Dark Divide

by Sonja Stone

  In the search box, Nadia typed the name of the town where she’d gone to sixth grade, along with CIA satellite office. She knew it was a long shot, but she had to start somewhere. Nothing relevant, so she included the year she’d lived there.

  That yielded results, but unfortunately, nothing useful. Apparently, a government official had died in a freak accident; sensational headlines dominated the first page. She deleted the search and tried another town, the one she’d lived in during her fourth-grade year.

  That resulted in another splashy headline: Visiting dignitary dies moments before scheduled speech. She sat back and frowned at the screen.

  She went back further, started at the beginning—Michigan, where she was born.

  A year after her birth, a Supreme Court justice from Ann Arbor was killed in his home during a break-in. After that, her family moved to Belize. A few months later, a congressman, well known for his love of scuba diving, disappeared into the Blue Hole just off the coast. The press reported malfunctioning equipment. Los Angeles, California, a whistle blower from the NSA died of a heart attack while crossing the street. He was thirty-seven years old. Corpus Christi, the untimely death of a former FBI agent. According to the medical examiner, he drowned in his swimming pool.

  Nadia’s heart pounded as she read the reports. Guam, upstate New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland….Everywhere she’d ever lived, page after page of unsolved homicides. Death after mysterious death.

  And always a few short weeks before her father packed up the family and moved again.

  Nadia pushed away from the desk—she couldn’t catch her breath. She stood to straighten her torso, expand her lungs.

  They’d lied—the CIA had lied to Sensei, to the recruits. They did employ assassins. Assassins who killed American citizens, on American soil.

  Maybe her dad was an expert in political assassinations not because he’d studied them, but because he’d performed them.

  Her mouth watered as a cold sweat broke across her body. She dashed into the bathroom, threw open the toilet lid, and vomited. The heaving continued long after her stomach emptied; painful, uncontrollable spasms. She sat on the floor, pressed her forehead against the tiled wall, and closed her eyes.

  As soon as she could move, Nadia pulled herself to a kneeling position. She grabbed a washcloth from the vanity drawer and held it under a cold stream of water. A few seconds later, she shut off the faucet and wrung out the excess water, then slid back down the wall and covered her eyes with the cool cloth.

  And then something else occurred to her. Her eyes opened as another wave of nausea flooded her body.

  Maybe they hadn’t lied. Maybe the CIA didn’t perform assassinations.

  Maybe her father wasn’t CIA.

  Maybe, just like Agent Roberts, her father was a Nighthawk.

  Damon’s ringing cell phone pushed its way into his sleep. Eventually, it woke him, and when it did he came up quick. In that hazy moment between sleep and consciousness, he had no idea where he was.

  He fumbled for the phone. “Yeah.” Then he remembered—he was at a rest stop off the highway, camped in the bushes behind the restrooms.

  Someone using a voice modification program spoke into his ear. “I know where to find your mother.”

  Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”

  The computerized voice continued. “She’s being moved to a safe house near the Louisiana State University stadium. I’ll text the address and date of arrival.”

  He couldn’t tell if this was the same caller as before. The modification software skewed voice, tone, and inflection. “Who is this?” He searched the surrounding area, peering through the dark for any movement. His hand found the gun in his bag. His fingers wrapped into place.

  “A friend.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” Damon said.

  “Very well. Then let’s just say we have a mutual enemy. The sooner Roberts goes down, the better.”

  “Mr. Green?” The background noise ceased, and Damon realized he was alone on the line. He checked his call history but, as expected, the number of the last incoming call was blocked. A minute later Damon got the text: an address in Baton Rouge. She’d be there a week from Tuesday.

  He hoisted himself from the ground and paced in quick, nervous strides. The lead might be bogus, moving him further from his mom. Was that a risk he was willing to take? But it might be legit. Roberts had no shortage of enemies. If Damon could get his mom back without trading Nadia, so much the better.

  And what about Nadia? He might still need her, alive and unharmed, and McGill’s hitman was still on the loose. Could he trust the information he’d seen on McGill’s computer?

  He dropped to his knees to gather his belongings. He didn’t have the luxury of choice.

  When Nadia escaped, Damon had lost his leverage, and for the first time in his life, he was out of ideas.

  On Monday morning Nadia forced herself out of bed and into her gi. She’d spent most of the weekend studying in the library, pausing only to eat and sleep. Libby assumed that her stress-induced fatigue was a result of her time away with Damon, but the truth was, Nadia couldn’t reconcile what she’d learned from her research.

  Her father couldn’t be a Nighthawk. If he was, Roberts would’ve picked someone else as his scapegoat last semester. He wouldn’t frame the daughter of a colleague. Furthermore, Roberts wouldn’t need to order a tiger kidnapping—he’d just call Jericho himself. But what about the trail of bodies in her father’s wake?

  The CIA didn’t sanction hits, and no way were all those people declared terrorists. The timing of the deaths coupled with the timing of her family’s constant relocating did not bode well, but her dad couldn’t be an assassin. This was a man incapable of streaming a movie without a written tutorial.

  She had reached one comforting conclusion. After careful consideration, Nadia decided not to worry about Damon’s voice-modified phone call regarding Libby. His approach was a classic technique—threatening her best friend in an attempt to compel Nadia to help rescue his mother. But Damon didn’t know he’d made an empty threat. No one but Nadia knew that Libby was on lockdown. The only remaining question was whether or not to report to Dean Shepard that Damon was alive.

  Late that afternoon Professor Shaheen, the Arabic instructor, distributed a test. Since Nadia had missed a few classes, he sent her to the library to review.

  She sat alone at her team’s usual table, but rather than review the notes, she stared at Damon’s code scrawled across the top of her planner.

  Her need to decipher the message bordered on obsessive. She’d tried everything: a Vigenère cipher, a skip-sequence cipher, no cipher at all—was it a phone number? A bank account? Coordinates? She didn’t dare use the cipher computer.

  Fifteen minutes past the hour, Jack showed up. “How’s it going?”

  “Never better. You?”

  “Good.” He slid into the seat next to her. “Listen, the more I think about your mission, the more I think we should postpone. I’m worried about you.”

  His caretaking irritated her. He wasn’t her boyfriend, and coming from her team leader, it indicated a lack of confidence in her abilities. “If you don’t think I can handle myself, just say so.”

  “Don’t get defensive. It’s not that at all. You’ve had a rough month.” He lowered his voice. “Do you want to talk about what happened with Damon? I hope you know that I’m still here for you.”

  Yeah, whatever. “I’m not really comfortable discussing my personal life with you.”

  “Being kidnapped by a traitor doesn’t exactly constitute a ‘personal life.’ ”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I don’t have the best luck when it comes to relationships.”

  His jaw tightened. “I know you’re angry with me. And I regret that I can’t share my op-specs with you, but those are the rules.” After a moment, he asked, “Do you feel like I didn’t protect you? Is that why you’re mad?”

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sp; Anger rose in her chest like the swell of a wave. She leaned toward him and whispered, “I don’t need you to protect me. And why would you? As you may recall, you’re not my boyfriend, so back off.”

  Jack looked away.

  Nadia glared at the table, furious with herself. What was wrong with her? Ending their relationship had been Jack’s only option, she knew that. It was just the way he’d done it. Unilaterally making the decision, and then pretending to discuss it with her. She shook her head. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

  After a few long, uncomfortable minutes, Jack spoke as though nothing had happened. “Are you all caught up with your schoolwork?” Before she could stop him, he scooped up her planner. He pointed to Damon’s code. “What are you doing with this?”

  “Trying to solve it.” She reached for her planner, and he moved farther away.

  He frowned. “There’s nothing to solve. It’s not a code. It’s a case file number.”

  Nadia met his eyes. “What?”

  He dropped the planner on the table and nodded toward the long row of locked cabinets near the main entrance, the Authorized Persons Only section of the library. “It’s a restricted case file number.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve studied some of them as team leader. The first two numbers state the location of the mission—in this case, it was executed in the Middle East. The next three indicate that this file is highly classified. Like, eyes-only, burn-after-reading classified.”

  “Why does the CIA keep highly classified documents in a school library?” she asked. “Why aren’t they at Langley?”

  He smiled. “Get this. Since its opening in 1961, CIA headquarters has been hacked, bombed, and broken into over two hundred times. Know how many times Desert Mountain Academy has been breached? Once. By you, the other night. The files are hidden in plain sight.” He nodded toward her planner. “So where’d you get the file number?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I saw it written somewhere and assumed it was a cipher. I thought it would be fun to solve. I guess that explains why I haven’t made any progress.” Her eyes wandered to the restricted access area.

  Well, I definitely can’t report Damon’s phone call now. Breaking into the library would be difficult enough without Secret Service crawling all over campus, and if Nadia reported the full message about the threat to Libby, Dean Shepard’s desire for privacy would certainly be vetoed. I’ll wait till I get the file, then I’ll talk to the dean.

  Jack smiled. “That’s how you spend your free time?” When she didn’t answer, he pushed back from the table. “Look, I’m sorry you’re upset with me. But you don’t get to tell me you completely agree with my decision, then get angry with me for making it. And I’m sorry you don’t agree with my principles and my work ethic, but it’s my senior project, not yours. I was instructed not to talk about it, and I won’t.” He stood. “Regarding your mission, please review your op-specs and be ready to go in two weeks.” He turned away.

  For a brief second she thought about stopping him. He was right about everything. She was angry, and she was being completely unfair—and childish. She would never want him to pick their relationship over his life’s goal.

  And logic dictated that his senior project was, in fact, completely fictional. It had to be. Her gut feeling about a connection between his assignment and Damon’s directive to destroy the student database was likely a result of something else—like the drama with her father. It made perfect sense that the CIA would use an affiliated facility like Gentech. That way, if the students got caught during their missions, the CIA could cover it up. There would be no police record of breaking and entering. Why would a student team be given an actual CIA assignment? They weren’t trained; they didn’t know what they were doing. If his project was actually relevant or mission critical, the CIA would’ve assigned it to an active officer. Her suspicions from earlier were completely unfounded.

  But her annoyance with him wasn’t about any of that. His constant questioning of her ability and skill was insulting. She’d literally saved his life twice now.

  Still, he was her team leader—he’d earned that position. She should apologize and put this animosity behind them.

  Instead, she turned her eyes to her planner. Why would Damon have the number to a restricted case file? And what did it have to do with Jericho?

  More importantly: How could she get her hands on it?

  Her heart beat faster as the answer crystallized in her mind. In a few days, she’d have the perfect opportunity. The library would be closed, and every student on campus accounted for.

  A week from Tuesday. The night of the Republican debate.

  Since the entire student body had been ordered to attend her daddy’s first televised debate, Libby arrived early to the student lounge to ensure she’d get a front-row seat. That way she wouldn’t see any eye-rolling if her daddy went off on one of his tangents. She’d dragged Nadia along, but her roommate wasn’t being terribly helpful, as she’d been distracted and agitated for days. After all she’d been through recently, Libby couldn’t blame her, but Nadia’s tension wasn’t helping Libby one lick. To relax, Libby had spent the previous hour scrubbing their room from top to bottom. Unfortunately, the sense of calm that arrived in conjunction with an immaculate bathroom had already dissipated.

  As the lounge started to fill, Libby faced the television, not the door, so people wouldn’t have to say nice, obligatory things. Simon sat to her right, Nadia to her left, and Alan plopped down on the floor at her feet. Jack arrived and stood behind her, which she found comforting, even though several students complained that he was blocking their view. He told them to move if they didn’t like it and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  Nadia fidgeted beside her, chewing her lip and frowning. Libby felt the energy and her anxiety increased. “Why are you so nervous?”

  Nadia smiled and breathed out. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It’s probably not helpful right now, is it?”

  “No, not really,” Libby muttered.

  The pundits came onscreen. “Welcome to the first Republican debate, coming to you live from Baton Rouge, where the Louisiana State University auditorium is nearly full.” They continued warming up, talking about this and that, while butterflies beat around inside Libby’s stomach.

  Jack leaned forward and asked Nadia, “Did you do the reading we talked about? Are you all set for next week?”

  “Seriously?” Nadia turned around. “You really have no faith in my ability to execute this mission.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack asked.

  Libby pressed her lips together. Was this really necessary right now? As politely as possible she asked, “Is there any chance y’all can talk about this later?” Libby asked.

  Nadia, ignoring Libby’s request, continued. “I just think it’s interesting—”

  Alan’s face lit up. “I know what that means!”

  Simon sucked in his breath and shook his head. “Not now, mate.”

  “I just think it’s interesting that you’ve asked me that question three separate times now.” Nadia lowered her voice. “You gave me my op-specs weeks before my mission. You obviously don’t think I’m capable of doing my job.”

  Libby’s heart rate increased. Animosity made her so uneasy. Jack’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She was about to say something placating when Nadia shot from her seat.

  “Nadia, wait,” Simon said. “Do you remember that thing we talked about?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I just forgot my sweatshirt. I’m going to get it.” She turned to Libby. “Do you need anything?”

  Libby could tell Nadia was angry. If she weren’t in the middle of her own crisis, she would’ve accompanied her roommate outside for some fresh air. Maybe tried to reason with her while they were at it. Libby and Nadia both knew none of this was Jack’s fault, but Nadia couldn’t seem to stop taking jabs, swiping at him like a wounded animal.
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  Libby sighed. Even though her hands were like ice, she said, “No, but please hurry back. They’re gonna start any second now.”

  “Don’t worry—I’ll be quick.”

  Alan glanced at Nadia. “Get something with color. You look like a ninja dressed in all black.”

  “Thanks for the fashion tip,” Nadia said over her shoulder.

  Libby turned back to the television and waited.

  Nadia pushed aside her irritation with Jack as she stood in the shadow of the dining hall and scanned the open lawn. With all the students sequestered in the lounge, campus was deathly still. The library, which had closed early to force attendance at the debate, loomed dark and quiet across campus. Satisfied she was alone, Nadia grabbed the messenger bag she’d stashed earlier in the bushes and jogged across the unlit lawn toward the parking lot behind Hopi Hall.

  The third car she tried was unlocked. Nadia popped the trunk and held a black t-shirt over the tiny lightbulb so the guards wouldn’t notice the illumination. After locating the repair kit, she removed the small crowbar from its case. She eased the trunk closed and sprinted up the hill toward the library.

  She paused for a moment, then stepped forward and jimmied the crowbar between the library door and its frame. The edge of the metal bar hooked the lock, and with a small click, it released. Tucking the crowbar into her bag, she slipped inside.

  The sign to her left read AUTHORIZED PERSONS ONLY: the restricted access case files. She climbed over the counter separating the files from the main collection and crouched down. Blood pounded through her ears, roared like an ocean. She controlled her breath, extending her exhales to slow her heart. The white noise quieted, and she turned to the filing cabinets. The drawers were arranged sequentially; she found the one labeled 78011145-78674558.