by Jack Mars
Shaw’s eyes widened. He looked around rapidly, as if Zero had just uttered a curse in public. “You don’t say that name outside of Langley, do you understand? In fact, you can forget you ever saw it. Or there will be repercussions, Agent—”
“But I did see it.” Zero stared the director down defiantly. “And I want to know what became of it.”
Shaw sighed tightly. “Well. Thanks to the ‘modifications’ made to it, the device appears to be irreparably altered. And our mutual friend has locked everyone out.”
Bixby.
“But he could fix it,” Zero said. “If he wanted to.”
Shaw shrugged slightly. “I’m sure he could. If we knew where he was. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The director turned once more and stalked off, faster this time, before one of them tried to stop him again.
If we knew where he was? Bixby said he would be gone, but Zero didn’t think that meant he’d go dark. The engineer knew just as well as the rest of them that OMNI was an immoral machine, and he knew what the agency might do if they knew he’d damaged it. So he locked out the CIA, and he vanished.
Zero felt a small pang of guilt at that. But then, Bixby had spent so much of his life in that lab. Maybe he would go somewhere, see the world. He struggled to imagine the eccentric engineer on a non-extradition beach sipping Mai Tais, but stranger things had happened.
“So,” he said as he rejoined Strickland and Maria. “Back to being a field agent, huh?”
She shrugged. “Management just isn’t for me. I see that now.”
“I get it. You save my life, I save yours, and now you’re feeling like you’re missing out on the action—”
Maria grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him deeply. He was hardly surprised, and didn’t pull back. Instead he leaned into it, putting his hands on the small of her back.
“Move back in,” she said simply.
He smiled. It sounded nice. But he had too much on his plate that she didn’t need to be burdened with. “How about dinner? And we see where things go from there.”
She smiled back. “Deal.”
Strickland scoffed as he headed toward the nearest helicopter. “I’m putting in for a transfer. I am not third-wheeling it with you two.”
*
President Jonathan Rutledge sat behind the Resolute desk in the Oval Office, his elbows on its surface and fingers tented in front of his mouth.
He had a lot to think about.
For starters, he’d doubted himself. He’d doubted his ability. He’d doubted his own leadership. And then he’d doubted Deputy Director Johansson and her cohort, the mysterious and oddly disarming Agent Zero. But they had gotten the job done—even after they’d been told not to—and came through. Sure, they’d made mistakes. Big ones, in fact. But at the end of the day, a major disaster had been averted. The perpetrators were dead or in custody. The ultrasonic weapon was destroyed, its remnants in the hands of the CIA.
There’s probably a lesson to be learned in there somewhere, Jon, he told himself sarcastically.
Barkley would still be voted in as his vice president at the next special session of Congress, but Rutledge would not be immediately stepping down. He’d changed his mind. He was not going to be bullied into shying away, even if the bully was himself and his own insecurities. Someday Barkley would make a terrific president. It just wouldn’t be this week.
There was a knock on the door to the office, and Tabby Halpern poked her head in. “We’re all set, Mr. President. We can patch you in whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” The door closed again. He was alone in the Oval Office, a rarity these days. There were only two lamps on, the furniture casting long shadows across the floor.
Rutledge placed a hand on the receiver of the telephone in front of him. If he was going to go through with this, then there was a necessary first step.
He lifted the receiver. At first there was silence. Then he was patched through, and the line began to ring.
“President Rutledge.” The male voice on the other end of the line was smooth, a bit high-pitched, with a heavy accent. “I hope that you can imagine my surprise when my people told me that your government was on the telephone. These sorts of conversations are usually planned well in adv—”
“Let me stop you there,” Rutledge interrupted. He did not bother with pleasantries or formalities. If the Russian president could call Rutledge out of the blue, then Rutledge could do the same—except that the man on the opposite end of this call was Chinese President Li Wei. As a young leader, Wei’s ambition for China’s prosperity was as widely known as his disdain for the United States, especially illustrated by the recent tariffs and impending trade war.
“This is not a social call,” Rutledge told him. “This is a demand.”
“I’m sorry?” Wei said, surprise registering in his voice.
“Grab a pen and jot this down. You’re going to cease imposing these ridiculous tariffs and economic sanctions on our exports. In fact, we’re going to have a summit, you and I. A very public one. And we’re going to reach an agreement that is very agreeable to the United States. Tariffswill be lower than when you first came to office.”
Wei scoffed. “I do not believe you are in a position to demand such—”
“Actually I am,” Rutledge said loudly. “Because we know what was attempted. We know what was ordered. And if my request isn’t subtle enough, you will find the Seventh Fleet in Taiwan by week’s end. You won’t have to worry about a trade war on your hands, Wei. You’ll have a real war.”
“This is preposterous!” Wei growled. “You would threaten us with war?! I have no idea what you are talking about—”
“You do, Wei.” Rutledge lowered his voice to what he hoped what his own threatening volume. “You do know. Now, my people are very good at keeping secrets. But me, not historically so. If you give me reason to, I will make the news public to the world about what happened here on American soil. But I don’t think that has to happen. You and I are going to become friends, Mr. President. Because President Ilyin and I are already fast becoming friendly, and I don’t think he would appreciate what was tried here today. Certainly not enough to side with China in a major conflict.”
Rutledge paused meaningfully, but Wei said nothing in response.
“You decide,” the President of the United States concluded. “I’ll expect a response tomorrow.”
And he hung up the phone on the Chinese president.
The Oval Office was silent, dimly lit. Rutledge decided he liked it that way. He scooted back his chair a bit so that he had room to prop his feet up on the desk. It was a nineteenth-century relic, one behind which many of the most powerful men in the world had sat.
He was one of them. He could put his damned feet up if he pleased.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Zero ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Tell me again.”
Maya scoffed and shook her head, though there was a smirk on her face. “No. I’m not going through it all again.”
“But how did you know where to find her?”
“I…” Maya shrugged. “Intuition, I guess. I just put myself in her shoes and thought about where the most likely to go would be. And lo and behold.”
Zero couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. “You’ll make a terrific agent.”
The two of them sat on the tiny patio outside Zero’s Bethesda apartment, sipping coffee despite the late hour and trading war stories of the past forty-eight hours. It was nice, he decided, having someone in whom to confide—and well past the time that he felt the need to keep things from her.
Just that same morning he had nearly been killed in a nuclear reactor. He and the team had been flown back to Langley, where they were inspected and debriefed. He was banged up, bruised all over—for the most part, the usual. The bleeding that he’d experienced from the ultrasonic weapon was the result of a minor tear in the lining of his stomach. Nothing that some medication and a couple weeks on a soft diet
wouldn’t be able to heal.
He wasn’t supposed to be drinking coffee, but he felt he deserved it.
It was hours later before he was allowed to access his personal cell phone, and when he did he was thoroughly alarmed and perturbed to see missed calls from the Seaside House Recovery Center. He’d almost called them back, too, before he saw the text message from Maya that read: Sara’s with me. At your place. All is okay.
He’d rushed home to find Sara fast asleep in her bed and Maya dutifully awake. She’d told him the story, and then a second time when he asked for it, all the while amazed that Maya had taken such measures to locate her sister. Alan had helped her get there, and had even helped her look, but ultimately it was Maya who had found her, incapacitated a drug dealer and a would-be human trafficker, and rescued Sara. Then they had taken her to the hospital to get checked out, and she’d been sleeping it off ever since.
“I don’t know what to say,” Zero admitted. “Except that I’m proud of you. Of the person you’re becoming.”
“Thanks,” Maya said quietly. She sipped her coffee and stared out into the night sky.
There was something more to be said, he could tell. What it was, he wasn’t sure.
“For what it’s worth,” he offered, “I’m sorry. For everything. All of it. Your mom, the lies, the job…”
Maya shook her head. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Then she chuckled a little at herself. “Scratch that. You’re not getting off the hook that easily. There’s plenty to be sorry about—but that’s behind us now. I think that as I get older, I’m starting to see it.”
“See what?”
“Why you did it. Why you tried to… protect us from all that. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”
He felt a lump in his throat but swallowed it. It meant a lot to hear that from her. It meant everything to hear that from her. He was by no means faultless, but that simple acknowledgment at least told him that he hadn’t completely screwed everything up.
Yet Maya still had that thousand-yard stare.
“What is it?” he prodded.
She smiled thinly and just shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Come on. I’m telling you about confidential matters of international security, and you can’t tell me what’s bothering you? I know you’re an adult now, and you can handle your problems. Whatever it is, I promise. I won’t interfere. It just helps to talk.”
Maya sighed. “Sure. Okay. Here goes.”
Whatever it was, it was obviously difficult for her to talk about.
“There was an incident at school,” she began. “Three boys cornered me in the locker room. They assaulted me—rather, they tried to.”
Zero sat up in alarm, going instantly into protective-father mode. “Jesus, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“No. I’m fine.” Her voice lowered. “They’re not.” She looked over at him, her gaze boring into his. “I blacked out. I beat them—badly.” Her gaze swept the floor. “I almost killed one of them, Dad.”
He nodded slowly in understanding. While he was no stranger to violence himself, he had hoped that the trait wouldn’t be passed on to his daughters. Though, if he was being honest with himself, he would much rather that violence be inflicted on would-be perpetrators of violence on them than against them.
“I suppose,” he told her, “we all have some darkness in us. I certainly do. Your sister does. And… and you do as well.”
Maya nodded, but said nothing.
He reached over and gently squeezed her knee. “You know, there’s a quote I like. It goes, ‘Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.’ I can’t fight your battle. We can’t fight Sara’s. You can’t fight mine.”
“No,” Maya agreed. “But we can be there. For each other.” Her voice trembled slightly. She wiped an eye and scoffed at herself.
“Of course we can. We have to be.” They both sipped their coffee, letting the moment sink in. “So what now?” he asked.
“Well, I got a call from the dean today,” Maya said. “All three of those boys are being expelled. I could press charges if I wanted, but I think beating the shit out of them and ruining their academic lives was enough for me.”
They shared a small laugh.
“But at the same time,” Maya continued, “I don’t think I’m ready to go back just yet. I requested a leave of absence. I want to stay here, with you and Sara, through the holiday. I’ll go back in January, after the break.”
Zero wanted to protest. He wanted to tell her that she had to live her life, to do what was best for her—but he held his tongue. She’d made this decision herself. She had decided already that this was what was best for her.
“Okay,” he said. “That would be great.”
“Good. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll be able to keep an eye on our resident escape artist.” Maya looked into her empty coffee cup. “I need a refill. How about you?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Maya rose and headed inside. Zero leaned back in his chair and stared at the night sky, the stars above. He had his girls’ backs. That was no small miracle. But there were still the new memories to contend with, the assassinations and his potentially sordid past. The forgetfulness he had been experiencing. He would be seeing Guyer in two days in Baltimore.
It couldn’t come fast enough.
*
“Hmm.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Huh.”
It very much seemed to Zero that much of Dr. Guyer’s neurological examination consisted of sporadic grunts and brief under-breath comments, the meaning of which he could not begin to translate.
The two of them were in an admittedly very posh office at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. It hardly even resembled any doctor’s office that Zero had ever been in, with leather sofas and soft earth-toned walls. Yet that didn’t detract from the fact that he’d been there for seven hours and still had no answers.
Guyer had performed a full battery of tests on him. Out of what he could recall, Zero had endured a mini mental status examination to test for alertness; an NIHS stroke scale test for cranial nerve function and motion sensation; a full assessment of cognitive function, which included identifying pictures, associating language, and performing basic memory tests; and both an MRI and MRA with contrast. There were others, the acronyms of which had been lost on him as soon as the doctor had uttered them.
Now he sat across from Guyer at a wide oak desk as the Swiss doctor reviewed the results, occasionally grunting or letting out a “hmm” or “huh” without bothering to share his findings. Guyer was undoubtedly brilliant; he was sixty-one, but his piercing green eyes were as keen and alert as a man half his age. His hair was entirely white, trimmed neatly and impeccably parted. His white coat was spotless and he wore an Italian tie that likely cost a month’s rent of Zero’s apartment.
“Huh,” said Guyer.
Zero’s irritability mounted. “Okay, Doc, you’re going to have to start telling me something here. It’s been hours. Anything at all would be helpful.”
Guyer smiled at him over the desk.
Zero knew, not only from his training as an agent but just his experiences as a person, that it was not a pleasant smile. Guyer did not have good news for him.
“Reid,” he said. “There is no easy way to say this.”
“Give it to me straight. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
Guyer’s smile vanished. “No. You haven’t.”
A knot of dread gripped his stomach.
“Please keep in mind that you are one of a kind in this regard. There has never been a patient quite like you, and there may never be again—”
“Doctor,” Zero pressed.
“Yes. Of course.” Guyer made a motion of straightening his tie, even though it was perfect already. “From what I can tell, your limbic system is more severely damaged than previously thought—perhaps even irreparably.”
“Okay,” Zero said slowly. “What does tha
t mean?”
“It means that you may start losing memories even while gaining new ones,” Guyer explained. “Short-term memory should not pose a problem. But the part of your brain responsible for storing long-term memories is chaotic and unpredictable, like… well, forgive the metaphor, but it is as you Americans might say, Swiss cheese.”
“Losing memories is nothing new,” Zero said. “I told you earlier, I’ve been losing memories on and off over the last several days—”
“I mean permanently, Reid.”
Zero stood. He didn’t know what else to do in the moment. He stood from his chair with enough force to push it backwards. The very first thing he thought about was forgetting Sara’s face, during the fight with Mischa. It had come back to him soon enough, just like Kate’s name and Maria’s face…
But permanently?
“I am sorry,” Guyer told him. The doctor’s voice dripped with conviction. “There is nothing I can do for you currently. This is… beyond modern science.”
“So what’s going to happen to me?”
“Unclear,” the doctor replied. “If I had to guess, based on what I know, I would say it is very likely that your memory will continue to degrade, but I cannot say how quickly it will happen.”
“How?” Zero’s voice came out hoarse. “How will it happen?”
“Again, this is working off of my best educated guess, but what I am seeing is a physical deterioration of the part of the brain responsible for storing memories. I suppose if I had to compare it to anything, I would say it is… akin to Alzheimer’s.”
Zero drew a deep sigh. “People die of Alzheimer’s.”
“Yes,” Guyer agreed quietly. “They do.”
“So…”
A silence spanned between them like a vacuum.
“Yes,” Guyer said at last. “It will likely kill you. But whether you have two years or twenty, I could not say.” The doctor closed his eyes. “I am truly, truly sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Guyer rose from his seat, and they shook hands across the table. “I do hope that I see you again, Reid. With regular check-ups, I may be able to ascertain the rate of atrophy. But I do not trust it in the hands of any other neurologists. It will have to be me.”