t her imagination, he looked positively green.

  “Okay, now you just need to unhook the detonator.”

  “Just unhook the detonator? Are you serious?”

  The beeping began to speed up.

  “Blue wire, silver ends, just slide them apart,” he said.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God—”

  “You’re amazing, Lily.”

  She used her nails to pry the blue wires up enough to get a hold of them on either side of a silver cylinder.

  Here went nothing.

  She pulled and they gave way, sliding apart with barely any resistance.

  The beeping flatlined into a buzz. She grit her teeth and braced herself, the adrenaline so thick in her veins she trembled with it.

  “You did it. Good job.” Noah dragged a hand across his brow and wavered.

  That was it?

  She blew out a breath, the tension leaving her to the point she felt boneless. It took effort to slide out from under the desk. She chuckled, her head spinning, and looked at Noah again. Only he didn’t look so steady. She reached for him, knowing he’d hate the moment of weakness, but damn it. She loved him and he’d been shot protecting her. She got to worry.

  “Noah?” Before she got a hold of him, he slumped sideways. “Noah!”

  She dove for him, one hand going to the wound while the other checked for a pulse. His shirt was soaked with blood to the point his skin was sticky with it.

  “No, no, no,” she chanted.

  “Out the back!” Hernández cried.

  “Fickle fuckers,” Dave said from clenched teeth. “I hope you both hang for this.”

  “You first,” Lillian snapped before focusing on Noah.

  They were done for.

  Any moment cops would pour in here and that was it. The only thing that mattered was keeping Noah alive. Sure, they might get thrown into the deepest, darkest hole in the country and never see each other again—but she’d know he was alive. And that counted for something.

  “Noah?” She leaned over him, but his eyes had rolled back.

  “Get back. Move. Out of the way,” a hard male voice shouted with the kind of authority that came from wielding a badge.

  This was it.

  Lillian prayed they didn’t order her to take her hands off the wound.

  Instead of police officers, eight men wearing black suits and crisp white shirts came in, wielding guns. They moved like officers though, with the kind of awareness she’d grown to associate with trained operatives like Noah. The men didn’t focus on Lillian or Noah, instead they seemed more concerned about keeping the senators where they were.

  A man in a navy blue pinstripe suit strolled in with all the care or concern of a star on the red carpet. He even paused and gave the senators a wave before turning toward Lillian.

  “Fowler?” She didn’t know if she should be afraid or hopeful.

  “That doesn’t look good.” Fowler clicked his fingers at the Secret Service and snapped, “Someone help him. That man’s a hero. You better keep him alive. And make sure Mr. Campbell’s handcuffs aren’t too loose?”

  Lillian gaped as the men leaped to action. She barely had the presence of mind to say, “He’s shot,” before she was moved aside.

  “Ms. Matthews, come over here a moment?” Fowler held out his hand to her.

  She glanced from him to Noah, watching the men strip his shirt off him and rattle off things to each other.

  “Ma’am?” One of the Secret Service agents offered her his hand.

  She didn’t take it. There was too much blood on her and some part of her mind thought it was a bad idea to stain this stranger’s shirt.

  Why did she care?

  Weren’t there more important things going on right now?

  She looked at Noah now bare from the waist up.

  If she was going to ensure they had a future, she had to keep going. The CIA wasn’t there to throw them in a black site yet.

  Though it killed her to turn her back on Noah, she crossed to stand at President Fowler’s side facing the Intelligence Committee members. Most stood together against the backdrop. She was aware that some were talking, but their words washed over her.

  Was this shock? Adrenaline dump?

  Lillian shook her head. A mirror image of Mitch was at her side. He really did look like his dad.

  “Mr. President—what is going on?” the cranky senator demanded.

  “I’ll tell you what’s happening here.” Fowler tipped his chin up, milking the moment for drama. “History.”

  A gurney rolled into the room, pushed by yet more Secret Service agents.

  “That one time someone tried to blow up the Hart building?” Hernández asked.

  “No.” Fowler flashed his smile at the senators. “This history is about fifteen senators who, through their hard work and at great risk to themselves and their families, became heroes today. Here. Now. Because lying over there, alone and forgotten, is a man who would tear down everything we have worked for.”

  Lillian listened, but her attention was on the gurney rolling across the floor, taking the man she loved away from her.

  “What are you getting at, Mr. President?” Hernández crossed his arms over his chest. “Drop the theatrics.”

  “Fine. The facts.” Fowler pointed at Dave again. “That man has run his own private intel racket on our dime at the expense of our country’s agents. No one has had the balls to go after him because he has dirt on every one of us. There’s not a one of you who hasn’t been nudged by someone. Maybe you got an unmarked envelope at home? A waiter passed you a cryptic note? Old Dave here yanks everyone around and has for as long as I’ve been in this town.”

  Now Fowler directed his attention toward her and she felt all eyes on her again. Only this time it was different. Noah wasn’t in her corner. He might be fighting for his life right now. But the job wasn’t done yet.

  “Thanks to a group of people the media has branded terrorists and traitors—including my own son—we know the scope of Dave’s sins and where the bodies are buried. We are prepared to cut the cancer out. Isn’t that the phrase you used, Ms. Matthews?” His lips curved up into a brief smile. “And in doing so we’ll be freeing all of you from those skeletons you thought were buried until Dave dug them back up. So you should all line up and tell Ms. Matthews here thank you, because she’s the little lady who will be hitting delete.”

  Fowler set his hand on Lillian’s shoulder. She had no idea if what he said was true. There was far too much data to go through, but it seemed like a plausible story. “I’d like you all to appreciate for a moment how Ms. Matthews and her team sought to bring this information to you quietly—albeit using bully tactics—in the interest of national security.”

  Hernández caught h
er gaze. He didn’t look nearly as calm as he had all throughout their confrontation. “Is that true?”

  “Yes.” She straightened her spine. “All we ever wanted was to do this the right way, but Dave stacked the system against us. He had people everywhere, and so we became the bad guys.”

  “So!” Fowler clapped his hands together. “How do you want to write history, ladies and gentlemen? Do you want to be the senators who put a stop to one of the greatest sleeper threats? Or do you want to whine about the methods our brave heroes used to bring the truth to your attention?”

  Lillian held her breath, her heart in her throat.

  Was this it? Was the nightmare over?

  “Let’s vote.” Hernández addressed the committee. “Those in favor of writing our own history?”

  Silence.

  “Yea,” the cranky senator said.

  Other votes of yea followed on his heels.

  Was that everyone?

  “All those opposed?” Hernández asked.

  Lillian held her breath.

  Not a soul spoke.

  “The yeas have it.” Hernández turned toward Fowler, distrust in his gaze. “What bullshit are you going to write?”

  “I think you’ll like it.” Fowler wagged his finger at the man. “I’ll also have my real appointment to the CIA ready for you next week once this business is handled. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

  Fowler grabbed her by the elbow and none too gently guided her after him at a pace she almost had to jog to keep up with. Secret Service agents flanked them while one led the way down the short stair.

  “What’s happening? Where’d they take Noah?” she blurted.

  Fowler grinned.

  She was starting to hate that man’s smile.

  “That was some stunt,” he said.

  “Where is Noah?” She pulled out of his grasp.

  They entered the hall and he gestured at the emergency exit doors currently propped open with an ambulance positioned at the doors. Her eyes prickled and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

  Fowler grabbed her hand and pulled her around, his face suddenly serious. “They’ll get him stable, then you and your people lay low. Rewriting history isn’t an exact science.”

  She nodded, too close to tears to reply.

  He let her go and she dashed forward, throwing herself into the back of the ambulance.

  Now the only history she cared about was the one she shared with Noah.

  …

  Tuesday. Lillian’s Home, Washington, D.C.

  Gut wounds were the worst in Noah’s book.

  Right after that was being shut up with ten people. He almost wished he could have snuck away in the chaos like Demetrius had with his kids. At least Noah had Lillian.

  He glanced down at her dark hair. She was still curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder.

  The real miracle wasn’t that they weren’t in prison, it was that this woman thought she loved him. How crazy was that?

  “Turn the TV on!” Irene rushed into the main room of Noah’s safe house waving the burner phone.

  Lillian jolted awake. “What?”

  Noah cursed under his breath. Every little noise had her ready for an attack or something bad. For once he wanted her to be able to rest.

  Andy powered on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

  Noah took Lillian’s hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Whatever happened, however the world saw yesterday, he had a new mission in mind that involved her.

  Carol perched on the sofa next to Lillian. “Turn it up.”

  Brandon and his guys left the card game and gathered around the back of the sofa.

  Mitch finally put down the newspaper and glared at his father’s image on the screen.

  President Fowler stood at a slim podium, the flags behind him and roses flanking the view. He’d dressed to evoke the image of a president in a dark suit, red power tie, and a little flag lapel pin. He stared into the camera with that way he had of looking through a lense to the public. It was that personal feel that had swayed voters all over the country.

  Now would he use it to right wrongs? Or cover his ass?

  “Thank you all for coming out on such short notice. Today many of you woke up to the news from yesterday that took place in the senate hearing room. To understand yesterday you must also understand what we are coming to learn ourselves. Dave Campbell has been a career CIA agent and part of many crucial moments of American history. But he is also a traitor. My decision to nominate him was made in coordination with a special team I put together for the purpose of exposing the network run by Campbell and his cohorts. These people who have been paraded out as traitors to the country have in fact been our first line defense.”

  “Just say what you mean already.” Mitch threw balled-up newspaper at the TV.

  Lillian tightened her grip on Noah’s hand.

  “Is this really on TV?” Irene murmured.

  “Yeah,” Brandon replied.

  Fowler stared straight into the camera. “Yesterday, when the Senate Intelligence Committee confronted Dave Campbell about his crimes, he tried to stage an attack and frame the very patriots who have been working to stop him. It’s thanks to that same team our senators are alive today to bring this man to justice.”

  The crowd present in the garden clapped, but Fowler’s delivery remained intense.

  “I’d like to recognize these brave people and set the record straight today. Irene Drummond and Mitch Fowler, two CIA agents. They have been painted as traitors and framed in a number of crimes by Campbell and his people, when in fact they were some of the first to bring attention to this matter.”

  “Shit,” Mitch spat.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Irene sat on the arm of Mitch’s chair as though her legs just gave way.

  Lillian clasped Noah’s hand between both of hers. He wished he knew if this development was good or bad. It was ballsy, that was for sure.

  “Lillian Matthews and Noah White were leading a top secret joint task force between America and our allies to combat the situation when their location was attacked by Campbell’s people, resulting in the death of Director Shemar Donovan.”

  Noah’s throat closed up as he stared at the man. He’d known this life was over, that his covert career was done, but it hadn’t sunk in until this moment.

  “There are others, but because of the nature of their work we cannot divulge their identities. They are the patriots. They are our heroes in this secret intelligence war. And we want them to come home.”

  That was well and good for the others, but what home did Noah have?

  Fowler droned on, but Noah only listened with half an ear. It was a bit of brilliance, blaming Dave for the whole thing, painting Noah and Lillian as the heroes A nice bit of turning tables on the man. Fowler went on at length about how the Senate Intelligence Committee played such a major role in the investigation, giving them equal billing as the architects of this op.

  Noah’s days in the intel world were done, that was for sure.

  Then again, hadn’t they been over the moment he realized Lillian was the center of his new world?

  He bent his head and kissed her brow.

  The TV flipped off and the room seemed to finally breathe.

  The president had announced their names on TV.

  That brought its own problems. People would be looking for them. The four of them that had been named would be persons of interest given what they knew. On the surface the pardon sounded great, but it came with burdens.

  “We can’t totally believe him, you guys know that, right?” Mitch twisted to look at them.

  Irene sighed and rubbed Mitch’s back. “Wouldn’t it be nice?”

  “I think Fowler wants to keep the four of us close, and that’s why he used our names.” Noah glanced at Mitch. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has plans.”

  Mitch reached over and placed his hand on Irene’s knee. “Fuck that.”


  Lillian faced Noah. “Well, what do we do now?”

  “Can we trust him enough to believe we aren’t going to be hunted anymore?” Andy asked.

  President Fowler was a wild card and they all knew it.

  “To a point, yeah. I think so.” Mitch didn’t seem pleased about admitting that. “He’s always playing a hidden game.”

  “Is it safe to go home?” Lillian drew a circle on the back of Noah’s hand. “I need to see my family. Explain myself.”

  “We aren’t going back.” Andy looked at Carol, who nodded. “We’ve made a lot of enemies. I think it’s best if we lay low for a while.”

  Carol gave her husband a hug. The newlyweds hadn’t gotten much time on their own. They were due for a honeymoon at least.

  “I want to see my sister,” Irene announced, then leaned against Mitch. “It’s time you met her.”

  “So that’s it?” Brandon stepped into the space between the sofa and the armchair.

  “That’s not the outcome you were hoping for?” Lillian straightened and looked at Brandon.

  “I want Mol back, but we don’t all get the ending we want, do we?” He smiled, but it was bitter and twisted. “Time to get back to work. Guess we’re cleared to leave now?”

  Noah could see Brandon’s broken pieces. It would be a long time before he was whole again, and that was if he allowed himself to mourn. This wasn’t the revenge any of them wanted, but it was an ending. It was over.

  Andy met Noah’s gaze. “You?”

  “I think I’m going to try one of those staycations.” Noah squeezed Lillian’s hand. “What do you think? Get some gluten-free microwavable shit and listen to bad music?”

  Lillian shook her head and smiled.

  They hadn’t talked about it. With so many people underfoot it wasn’t the place or time. But he knew that this felt right. Being with her. For the first time in ages, he wasn’t leading with his head. His heart had taken charge and he couldn’t wait to see where this took them.

  …

  Friday. Lillian’s Home, Washington, D.C.

  Lillian stepped over the threshold into what was left of her home and stared at the destruction.

  “Oh my God…” She covered her face with her hands.