Dark Divide

by Sonja Stone

  “Why aren’t you in class?” she asked.

  “Follow-up at medical. That was a pretty heavy dose of tranquilizer you gave me.” He handed her a glass of iced tea and sat down.

  “Beats a bullet.”

  He smiled. “I wasn’t complaining.” After a moment he said, “Listen, your mock mission is scheduled for the twenty-third, but I’ve decided to ask Dean Shepard if we can postpone. I’ll need to get an extension on my project, but under the circumstances, I don’t think she can object.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want special treatment. And to be honest, I’d love to focus on something other than the last few days.”

  He nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “Of course. It’s still weeks away. If I can’t focus by then, I probably shouldn’t be here.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair, propping his feet against the metal railing. “Man, what a gorgeous day, huh?”

  Nadia shot him a glare—which he missed because he wasn’t even looking at her. She found it annoying that Jack seemed totally fine with everything, that he spoke to her just as he would to Libby or Alan. She didn’t expect a big dramatic scene, but he could act a little sad about breaking up.

  As she turned the page in Libby’s notebook, a sheet of flash paper as thin as an onion skin fluttered from the spiral-bound pages. Like any good spy, Nadia scanned the assignment, picking up the key words: medical convention, ID badge, Gentech Labcorp. “Are these Libby’s op-specs?”

  Before she finished reading, Jack snatched the paper from the notebook and said, “You aren’t supposed to read that. Libby should’ve destroyed it.”

  “Gentech Labcorp—you know what that is, right?” Nadia asked.

  “No, and I don’t care.” He shoved the paper into his pocket. “My job is to execute missions, not research companies.”

  Nadia leaned forward. “I appreciate that, and typically I’d agree with you, but you’ve heard of CIADIS, right?”

  “Sure, the CIA’s Combined DNA Index System. It’s the online genetic database of all employees. What about it?”

  “CIADIS is stored at Gentech Labcorp.”

  He shrugged. “And?”

  “Did you know that when we turn eighteen our DNA results are transferred from the campus database to Gentech for permanent storage?”

  “So what?”

  “So you don’t think it’s an odd coincidence that you’ve been assigned to tamper with CIADIS at the exact same time Damon forced me to destroy the student database?”

  “First of all, I’m not tampering with anything,” he said.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Second of all, that’s the definition of a coincidence—an odd occurrence of events. You’re seeing patterns that aren’t there.”

  “I study cryptography. I don’t invent patterns where there are none—I spot patterns that already exist.”

  “Nadia, think about it. It makes sense that our mock missions would be at a CIA facility, right?”

  She looked away, across the field and over the wall to the rocky desert. Jack made a good point. But two unrelated missions involving DNA databases? That had to be more than a coincidence. After a few moments, she asked, “What can you tell me about your senior project?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t tell you anything. Dean Shepard specifically instructed me not to discuss the mission as a whole.” He stood and grabbed his full glass of iced tea. “You’ve been through a lot. I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic, but I think you should let this go. There’s no connection between my senior project and your time with Damon.” He nodded toward her glass. “Do you want a refill before I take off?”

  “I’m all set,” she said.

  “In that case, good luck with your studying. I’ll see you later.” Jack walked away, disappearing into the dining room.

  Nadia tapped her pen against the table. A hard knot had formed deep in her gut. Despite the logic of Jack’s argument, she was unconvinced. He wouldn’t share mission details, but Simon was not so scrupulous, and Alan couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

  She’d find out what she wanted to know soon enough.

  Damon knew the second Wolfe’s heart monitor flatlined that Ms. McGill would be out for blood. It had taken less than an hour. The problem, of course, was that as far as McGill knew, Wolfe lay dead because Nadia had stabbed him with a poisoned pen eight weeks ago. It would take days for an autopsy to confirm an adrenaline injection. For now, if McGill had a fraction of Damon’s lust for revenge, Nadia was in imminent danger. He needed to keep an eye on McGill.

  She’d cried over Wolfe’s bed for most of the night. Then she got up, wiped her eyes, pulled on her sweater, and marched outside. After placing a single phone call that lasted approximately twenty-five seconds, she drove north toward Phoenix. Damon followed as McGill stopped at every ATM in the valley. As the sun rose, she pulled into the parking lot of the Malt-Shop Diner in north Tempe, donned her sunglasses, and went inside.

  Damon had a clear view of her booth through the window. A few minutes after she arrived, a man joined her: six-two, muscular, shaved head. He looked like ex-military.

  McGill slid a fat envelope across the table. The man peeked at the contents and then tucked it inside his jacket. She leaned forward, pounding her index finger on the table as her lips formed angry words.

  Damon recognized the situation immediately. McGill had just hired a hitman.

  * * *

  —

  Twelve hours later, in response to McGill’s rash breakfast decision, Damon stood in her kitchen and reviewed his next move.

  Her house was nicer than he’d expected. The open floor plan allowed a clear view through the living room and into the back yard. A high, stuccoed wall surrounded the property, as with most houses in this neighborhood, providing maximum privacy. McGill had left the windows open, which granted Damon easy access, and the evening breeze ruffled the gauzy sheers. Outside, the pool blazed with the reflected orange and pink light of the setting sun.

  The kitchen, small but well equipped, was immaculate. The counters were clear of everything except a half-empty bottle of red wine. Perfect.

  He pulled on his lambskin gloves, checked the cupboards for an unopened bottle of wine, the drawers for a corkscrew. Satisfied he had everything he needed, Damon removed the cork from the open bottle, emptied the ampule from his pocket into the wine, and replaced the stopper.

  Down the hall in McGill’s bedroom closet, Damon found a few of Wolfe’s dress shirts and a suit. His robe hung alongside hers on the back of the bathroom door. Damon checked the medicine cabinet, found what he needed, then went back into the bedroom. The only item on her dresser was a framed picture of the two of them standing in the desert, Wolfe’s arm around McGill’s shoulder.

  It was strange to see them like this. Not only because Damon had had no idea about their relationship, but because he knew Wolfe as a coldhearted killer. He’d never pictured him with a personal life.

  This was a lesson Damon would need to consider when he had more time—not only that he’d missed Wolfe’s vulnerability, but what personal relationships meant for him moving forward. Relationships were the reason he was in this mess. Other people were always the chink in the armor. Everyone he cared about became a liability. Therefore, the more people he cared about, the weaker he became. He could take care of himself, no problem. It was all the other dead weight that made him susceptible to attack.

  The garage door slammed shut, and McGill’s shoes clicked across the tiled kitchen floor. He slipped inside her walk-in closet, leaving the door cracked. A kitchen cabinet opened and closed, and liquid sloshed into a glass.

  A minute later she came into the bedroom, glass of wine in hand. She stepped out of her heels and continued to the bathroom. He debated moving from his position, but before he’d decided, she emerged wearing her bathrobe. Back down the hall toward the kitchen.

  He checked his watch. Four, five
more swallows. Seven minutes, tops.

  Six minutes later he heard the thud as her body hit the floor. He moved from the closet, down the hall, to the edge of the living room. She was on her back looking at her hands. The tingling must’ve started. Next: chills, sweats, numbness. Muscle paralysis. Eventually, she’d stop breathing—if her heart didn’t give out first.

  Damon stepped from the shadows. He knelt down and took her hand.

  She tried to say his name, but it came out as a hoarse one-syllable whisper.

  He leaned toward her ear and said, “Aconite. It’s very quick.”

  Confusion in her eyes as she tried to form words.

  “Nadia,” he said.

  Anger replaced the confusion. McGill tried again to speak.

  “The drug,” Damon whispered, “has a common name that you might know. I thought it an appropriate choice.”

  Her eyes lost focus, so he moved closer.

  “It’s from a lovely flowering plant called wolfsbane. But no need to panic, I have the antidote.” Damon patted his jacket pocket. “Tell me where to find my mother, call off the hit on Nadia, and it’s yours. Deal?”

  She whispered something.

  “What?” he asked, moving closer still.

  “See…” She breathed out the word. “You…in hell.”

  A rush of anger washed through him. Was she really that vindictive? He dropped her hand and stood. “I have no doubt that’s true.”

  After leaving her side, Damon began his search. In her home office, a small room just off the kitchen, he found her computer. She hadn’t bothered to log out, so he checked the schedule labeled Desert Mountain Academy. It only took a moment to locate the time and place. He exhaled, relieved. He still had time. All he had to do now was beat Nadia to the destination.

  He returned to McGill’s bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet for the sleeping pills he’d seen earlier. He would have to ease a small handful down her esophagus and into her stomach. Fortunately, McGill’s fridge was stocked with bottles of water. He’d tip up her chin, which would open her throat—the same way he would if he were administering CPR—then drop the pills in and follow with a gentle stream of water.

  Between the wine and the pills, the medical examiner would have no reason to run a toxicity screen for anything unusual. But even if he did, aconite was extremely difficult to identify.

  He left the open prescription bottle on the floor next to her body.

  He found her photographs in her bedside chest. Damon flipped through the stack: McGill and Wolfe dressed in evening wear at a charity event, the pair drinking cocktails at a pool party, sitting together at an outdoor café. He arranged one of the pictures in McGill’s lifeless hand, tucked another inside his jacket, and returned the stack to her bedroom.

  Lastly, Damon opened the new bottle of wine. He served a generous amount into a fresh wine glass, swished it around, then dumped the contents into the kitchen sink. To make it look like she’d had a lot, he poured another three-quarters of the bottle down the drain. He corked the wine, setting the bottle on the granite countertop. He took the poisoned bottle of wine and the tainted glass and placed them in a paper bag, which he would take with him, just in case she was assigned an overeager investigator.

  A final once-over satisfied him that all details had been addressed.

  Despite her best efforts to focus on catching up, the next few days found Nadia struggling to keep her mind on her classes and specializations. Dozens of unanswered questions plagued her waking thoughts and embedded themselves into strange and vivid dreams.

  Was Simon her half brother? He couldn’t be—he’d made a mistake. But how else would Simon have learned Jericho’s name? Did he know Jericho was her father?

  And what about her father? Why had he kept the truth from her? Nadia felt they’d always had an open and honest relationship. Now she realized she’d been completely misled.

  And Damon—did he, a known traitor to the United States, somehow fit in with Jack’s senior project? If he did, then either Damon was working in the interests of his country, or she and her teammates were working against those interests. But neither of those options made sense.

  Maybe Jack was right—maybe his project and Damon’s objective to destroy the database weren’t related. Maybe she was seeing patterns that didn’t exist.

  For the time being, she found herself frustratingly stuck in the purgatory of the unknown.

  * * *

  —

  By late Friday morning, Nadia had reached her breaking point. After political science, she caught Simon’s eye and asked him to walk with her. She slowed to create distance. When their classmates were halfway up the hill, Nadia said, “Libby mentioned you had a lead on your dad. How’s that going?”

  Simon frowned and he shook his head. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He cleared his throat. “I discovered my father’s given name.” She held her breath as he continued. “Apparently, he died in the line of duty.”

  Nadia’s heart seized. “What?” Simon always heard news before anyone else—had he received intel about Jericho? “When?”

  “About ten years ago.” Simon dropped his gaze.

  Nadia exhaled so forcefully that Simon shot her a glance. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how disappointed you must feel. Did you just find out?”

  “I got the report on Monday, only I haven’t been up for talking about it.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t make much sense to mourn the loss of something I never had.”

  She wanted to know why Simon believed Jericho had died ten years ago, but she didn’t know how to ask without rousing suspicion. “If you ever want to talk…”

  “It was good of you to ask,” he said. “You know, it’s funny. I had this revenge fantasy—I wanted to get even because he’d abandoned me, but now that I know he’s dead, I just feel…sad.”

  Her heart pounded faster. Ask the question. “What was his name?”

  Simon looked past her as he answered. “Riazotti.” His clear blue eyes filled with tears. “His name was Milo Riazotti.” He turned away.

  Nadia frowned as she followed Simon up the hill.

  What the hell is going on?

  * * *

  —

  The rest of the day’s classes bled together. Nadia, fatigued and distracted, had to force herself back to the present about a million times. She needed more information, but how could she conduct research on the CIA’s Black-Ops Division?

  As they were leaving Arabic, their last class, Nadia put her hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Hang on a second, okay?” She leaned against him and slipped off her shoe, shaking out an imaginary stone. “Go ahead,” she said to Libby. “We’ll meet you at the library.”

  When her classmates were out of earshot, she pulled on her shoe, then glanced around to make sure they were alone. “I need a favor.”

  “Yes, I assumed you weren’t only using me for balance. How can I be of assistance?”

  She tried to look casual. “Can I borrow your laptop?”

  “Of course. As I mentioned, it’s at your disposal.” He dropped his bag to the sidewalk and unzipped the pouch. “I trust your interest is covert?”

  “It’s personal. If your help is contingent on—”

  “Steady on, I’m only making conversation.” He handed her the computer, then fished for the cord. “Password is Tiresias. I’ll swing by your dorm a bit later and fetch it back. Shall I convey your regrets to Alan and Libby? I assume your research supersedes our study session.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.” She hugged the computer against her body as the compressing squeeze around her heart slightly lessened.

  “Listen, about earlier,” Simon said. “Thanks for asking about my dad. Saying the words out loud seems to have lifted a bit of weight.”

  “I’m glad.” Nadia offered a half smile. She didn’t dare ask about Jericho. They resumed walking. “So have you already completed your mock
mission?”

  “Yeah, you’re the last one.”

  “What did you have to do?”

  Simon looked at her quizzically. “Why do you ask?”

  She shook her head. “Just curious. Mine’s coming up and I’m a little nervous, I guess. Can you tell me or not?”

  Simon shrugged. “Yeah, what do I care? You’ll be fine, there’s nothing to it. Jack had me break into this place called Gentech Labcorp using an ID badge Libby stole on her mission. I plugged a wifi-enabled thumb drive into the mainframe. That’s it.”

  “What was on the drive?”

  “I dunno. Boy Scout refused to toss it.”

  “Shocking.” Nadia rolled her eyes. “Jack wouldn’t bend the rules? I can hardly believe it.”

  “Listen, love, I know you’re hurt, but if it’s any consolation, I believe he’s hurting, too.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business, that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but before she spoke, he grabbed her wrist and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Did you hear about Ms. McGill?”

  “No, what about her?”

  “She didn’t show up for work, so Shepard sent security to her place to check if she was all right. She’d overdosed on sleeping pills. She’s dead.”

  “Oh my God, that’s horrible. I had no idea. How’d you find out?”

  Simon shrugged. “Secrets are ten a penny. I have a knack for hearing things, I suppose.”

  “Poor Ms. McGill. I guess you never really know what someone else is going through.” She sighed and held up his laptop. “Thanks for this. I won’t be long.”

  A few minutes later, locked in her bedroom, Nadia booted up the computer.

  She opened a private tab in the browser and paused for a second—where to begin? Part of her knew that researching her father was a waste of time. After reviewing Operation Cyprus and seeing the photographs, she had no doubt the files were real. Furthermore, the CIA wouldn’t allow anything sensitive to be posted online, right? So this exercise was likely in vain. Still, she felt compelled to look for clues, hints about what she’d missed. How could she not have realized her father was CIA?