The Agenda, page 9
26
The Oval Office, The White House
Washington, DC
President Starling watched the broadcast, shaking his head. Morrison had said it was the Assembly behind the hack attacks, and now these Utopians were claiming responsibility. At first, he had thought it might be one group claiming credit for another’s work, but he was assured that was unlikely. Which meant Morrison was wrong. “Do we have any intel on these guys?”
FBI Director Fitzgerald held up a tablet computer. “Yes, sir, but not a lot. They’re a fringe group, eco-nuts. They’ve been linked to several protests surrounding pipelines and logging operations over the years, but nothing like this. Certainly nothing technical. No hacking.” He looked up from the tablet. “Frankly, Mr. President, this just doesn’t match their MO.”
Starling nodded, rereading the script broadcast through the hack of the Emergency Broadcast System. “Clearly they’ve gone to computer camp.” He sighed. “Do we know who they are? I mean, names?”
“We have a few, but they haven’t really been on our radar. If we monitored every environmentalist organization, we’d have nobody left to investigate the real crimes.”
Starling grunted, motioning at the television, now on a news channel, the talking heads delighting in the chaos. “Look like real crimes to me.”
Fitzgerald bowed slightly. “Of course, Mr. President. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Starling raised his hand. “No need to apologize, Cliff, I know what you meant. Find them, round them up, and I’m going to have to address the nation. Let the networks know.” He frowned, tapping the transcript of the broadcast. “Do we know what ten cities they’re talking about? Have we detected any poison?”
Fitzgerald shook his head. “No idea, sir, though every city with a population over one million is performing testing now and advising their communities to not drink the water.”
Starling sighed. “God help us all.” He looked out the windows at Washington, DC, now secure under the blanket of darkness, the capital of their great nation for some reason left untouched. “How long can a city like New York hold out?”
“Days at most. And that’s the problem, that’s what they’re talking about in their message. They’re targeting our cities, our modern way of life. There’re no farms in cities. All of the food is brought to the cities. They’ve disrupted our shipping systems, rail and road traffic, and now our water supply, which is also transported in through aqueducts and tunnels. The human body can last weeks without food, but only days without water. People will become desperate for water within a few days, and they’ll drink from the taps unless we shut down the supplies. If we don’t, and these Utopians have indeed poisoned the water, then people will begin to get sick. Millions will be dying in our biggest cities, and there won’t be anything we can do about it.”
“Can we be sure there’s a poison?”
“No, that’s the beauty of what they’ve done. Because they created havoc through these hacks, our citizens have no reason to doubt their claim about the poison. There doesn’t need to be a poison to create panic. I guarantee you, Mr. President, before this week is through, we will have people killing for the last bottle of water in their local supermarket.”
Starling closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He looked at Fitzgerald. “Arrest every member of that group, now. Do whatever it takes. I don’t give a shit if it stands up in court next year, our country needs saving today.”
27
Williams Residence
Bronx, New York
Larissa Williams rode down the elevator with her three children, her heart pounding as she replayed the conversation with her brother. Immediately after getting off the phone, she had turned on the television to make sure he wasn’t crazy, and had heard the emergency broadcast.
It had terrified her.
Something bad was happening, of that there was no doubt. That wasn’t a government broadcast, that was some terrorist organization, though like none she had ever heard of. The typical terrorists usually demanded death to America and Israel, the killing of Jews and Christians, and various other hateful things. And they usually shot or blew up people.
But mass poisoning?
She had never heard of that. It didn’t fit the pattern she thought of as terrorism. Islamists preferred martyrs to the cause. Poisoning water supplies didn’t produce martyrs.
Perhaps it’s not Islamists.
Just because 99% of the terrorist attacks around the world were committed by Muslims, didn’t mean this one was. This had to be related to the hacking she had already encountered herself. The 9-1-1 system, the traffic signals, the trains, the GPS. That sounded more like the Chinese or Russians. But the message at the end of the broadcast is what had her puzzled.
Your cities are no longer habitable. Return to the country…
They weren’t calling for death, they were demanding a return to the country. She pursed her lips.
That’s an environmentalist message.
Environmentalism was the new religion, true adherents capable of killing for their beliefs. Greenpeace had already admitted in court filings that they lied in their propaganda, and in essence, shouldn’t be believed.
Never let what will happen over the coming days happen again.
That final line actually terrified her. Coming days. Not what had already happened, but what was to happen. The city was already in chaos, and they promised to make it even worse?
The doors to the elevator opened and she herded her kids out, suddenly wondering if they wouldn’t have been safer locked alone inside the apartment, rather than out here with her. Sirens and shouting filled the air, the chaos outside merely muffled by the glass façade of the main lobby.
One of her neighbors rushed inside, her eyes wide with fright. “I wouldn’t go out there. Not with those kids.”
The woman rushed past, catching the elevator before it closed. Larissa stared after her, then girded for what should only take ten minutes. Ten minutes to secure their next ten days. She pushed open the door and stepped outside, the sirens ear-splitting, the flash of red and blue lights flickering off every surface around her disorienting. “Okay, kids, everybody hold hands.” She gripped her two youngest and jogged toward the nearest corner store.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Michael, just in a hurry.” She held up at the street corner and waited for a National Guardsmen to indicate it was safe to cross. He motioned them forward and she squeezed their hands tighter, pulling her children across, then hurrying into Mr. Moe’s Mini Market, at least a dozen people already there. She grabbed three baskets, handing one to each of her children, then took two for herself. She made a beeline for the back of the store and stopped, pointing at the canned soup. “Fill your baskets with those.”
“How many?”
“As much as you can lift.” She continued to the coolers in the back and reached in, pulling an armload of water bottles and sport drinks from the shelf, letting them tumble into the first basket before repeating the exercise with the second. She lifted them with a grunt, wondering how they would manage getting back home. She found her kids, their baskets overflowing, their faces straining as they barely lifted them off the ground. “Okay, let’s go.”
She reached the cash, a few people in line obviously in the know, others wondering what was going on. No one was talking. The TV in the corner flashed, the Emergency Broadcast System message she had seen still on a loop, but with the audio muted. Thankfully. “Hi Sameh.”
“Hi Mrs. Williams. You going to be able to carry all this?”
She shrugged. “We’ll figure out a way.”
He rang in the purchases, returning them to the baskets. He leaned forward and whispered. “You’re a good customer. Take the baskets, just promise to bring them right back.”
Larissa smiled gratefully then whispered a response. “I’ll probably be back for more.”
The door chimed and several people rushed in. Sameh frowned. “I don’t think anything will be left by the time you get back.”
She nodded, a steady stream now pouring in, word apparently spreading. She paid by credit card, then lifted her baskets, the kids half-dragging, half-carrying theirs toward the doors. They reached the street corner, the panic now unavoidable, people rushing in all directions as they either made their way home, or toward their favorite store to stock up.
A window shattered behind her, a newspaper box rolling back onto the sidewalk as several men kicked their way into a closed store.
We have to get home, now!
28
Unknown Location
Sherrie White knelt beside her patient, a patient who looked a lot better since she had begun the transfusion. Gravity seemed to be working, and perhaps blood pressure—she had stuck the needle in her left arm, and the other end in Fang’s right, where she presumed pressure would be lower.
She frankly had no idea what she was doing, though Fang wasn’t sweating any longer, and her breathing had stabilized. Her pulse was now steady in the mid-sixties, a level Fang had indicated was her normal. She had no way to test the woman’s blood pressure, which would be the true measure of whether this was working, but she had to assume it was.
Now the question was when did she stop?
She didn’t think there was much danger to Fang in giving too much blood, but there was a risk to herself. She wasn’t feeling lightheaded, or much different at all, and the line she was using was pretty thin, so perhaps not much had been transfused.
You need to stay physically capable.
She was their only hope of defending themselves. Even if Fang was stabilized, she was in no condition to fight. And if Sherrie were to get dizzy from any sudden movements, she wouldn’t be much use either.
She pulled the tube from Fang’s IV, then the needle from her own arm. “Let’s see if that’s enough. We can always try more later.”
“I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.”
“No problem. I’m going to hook the IV back up, though, okay?”
Fang nodded, some color back in her cheeks, life once again behind her eyes. Sherrie inserted the tube from the IV into the cannula then placed the bag on Fang’s chest.
“Okay, that should help keep you going.” She examined the wound once again, the XStat still holding. “How’s the pain?”
“Still there, but not as bad as before. The palpitations have stopped, so I think I’m going to live. Assuming we get out of here.”
Sherrie frowned, staring at the door. Distracted by Fang’s predicament, she had so far spent no time on figuring a way out. “I’m going to do a little exploring, okay?”
Fang gave a weak thumbs up and Sherrie rose, slowly circling the walls, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but finding nothing beyond the door and prison-style bathroom. The floor was poured concrete, probably several inches thick. She knelt down and felt it with her hand. “The floor’s cold.”
Fang turned her head so she could see her. “Basement?”
“Probably, which means even if we could get through it, we’d have God knows how much dirt to dig through. She started tapping the walls, the thuds dull all the way around. “I think it’s some sort of insulated drywall mounted directly to the outer walls. They’re probably concrete too, with dirt behind them. She pursed her lips, her hands on her hips. “It’s kind of a small room to be a basement, though.”
Fang agreed. “Perhaps there’re other rooms like this, side-by-side. You wouldn’t be able to tell if the walls were thick enough.”
Sherrie nodded. “That would make sense.” She motioned toward the bare door, bereft of any hardware. “This door suggests it was built to be a cell, so it makes sense there could be others. I wonder if there’re any other prisoners here.”
“Could be, though if that Katz woman isn’t working for the Assembly, then this place is probably hers. I doubt she’s going around collecting people.”
“Why not? She took us, why not others?”
Fang shook her head. “I think we’re leverage because of who we are, or rather, who we’re dating.”
Sherrie sat cross-legged beside her. “That makes sense.” She smiled at Fang. “And I would hardly describe our relationships as ‘dating,’ would you? I think Chris is going to propose to me soon.”
Fang’s face clouded over and she turned away slightly.
“What’s wrong? Are you and Dylan having problems?”
Fang turned back, her eyes glistening. “I don’t know. He seemed distant when he came back last time. He couldn’t look me in the eye.”
Sherrie frowned, a thought crossing her mind, one she didn’t dare voice. Kane was a spy, and spies were asked to do things ordinary people wouldn’t. It had already been made clear to her she’d be expected to sleep with men if it were necessary. In fact, one of her first assignments had been to seduce Leroux and get him to spill state secrets. It had been a test, and he had passed, greenlighting the accelerated career path he now found himself on. Director Morrison now trusted him, implicitly.
It had broken her heart when Leroux had found out the truth, the betrayal doubly so as he had developed true feelings for her. The worst part was that she too had fallen for the shy, awkward geek, even requesting to be removed from the assignment. Her request had been denied, the mission too important. It was Kane that had brought the two of them back together, Leroux forgiving her, the two of them inseparable since.
Kane loved Fang, though she knew from his lifestyle he wasn’t the commitment type—at least not before Fang. Kane was a changed man, and if he were feeling guilty about something, which was what it sounded like to her, then he still loved her. “What do you think is wrong?”
Fang sighed. “I think he slept with another woman.”
Sherrie’s teeth clamped down on her cheek for a moment. “You think he’s having an affair?”
Fang shook her head, a little too vigorously, wincing and grabbing for her wound. “No, but I think he slept with someone on the job.”
Sherrie decided there was no avoiding the subject, and dove in. “You know it’s part of the job.”
“I do, and that’s not what upsets me.”
Sherrie’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t?” She thought of how she’d feel if Leroux slept with someone else.
I’d tear his dick off.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Well, I thought we were close enough that we could tell each other anything.”
Sherrie smiled, placing a hand on Fang’s shoulder. “You know he can’t tell you anything about his missions. They’re classified.”
“I know, but he can tell me when something is bothering him. He doesn’t need to give me specifics, just tell me what he had to do so I can tell him it’s okay.” She sighed. “I want his heart exclusively, not his, well, you know.”
Sherrie grinned, patting Fang’s shoulder. “Oh, I know.” She drew a quick breath then sighed. “You know, I think when you see him next, you’re just going to have to confront him. Make him tell you what’s bothering him, and if he won’t, tell him what you suspect. If it isn’t that, then you’ll both feel better, and if it is, and he knows you’re not upset, then he can share his feelings.”
Fang looked at her, a slight smile on her face. “I think that’s a good idea.” Her smile spread. “You’re good at this. You should have your own talk show.”
Sherrie laughed. “Right, ‘Relationship Advice from a Spy.’ I don’t think so.”
Fang grunted. “Well, you’re better at it than some of the people I see on afternoon TV.”
Sherrie laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I watched a show like that. Probably not since I was a teenager.”
Fang huffed. “Try being an unemployable former Chinese Special Forces soldier. You’d have lots of time on your hands to watch those ridiculous things.”
Sherrie smiled at the woman, understanding the frustration. Fang was used to being a woman of action, but now she had to keep a low profile and could never hold down a job that might make use of her former skills. Not that she needed a job. Leroux had told her a generous pension had been arranged for her. She’d never have to work again.
Which was probably the worst punishment a grateful nation could bestow upon her.
Fang stared up at the lights in the ceiling. “I think the only way out of here is either through that door, or through the ceiling.”
Sherrie glanced up at the camera dome. “Yeah, but she’s watching us.”
Fang pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. “Is she? If she’s working alone, then I doubt she’s sitting on the other side of the wall watching a monitor. She’s off somewhere, doing something.”
Sherrie yawned, eliciting a concerned look from Fang.
“You should get some rest.”
“You should too.”
Fang smiled. “I’m feeling good right now. I’ll take first watch. We don’t know how long this will last.”
Sherrie regarded Fang, not really wanting to sleep in case something happened, though the woman was right. She was exhausted, and wouldn’t be of any use in a few hours regardless. And Fang might not be in any condition to watch over her by then. She nodded. “Okay, but wake me if you need me.”
Fang smiled. “Don’t worry, I will.”
Sherrie lay down beside her and positioned several pressure bandages under her head.
And was out in seconds.
29
Interrogation Room 8C, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Nadja Katz stared at Kane. “I have no idea who the Utopians are, but I guarantee you they’re not behind this.”
Kane leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And why should I believe you? You’re a criminal. You lie for a living. You claim to know what’s going on, yet”—he waved a hand at the television—“this would suggest everything you told me is bullshit.”
Kane played the game well. He had to know she would never turn herself in without reason, yet he was right about one thing. A critical part of her story was now in question. She had been honest about her desire to take down the Assembly, yet the reason she had given for this to also be in the best interests of the CIA, was what the Assembly was now doing to the country. If they weren’t responsible, then the CIA’s motivation had just been eliminated.
The Oval Office, The White House
Washington, DC
President Starling watched the broadcast, shaking his head. Morrison had said it was the Assembly behind the hack attacks, and now these Utopians were claiming responsibility. At first, he had thought it might be one group claiming credit for another’s work, but he was assured that was unlikely. Which meant Morrison was wrong. “Do we have any intel on these guys?”
FBI Director Fitzgerald held up a tablet computer. “Yes, sir, but not a lot. They’re a fringe group, eco-nuts. They’ve been linked to several protests surrounding pipelines and logging operations over the years, but nothing like this. Certainly nothing technical. No hacking.” He looked up from the tablet. “Frankly, Mr. President, this just doesn’t match their MO.”
Starling nodded, rereading the script broadcast through the hack of the Emergency Broadcast System. “Clearly they’ve gone to computer camp.” He sighed. “Do we know who they are? I mean, names?”
“We have a few, but they haven’t really been on our radar. If we monitored every environmentalist organization, we’d have nobody left to investigate the real crimes.”
Starling grunted, motioning at the television, now on a news channel, the talking heads delighting in the chaos. “Look like real crimes to me.”
Fitzgerald bowed slightly. “Of course, Mr. President. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Starling raised his hand. “No need to apologize, Cliff, I know what you meant. Find them, round them up, and I’m going to have to address the nation. Let the networks know.” He frowned, tapping the transcript of the broadcast. “Do we know what ten cities they’re talking about? Have we detected any poison?”
Fitzgerald shook his head. “No idea, sir, though every city with a population over one million is performing testing now and advising their communities to not drink the water.”
Starling sighed. “God help us all.” He looked out the windows at Washington, DC, now secure under the blanket of darkness, the capital of their great nation for some reason left untouched. “How long can a city like New York hold out?”
“Days at most. And that’s the problem, that’s what they’re talking about in their message. They’re targeting our cities, our modern way of life. There’re no farms in cities. All of the food is brought to the cities. They’ve disrupted our shipping systems, rail and road traffic, and now our water supply, which is also transported in through aqueducts and tunnels. The human body can last weeks without food, but only days without water. People will become desperate for water within a few days, and they’ll drink from the taps unless we shut down the supplies. If we don’t, and these Utopians have indeed poisoned the water, then people will begin to get sick. Millions will be dying in our biggest cities, and there won’t be anything we can do about it.”
“Can we be sure there’s a poison?”
“No, that’s the beauty of what they’ve done. Because they created havoc through these hacks, our citizens have no reason to doubt their claim about the poison. There doesn’t need to be a poison to create panic. I guarantee you, Mr. President, before this week is through, we will have people killing for the last bottle of water in their local supermarket.”
Starling closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He looked at Fitzgerald. “Arrest every member of that group, now. Do whatever it takes. I don’t give a shit if it stands up in court next year, our country needs saving today.”
27
Williams Residence
Bronx, New York
Larissa Williams rode down the elevator with her three children, her heart pounding as she replayed the conversation with her brother. Immediately after getting off the phone, she had turned on the television to make sure he wasn’t crazy, and had heard the emergency broadcast.
It had terrified her.
Something bad was happening, of that there was no doubt. That wasn’t a government broadcast, that was some terrorist organization, though like none she had ever heard of. The typical terrorists usually demanded death to America and Israel, the killing of Jews and Christians, and various other hateful things. And they usually shot or blew up people.
But mass poisoning?
She had never heard of that. It didn’t fit the pattern she thought of as terrorism. Islamists preferred martyrs to the cause. Poisoning water supplies didn’t produce martyrs.
Perhaps it’s not Islamists.
Just because 99% of the terrorist attacks around the world were committed by Muslims, didn’t mean this one was. This had to be related to the hacking she had already encountered herself. The 9-1-1 system, the traffic signals, the trains, the GPS. That sounded more like the Chinese or Russians. But the message at the end of the broadcast is what had her puzzled.
Your cities are no longer habitable. Return to the country…
They weren’t calling for death, they were demanding a return to the country. She pursed her lips.
That’s an environmentalist message.
Environmentalism was the new religion, true adherents capable of killing for their beliefs. Greenpeace had already admitted in court filings that they lied in their propaganda, and in essence, shouldn’t be believed.
Never let what will happen over the coming days happen again.
That final line actually terrified her. Coming days. Not what had already happened, but what was to happen. The city was already in chaos, and they promised to make it even worse?
The doors to the elevator opened and she herded her kids out, suddenly wondering if they wouldn’t have been safer locked alone inside the apartment, rather than out here with her. Sirens and shouting filled the air, the chaos outside merely muffled by the glass façade of the main lobby.
One of her neighbors rushed inside, her eyes wide with fright. “I wouldn’t go out there. Not with those kids.”
The woman rushed past, catching the elevator before it closed. Larissa stared after her, then girded for what should only take ten minutes. Ten minutes to secure their next ten days. She pushed open the door and stepped outside, the sirens ear-splitting, the flash of red and blue lights flickering off every surface around her disorienting. “Okay, kids, everybody hold hands.” She gripped her two youngest and jogged toward the nearest corner store.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Michael, just in a hurry.” She held up at the street corner and waited for a National Guardsmen to indicate it was safe to cross. He motioned them forward and she squeezed their hands tighter, pulling her children across, then hurrying into Mr. Moe’s Mini Market, at least a dozen people already there. She grabbed three baskets, handing one to each of her children, then took two for herself. She made a beeline for the back of the store and stopped, pointing at the canned soup. “Fill your baskets with those.”
“How many?”
“As much as you can lift.” She continued to the coolers in the back and reached in, pulling an armload of water bottles and sport drinks from the shelf, letting them tumble into the first basket before repeating the exercise with the second. She lifted them with a grunt, wondering how they would manage getting back home. She found her kids, their baskets overflowing, their faces straining as they barely lifted them off the ground. “Okay, let’s go.”
She reached the cash, a few people in line obviously in the know, others wondering what was going on. No one was talking. The TV in the corner flashed, the Emergency Broadcast System message she had seen still on a loop, but with the audio muted. Thankfully. “Hi Sameh.”
“Hi Mrs. Williams. You going to be able to carry all this?”
She shrugged. “We’ll figure out a way.”
He rang in the purchases, returning them to the baskets. He leaned forward and whispered. “You’re a good customer. Take the baskets, just promise to bring them right back.”
Larissa smiled gratefully then whispered a response. “I’ll probably be back for more.”
The door chimed and several people rushed in. Sameh frowned. “I don’t think anything will be left by the time you get back.”
She nodded, a steady stream now pouring in, word apparently spreading. She paid by credit card, then lifted her baskets, the kids half-dragging, half-carrying theirs toward the doors. They reached the street corner, the panic now unavoidable, people rushing in all directions as they either made their way home, or toward their favorite store to stock up.
A window shattered behind her, a newspaper box rolling back onto the sidewalk as several men kicked their way into a closed store.
We have to get home, now!
28
Unknown Location
Sherrie White knelt beside her patient, a patient who looked a lot better since she had begun the transfusion. Gravity seemed to be working, and perhaps blood pressure—she had stuck the needle in her left arm, and the other end in Fang’s right, where she presumed pressure would be lower.
She frankly had no idea what she was doing, though Fang wasn’t sweating any longer, and her breathing had stabilized. Her pulse was now steady in the mid-sixties, a level Fang had indicated was her normal. She had no way to test the woman’s blood pressure, which would be the true measure of whether this was working, but she had to assume it was.
Now the question was when did she stop?
She didn’t think there was much danger to Fang in giving too much blood, but there was a risk to herself. She wasn’t feeling lightheaded, or much different at all, and the line she was using was pretty thin, so perhaps not much had been transfused.
You need to stay physically capable.
She was their only hope of defending themselves. Even if Fang was stabilized, she was in no condition to fight. And if Sherrie were to get dizzy from any sudden movements, she wouldn’t be much use either.
She pulled the tube from Fang’s IV, then the needle from her own arm. “Let’s see if that’s enough. We can always try more later.”
“I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.”
“No problem. I’m going to hook the IV back up, though, okay?”
Fang nodded, some color back in her cheeks, life once again behind her eyes. Sherrie inserted the tube from the IV into the cannula then placed the bag on Fang’s chest.
“Okay, that should help keep you going.” She examined the wound once again, the XStat still holding. “How’s the pain?”
“Still there, but not as bad as before. The palpitations have stopped, so I think I’m going to live. Assuming we get out of here.”
Sherrie frowned, staring at the door. Distracted by Fang’s predicament, she had so far spent no time on figuring a way out. “I’m going to do a little exploring, okay?”
Fang gave a weak thumbs up and Sherrie rose, slowly circling the walls, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but finding nothing beyond the door and prison-style bathroom. The floor was poured concrete, probably several inches thick. She knelt down and felt it with her hand. “The floor’s cold.”
Fang turned her head so she could see her. “Basement?”
“Probably, which means even if we could get through it, we’d have God knows how much dirt to dig through. She started tapping the walls, the thuds dull all the way around. “I think it’s some sort of insulated drywall mounted directly to the outer walls. They’re probably concrete too, with dirt behind them. She pursed her lips, her hands on her hips. “It’s kind of a small room to be a basement, though.”
Fang agreed. “Perhaps there’re other rooms like this, side-by-side. You wouldn’t be able to tell if the walls were thick enough.”
Sherrie nodded. “That would make sense.” She motioned toward the bare door, bereft of any hardware. “This door suggests it was built to be a cell, so it makes sense there could be others. I wonder if there’re any other prisoners here.”
“Could be, though if that Katz woman isn’t working for the Assembly, then this place is probably hers. I doubt she’s going around collecting people.”
“Why not? She took us, why not others?”
Fang shook her head. “I think we’re leverage because of who we are, or rather, who we’re dating.”
Sherrie sat cross-legged beside her. “That makes sense.” She smiled at Fang. “And I would hardly describe our relationships as ‘dating,’ would you? I think Chris is going to propose to me soon.”
Fang’s face clouded over and she turned away slightly.
“What’s wrong? Are you and Dylan having problems?”
Fang turned back, her eyes glistening. “I don’t know. He seemed distant when he came back last time. He couldn’t look me in the eye.”
Sherrie frowned, a thought crossing her mind, one she didn’t dare voice. Kane was a spy, and spies were asked to do things ordinary people wouldn’t. It had already been made clear to her she’d be expected to sleep with men if it were necessary. In fact, one of her first assignments had been to seduce Leroux and get him to spill state secrets. It had been a test, and he had passed, greenlighting the accelerated career path he now found himself on. Director Morrison now trusted him, implicitly.
It had broken her heart when Leroux had found out the truth, the betrayal doubly so as he had developed true feelings for her. The worst part was that she too had fallen for the shy, awkward geek, even requesting to be removed from the assignment. Her request had been denied, the mission too important. It was Kane that had brought the two of them back together, Leroux forgiving her, the two of them inseparable since.
Kane loved Fang, though she knew from his lifestyle he wasn’t the commitment type—at least not before Fang. Kane was a changed man, and if he were feeling guilty about something, which was what it sounded like to her, then he still loved her. “What do you think is wrong?”
Fang sighed. “I think he slept with another woman.”
Sherrie’s teeth clamped down on her cheek for a moment. “You think he’s having an affair?”
Fang shook her head, a little too vigorously, wincing and grabbing for her wound. “No, but I think he slept with someone on the job.”
Sherrie decided there was no avoiding the subject, and dove in. “You know it’s part of the job.”
“I do, and that’s not what upsets me.”
Sherrie’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t?” She thought of how she’d feel if Leroux slept with someone else.
I’d tear his dick off.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Well, I thought we were close enough that we could tell each other anything.”
Sherrie smiled, placing a hand on Fang’s shoulder. “You know he can’t tell you anything about his missions. They’re classified.”
“I know, but he can tell me when something is bothering him. He doesn’t need to give me specifics, just tell me what he had to do so I can tell him it’s okay.” She sighed. “I want his heart exclusively, not his, well, you know.”
Sherrie grinned, patting Fang’s shoulder. “Oh, I know.” She drew a quick breath then sighed. “You know, I think when you see him next, you’re just going to have to confront him. Make him tell you what’s bothering him, and if he won’t, tell him what you suspect. If it isn’t that, then you’ll both feel better, and if it is, and he knows you’re not upset, then he can share his feelings.”
Fang looked at her, a slight smile on her face. “I think that’s a good idea.” Her smile spread. “You’re good at this. You should have your own talk show.”
Sherrie laughed. “Right, ‘Relationship Advice from a Spy.’ I don’t think so.”
Fang grunted. “Well, you’re better at it than some of the people I see on afternoon TV.”
Sherrie laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I watched a show like that. Probably not since I was a teenager.”
Fang huffed. “Try being an unemployable former Chinese Special Forces soldier. You’d have lots of time on your hands to watch those ridiculous things.”
Sherrie smiled at the woman, understanding the frustration. Fang was used to being a woman of action, but now she had to keep a low profile and could never hold down a job that might make use of her former skills. Not that she needed a job. Leroux had told her a generous pension had been arranged for her. She’d never have to work again.
Which was probably the worst punishment a grateful nation could bestow upon her.
Fang stared up at the lights in the ceiling. “I think the only way out of here is either through that door, or through the ceiling.”
Sherrie glanced up at the camera dome. “Yeah, but she’s watching us.”
Fang pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. “Is she? If she’s working alone, then I doubt she’s sitting on the other side of the wall watching a monitor. She’s off somewhere, doing something.”
Sherrie yawned, eliciting a concerned look from Fang.
“You should get some rest.”
“You should too.”
Fang smiled. “I’m feeling good right now. I’ll take first watch. We don’t know how long this will last.”
Sherrie regarded Fang, not really wanting to sleep in case something happened, though the woman was right. She was exhausted, and wouldn’t be of any use in a few hours regardless. And Fang might not be in any condition to watch over her by then. She nodded. “Okay, but wake me if you need me.”
Fang smiled. “Don’t worry, I will.”
Sherrie lay down beside her and positioned several pressure bandages under her head.
And was out in seconds.
29
Interrogation Room 8C, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Nadja Katz stared at Kane. “I have no idea who the Utopians are, but I guarantee you they’re not behind this.”
Kane leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And why should I believe you? You’re a criminal. You lie for a living. You claim to know what’s going on, yet”—he waved a hand at the television—“this would suggest everything you told me is bullshit.”
Kane played the game well. He had to know she would never turn herself in without reason, yet he was right about one thing. A critical part of her story was now in question. She had been honest about her desire to take down the Assembly, yet the reason she had given for this to also be in the best interests of the CIA, was what the Assembly was now doing to the country. If they weren’t responsible, then the CIA’s motivation had just been eliminated.
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