The Athena Protocol

by Shamim Sarif

  “Jessie,” she says quietly. “My Jessie. I love you.”

  It takes a few minutes before I can come out of that hug with any kind of control. Kit sees that I’m sort of emotional, I suppose, because she sits back a bit and gives me a minute, keeping herself busy putting the tops back on antiseptic bottles and whatever.

  “Jess, I wanted to talk to you about Jake Graham,” she says after a minute. I look up. That’s out of left field, and my heart sinks. Jake the intrepid journalist. Did he find something more about Ahmed’s killing? Something that could compromise Athena? But Kit holds her iPad out to me, bringing up a newspaper article.

  “My PR team sent an advance warning. It’s coming out in print tomorrow,” she says.

  I take the tablet and read:

  MONEY GRABBER: KIT LOVE SINGS FOR SLAVERY BARON

  I feel sick. Below the headline is a picture of Kit with Gregory and Paulina, and below that I search for the name of the person who wrote the piece: Jake Graham. I look up at Kit, horrified. The picture must have been sold by that photographer Gregory hired at the party. Once the boss was dead, he probably realized he could make some money without having his legs broken. And as for that so-called journalist, Jake . . . but before I can spew what I think of him, Kit interrupts.

  “No, Jessie. He’s a good reporter.”

  “But it’s not true.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  I pause, frustrated. Then I look at my mother with something like complete admiration. Talk about taking one for the team.

  “How can you stand it?” I ask, looking back at the article. The things he’s written make me feel sick.

  “Look on the bright side,” Kit says. “It’s the best cover I could ever have. And we need it, because Jake’s already written about, or connected, three of us. You, me, and Peggy. He might not see the links, but we have to be careful of him, going forward.”

  I nod. “It must hurt though . . .” I say. “Reading all this.”

  “Yeah, just a bit.” Kit smiles. “You know what we need?”

  “Vodka?”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let you follow me down that path,” my mother says. “I was going to say a hot drink.”

  I watch Kit disappear into the kitchen and think about Li, sitting in her white, antiseptic world. One thing I appreciate about living with a mother from South London—there’s nothing that can’t be made better by a nice cup of tea.

  A week later, and the early morning is soft and warm, with a gentle breeze. I’m leaning on the wall inside the back entrance to Athena. Hala and Caitlin are already inside the building. Peggy’s coming back today, so we’re having a celebration meeting. But I’m hanging around here, in the shadows, waiting for Amber. My pass has been restored, and I’m back on the team, so I don’t need help accessing the building. But I haven’t been able to get Amber to say anything more to me than yes and no since I got back, which I take to mean that she’s still hopping mad at me for breaking into my lockbox. In one hand is a carefully chosen bouquet of roses that I hope will break the ice a bit. In the other hand I grasp my backup plan.

  Right on time, three minutes to eight, Amber appears around the corner, turning from the brightly lit street into the darkness of the entry area. With the sun behind her, she’s nothing more than a silhouette. I can see the spiked ends of her hair and a set of huge headphones over her ears. Moving her head to whatever vintage music she’s undoubtedly listening to, she dances. Just a few steps, but really good ones. Then it’s like she senses someone’s watching. She looks over her shoulder just as I step out right in front of her.

  Amber jumps, startled, and now I’m really in trouble, because she knows I must have seen her secret dancing.

  “What are you smirking at?” she demands.

  I’m trying not to smile—really—but it’s hard.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  I hold out the roses penitently. She pushes them back at me and walks on, briskly.

  “It’s going to take more than a bunch of flowers to say sorry for what you did,” Amber says.

  I hurry to keep up, holding out my left hand instead.

  “How about a limited edition Kit Love album?”

  Amber slows down and peers sideways at the LP record in my hand. Everyone has their price, I suppose, but I’m careful not to ruin the fragile peace by smiling again.

  She scans herself in, and I follow hastily. I stand beside her while we wait for the lift doors to open.

  “I’ve installed a lot more security in the tech cave,” she says huffily. “Just so you know.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Silence, as the elevator doors open. I sniff.

  “You’ve changed your perfume, Amber.”

  We both walk into the enclosed space, then watch the doors slide shut again.

  “I like it,” I say.

  “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

  This time, I do smile. I can’t help it. And I hold out the record to her.

  “Is it signed?” she asks.

  “No. But I think I can arrange it.”

  Through the glass panels of the situation room, I can see Peggy, and she’s looking almost like her old self. A fair bit thinner and a little gaunt in the face, but her eyes are smiling as she chats with Kit and Li. Both Caitlin and Hala are missing. I can see Hala in a corner of the ops area, chatting with Thomas. Well, maybe “chatting” is a bit of an overstatement. He’s talking, and she’s nodding while inhaling a muffin and throwing him the occasional smile.

  I walk into the situation room, and Peggy looks up, her eyes lighting.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she says.

  I realize that I’m still carrying Amber’s rejected roses, which are a bit crushed. I feel guilty, but I can hardly tell Peggy they weren’t meant for her. I hand them over and give her a hug, so relieved that she is back with us. Behind me, Hala comes into the room, wiping crumbs from her mouth with her sleeve.

  “Where’s Caitlin?” I ask.

  Kit looks up at me with a frown.

  “She went to the bathroom a while ago. Maybe you should check.”

  Just as I go in through the bathroom doors, Caitlin comes out of a toilet stall. Her hand is at her jacket pocket, and I know she was about to take out the pills. She smiles at me, but she seems a bit shaky. Her face is cut and bruised from the fight at the hospital.

  “I never thanked you for fighting that overgrown hulk to save me,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says. “It’s what we do.”

  She looks away from me and washes her hands, and I get the feeling she wishes I would leave.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed to have PTSD,” I say suddenly.

  Well, she wasn’t expecting that. I can tell she’s upset with me.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I continue.

  “Jessie, leave me alone.”

  But I plow on. “I messed up by not following orders, with Ahmed,” I say. “All you did in Iraq was follow orders.”

  She glares at me, but I stay calm for a change. We look at each other for what feels like an age. She’s blinking a lot.

  “You didn’t hurt anyone, Cait. You just learned you can’t trust everyone who gives you an order.”

  Caitlin steps back. She looks angry and disgusted and upset. At herself and maybe at this whole, chaotic world.

  “But sometimes you can,” I add. Which sounds like a contradiction, but I’m realizing there are no easy answers. The older you get, the messier it gets.

  “How do you know the difference?” Caitlin asks. She takes a breath, emotional.

  As it happens, I’ve had a lot of time to think about that in the past week.

  “I think it’s something to do with who’s giving the orders and why,” I say. “In the army, they just sent you off to a war zone. They didn’t ask you what you thought of the war, or if you believed in it. But Peggy and Li and Kit—they told us what we’d be doing
and why. And we chose it. We chose it with them.”

  It’s funny, but I look at the Athena founders now and I think that they must have been like us once. Maybe not fighting for an underground agency, but young, uncertain about things, finding their way through the stuff life throws at you. They’ve just learned how to get through it with a little more wisdom. Maybe all you can ever do is keep going and try to do a bit better every day.

  “Anyway,” I say. “That’s why I’m planning to listen more and mouth off less.”

  “That’ll be a nice change,” Caitlin says, and we both smile.

  “So what’s happening?” I say once we’re all in the situation room again.

  The Athena founders are diplomatically ignoring Caitlin’s red eyes.

  “Paulina’s in jail,” Kit says, glancing at me.

  “Good,” I say, meeting my mother’s gaze. “And Aleks?”

  “Arrested.”

  “For attempted murder?” I ask.

  Peggy shakes her head.

  “Corruption. The cryptocurrency keys you found were the hard evidence we needed to prove that he was taking bribes for some time. But we can’t go for the other charge without opening a can of worms about what I was doing there.”

  “We’ve also built quite a case against the Victory Clinic,” Peggy continues. “And our embassy in Moscow has exerted enough pressure to close it down, along with another clinic that was planning to get organs through them. They didn’t want the publicity, so they agreed to do it fast if the press didn’t hear about it.”

  “Who were those organs for?” Caitlin asks.

  “Wealthy Russians who are sick and don’t want to wait. Russia does very few transplants compared to European countries, so there’s a high demand. Whatever names we gather through Victory will be reported to the authorities.”

  “One more thing,” Li says, looking at all of us in turn. “We’re sponsoring Dasha, the girl you rescued, to come live in London. I’ll give her a job at Chen Technologies, but really, if she’s as strong as you say she is, we should look at training her to join us here. She should certainly be motivated.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind that Dasha will be an asset to Athena. You can train weapons and fighting techniques, but you can’t train that kind of courage and willpower. You either have it or you don’t.

  I clear my throat. There’s something that’s been stressing me about my own performance on this mission.

  “About Aleks,” I say. “I should’ve found out his son was sick. And found the crypto stash.”

  Peggy looks at me kindly. “His son hadn’t started treatment there yet. It needed a big deposit that Aleks was hustling to gather. There’s no way you could have figured out that link. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to trust him.”

  It’s like I can breathe freely again. I guess the weight of the worry was heavy on me—that I could’ve prevented Peggy from coming so close to death.

  Li takes a sip from her cup of green tea and flicks on the big screen, breaking the moment of reflective silence.

  We all watch as a snapshot of a dusty village comes up. It shows a new school building, with a crowd of families outside it, and it takes me a moment to recognize Kit, Peggy, and Li among them. In khakis and hats, smiling at the camera.

  I exchange a look with Caitlin, then Hala.

  “This is northern Pakistan,” Peggy says. “Two years ago. You all know what happened there.”

  We nod. Li switches the picture on the screen and brings up that terrible shot from the newspaper. The charred building, the rows of white-sheeted bodies laid out . . . We all look away, and Li clicks on to the next photo.

  “The deaths of those girls impelled us to start Athena,” Peggy continues. “And the man who started that fire was arrested. The evidence against him was overwhelming.”

  The face of a man in traditional tribal clothes appears on the screen, along with stats—name, associates, recent contacts, last known sightings.

  “But he was released without charge. Because the local police were either threatened or paid off. So he has never been brought to justice. Until now.”

  “Our next job?” asks Hala.

  Kit nods. “Yes. But you need to take a bit of time off, all of you. We’ll meet back here in a week and go over it in detail.”

  The moment feels solemn, like we’ve been entrusted with something extra meaningful. Slowly, we all start to pack up our things, ready to leave for now. But then Hala speaks. She looks at Peggy shyly.

  “Is there any news about my brother? I know it’s only been a couple of days, but . . .”

  That’s out of the blue. So Hala must have asked for help on Omar’s immigration file. Peggy and Li exchange a glance; a moment of silent communication that doesn’t make me feel good.

  “Let’s talk alone,” Peggy says to Hala.

  We all move faster to clear the room, but Hala’s voice stops us.

  “No. You can say anything you want to in front of them.”

  That’s huge, for Hala. Someone who thinks talking about the weather is too personal. My eyes meet hers in a silent question, like—Are you sure? She nods, and we all sit down again.

  “Omar is on a terrorist watch list,” Peggy says. Li pushes a thin file across the table, but Hala doesn’t touch it. She just stares at Peggy.

  “It must be because of where we’re from, our Arab names . . . ,” Hala says.

  “No doubt,” Peggy says kindly.

  “He’s not a terrorist,” Hala protests. “He saw what they did to us. . . . You don’t understand the pressure that young men are under there. To join one side or the other, or die . . .”

  Peggy listens, and I can see she feels terrible about it.

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” she says. “But it makes it incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to help him with an asylum request . . .”

  Her last words are lost under the scrape of Hala’s chair. Hala pushes open the door and runs out. From across the ops room, Thomas looks up, but I’m already right behind her. She seems disoriented and heads to the bathroom.

  When I go in, Hala’s leaning against a sink, hands gripping the bowl on both sides.

  “Hey,” I say.

  But her shoulders are shaking, and I realize that she’s crying. And not just crying, but weeping. As if everything she ever kept held inside is pouring out. Without thinking about it I go straight over and hold her. It’s not easy, because she’s pressing her palms against her eyes and her elbows are out, but I find a way just to get my arms around her. She sobs and sobs, and I don’t know what else to do but hold on. She’s probably understood that she may never see her brother again. After a few minutes the crying subsides.

  The door to the bathroom opens and Caitlin is there, obviously sent to check on us. And behind her, over her shoulder, Thomas waits, worried. My eyes meet theirs over Hala’s shoulder.

  Hala herself takes a shaky breath and turns away from me to wash her face.

  “Listen,” I tell her. “If Omar’s being pushed to do something, we can find a way to get him out. We won’t leave him there.”

  Hala starts to tear up again. Maybe it’s been too long since any one of us took the time to be kind to her. But she gulps a breath and leans back down to the sink.

  “Our next job is in Pakistan, anyway. We’ll figure it out,” I say.

  She nods and looks at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “Do you want to go home, take some time?” I ask.

  She splashes her eyes, wiping the water off her face with that all-purpose sleeve, and shakes her head, refusing the offer.

  “Good. Because we need you.”

  For the second time this morning, I shepherd one of my team out of the bathroom. I’m really hoping this is the last I see of that place for today. I wait for them all to go ahead of me. Caitlin walks alongside Hala, a protective hand on her back, and I follow them out. Ahead of us, in the situation room, Kit and Li are standing up, worried, loo
king out for us.

  When they catch sight of us coming back, they glance at each other, relieved. And then Kit looks past the others, straight at me. I pause, because for a moment, it’s just her and me, communicating, even at this distance. I feel like she’s proud of me. I don’t know why, but I can tell. She holds my look for a long moment and then she smiles. And for the first time in ages, I smile back.

  Acknowledgments

  About two years ago, a group of builders showed up at our front door with a pile of planks and a truck full of equipment. They proceeded to create a cabin in our back garden—a fully lit up, warm, cozy room with big windows. It remains one of the best presents I ever received. Frustrated with my low writing output (in my defense, I had been writing and directing movies), my wife, Hanan, decided to gift me a room of my own, a quiet space with a desk and piles of film reels from my movies for decoration. I finally had no excuse not to write a new book, and The Athena Protocol was the result.

  My deepest appreciation to Hanan for being the anchor and meaning in my life and my constant champion. To our beautiful sons, Ethan and Luca, for their love and support, and for the unrelenting critiques that make my work better. And for understanding that their mum spends all day making up stuff about people who don’t exist, and that sometimes she forgets the stuff that does exist as a result.

  Thanks to Hannah Patterson, who I met at Amazon Studios in LA, and who introduced me to my fantastic agent, Sophie Hicks. Thanks to Sophie for her immediate belief in this book and the characters, and her intrepid, entrepreneurial spirit.

  Patrick Ness—not only are you a beautiful writer and person, but also a very real inspiration to me as I learned to believe in the huge opportunities that are open to us as storytellers. And to Marc Nowell—with Patrick, they are amazing godfathers to my boys, and true friends.