Dark Divide

by Sonja Stone

  “You knew this whole time?” Alan asks the dean.

  “I did.” She smiles at his grandfather. “I also know you well enough to know that you’ve likely been pressuring your grandson into a familial arrangement. Am I right?”

  Saba shrugs. “It is what we do, eh? The life of a spy.”

  Shepard looks at Alan. “You have a choice to make. Do you understand?”

  Alan looks to his grandfather.

  Shepard continues. “I cannot have you unofficially reporting to Mossad.”

  Alan faces the dean. He takes a deep breath, summons every iota of courage within him, and says, “I am with the CIA.”

  “Eli? Will you accept your grandson’s choice?” she asks.

  “Of course,” he says casually. Saba looks at Alan. “You have made your choice, and I will respect it.”

  “I intend to hold you to that,” Shepard says to Saba.

  “Alan’s happiness is my only concern,” Saba says. “After all, family is everything.”

  The coldness of his smile sends a chill down Alan’s spine.

  Friday morning after exercises, before she even changes out of her gi, Nadia sprints across the cushioned lawn to Dean Shepard’s office to plead her case. She knocks on the dean’s open door and moves inside before she’s invited.

  “How are you feeling?” Dean Shepard asks, her eyes lingering on Nadia’s slightly swollen lip.

  Nadia self-consciously touches her face. “I’ll live. Do you have a minute?”

  Dean Shepard sighs. “I don’t see why not. Have a seat.”

  Nadia shuts the door and starts talking. “I don’t know if you’ve reviewed Jack’s senior project yet, but I was wondering if you might consider grading on a curve.” She sits in the chair farthest from the door. “As you know, he was late in completing his assignment because he was helping me. He chose to protect a member of his team. That’s a pretty stand-up move, and I think it should be taken into account.”

  Dean Shepard raises her eyebrows. “According to Jack’s report, it was less of a choice, and more of a necessity. He claims you were taken against your will. He received intel regarding your location—and I must say, his explanation of how that transpired was a bit unclear, but things aren’t looking good for Simon—and Jack performed a rescue op. Would you say his report is accurate?”

  Nadia falters—Jack lied to the dean. He didn’t sell her out. I didn’t see that coming. “Yes, entirely.”

  “Do you have anything to add?”

  She can’t offer anything—what if it contradicts his report? “Um, the whole night is kind of a blur. I think I hit my head. I don’t remember much at all.”

  “Head injuries can be serious,” the dean says flatly. “We should keep an eye on that. It’s quite remarkable that you were able to attend morning drills at the dojo.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Nadia drops her gaze to the patterned rug.

  “Is that all?”

  “Actually, no.” She raises her eyes. “I have another favor to ask.”

  Dean Shepard leans back in her chair. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to be requesting favors, but go on.”

  “It’s about Damon. I was hoping you could call Director Vincent and ask for leniency.”

  “Nadia, I—”

  “I know he’s done a lot of horrible things, but many of his actions were taken to protect me. And the rest were to save his mother. I don’t expect that he can go free, but maybe you could request that he not get the death penalty?”

  The dean stands and walks to the window. She’s quiet for a few moments, then turns to Nadia and says, “I have some upsetting news.” She opens her right desk drawer, selects a file, then walks around the desk to sit in the leather chair next to Nadia. “I’m afraid Damon is dead.”

  “What? No, that’s not possible. He was taken into custody.”

  “While in custody, he took his own life. Apparently, he had a cyanide capsule sewn into his cheek. It was a technique used during the Cold War, an out for captured agents so they wouldn’t be forced to endure interrogation.”

  “No, no way. He would never do that. Damon doesn’t believe in suicide. It’s not true.”

  “He left a note explaining the choices he’d made. He felt suicide was the only way to keep his mother safe. He feared that his being alive would indefinitely make her a target.”

  “What happened to her? What was she told?”

  “She’s been placed into witness protection. I don’t know the details of the cover story she received, but I’m sure the explanation was as thorough as possible. I can’t fathom her grief, but I do know that she’s safe.”

  Nadia turns her eyes toward the ceiling, avoiding Dean Shepard’s concerned gaze.

  “I’m truly sorry. I know this must be difficult. Despite recent events, I understand that you once shared a friendship.” The dean clears her throat, and then says, “His final words stated that you were, indeed, held against your will, and that you acted to protect your teammates. Apparently Damon threatened to kill Jack if you didn’t help rescue his mother?”

  Nadia hesitates, and then confirms the lie. “That’s right.”

  Shepard hands her the folder. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” She quietly leaves the room.

  It’s a trick. Nadia exhales a long, ragged breath. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead.

  She opens the report. Thin metal prongs secure the pages to the heavy cardboard file. On top is his death certificate, embossed and watermarked. Easy enough to fake. She folds it back to review the medical examiner’s findings. Suicide.

  She scans the autopsy report. High levels of cyanide found in his blood. Poison burns inside his mouth. Her hands shake. She turns the page and immediately recognizes Damon’s handwriting. The orderly letters, all capitalized, then his signature. Paper-clipped to the note is a Polaroid. Damon’s lifeless face cocooned inside a black body bag. Nadia slides the picture aside and reads his last words: formal, unemotional. A few sentences meant to exonerate her. An apology to his mother, to his country.

  She closes the file and sets it on the desk.

  Damon may in fact be dead, but she’s certain he didn’t go willingly.

  After the attempt on her father’s life, Secret Service demanded that Libby accept a full-time security detail. Currently, they sit in a parked car along the dusty road leading to the guard gate. Obviously, they’re not helping to maintain the low profile of Desert Mountain Academy, so when Libby receives the summons from Dean Shepard, she knows it can only mean one thing: dismissal. She’s been waiting all semester for this meeting, ever since her daddy announced he was running for president.

  At least he’s alive. That’s really all that matters. And her momma’s happy again—with her own personal bodyguards, she thinks she’s Jackie 0.

  Libby shakes her head, embarrassed by her own selfishness. According to Jack, things look even worse for Simon. The dean found out about his role in tracking Nadia. Shepard doesn’t know the half of it, just that Simon had an unauthorized tracking device that he somehow managed to sneak past security. As far as Shepard’s concerned, that’s enough of an infraction to send him back home. And that’s not sitting too well with Libby.

  After lunch she brushes her hair and reapplies concealer to cover the circles under her eyes. Might as well look good for the execution.

  Outside, the afternoon sky is a clear, brilliant blue. She’s gonna miss the perfect weather. Her friends. Classes. Sensei’s brutal workouts—she’ll even miss Alan. She’ll be sent to some private school, probably near Washington, full of other politicians’ kids: opinionated, spoiled, self-entitled.

  Across the lawn she takes a tissue from her purse and wraps it around the door handle before entering the administration building. Down the tiled hall and through the sitting room, she finds Dean Shepard’s door open.

  “Good afternoon,” Libby says.

  The dean looks up and smiles. “Libby, thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”


  Libby closes the door with her forearm so she doesn’t have to touch the knob and settles into a chair, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. She concentrates on relaxing the muscles in her face.

  “I’ve asked you here to talk about your position at Desert Mountain. Obviously, in light of your father’s campaign, additional measures will have to be taken to ensure that our program remains confidential.”

  Additional measures. Right. Like kicking me out.

  “We must insist that your Secret Service detail remain off campus. I’ve sent a proposal to Director Vincent, head of the CIA. We own quite a bit of land surrounding campus, so my suggestion is that we build several casitas around the external wall. That will provide your agents a 360-degree view, as well as close proximity, but not so close that they’ll interfere with training or the covert nature of our lessons. Obviously, the proposal is also subject to the approval of Secret Service, as your safety is paramount.”

  “Wait—I’m not getting kicked out?”

  The dean laughs. “Kicked out? Of course not. You’re an asset to our program.”

  “I just thought with the high profile—”

  “Libby,” she says. “I don’t think you understand the strong position your father’s candidacy places you in. You’ll be exposed to diplomatic leaders, heads-of-state, prime ministers, presidents, wives, children, ambassadors, attachés….And if your father wins the election, you will have unprecedented access to people, places, and parties that the CIA has never fully infiltrated.”

  A smile spreads across Libby’s face. She’d never thought about it like that.

  “I’ll keep you apprised of our progress, but we should have definite answers within the next few weeks.”

  “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much!”

  “Of course.” Dean Shepard stands, indicating the end of the meeting.

  Libby rises quickly. The dean extends her hand, and Libby barely hesitates before shaking it. “Thank you again.” She starts to leave, but pauses at the door. It’s now or never. “Dean Shepard, might I be able to use a private telephone before I go? I’d like to check on my daddy, but with the hall phones being monitored and him running for office and all….just gets sticky.”

  “I’ll allow it this once, but we can’t make it a regular occurrence. And, naturally, you cannot mention why Secret Service must remain off campus.”

  “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

  “I’ll show you to Ms. McGill’s—the assistant’s office.”

  Libby follows the dean down the hall to the small office off the lobby. She’s thought long and hard about making this call. Bottom line, no matter what happens to her daddy’s chances of becoming president, it’s the right thing to do.

  The dean sets her up and arranges an outside line. After she leaves, Libby dials her daddy’s cell phone.

  “It’s me,” she says as he picks up.

  “Well hey, Shug. Listen, can I call you back? I’m right in the middle of—”

  “No, Daddy. We need to talk now. I need you to do me a favor.” Libby drops the bomb right on his lap. She talks about her daddy’s affair, Simon and his deceased mother, about what her momma said, that’s it’s been confirmed via DNA, the whole shebang. “Now right now, Simon and I are the only ones who know we’re related. Momma doesn’t know about him, and I’m gonna assume you had no idea he even existed. But now that you do, I need you to see to it that he’s allowed to stay here at the Academy.”

  He’s instantly the politician. “Liberty Grace, I am shocked and appalled. Of course I didn’t know—I wouldn’t abandon my own child. Shame on you for thinking it. But I can’t get involved in the administrative operations of my daughter’s government-run boarding school just because she asked me to. How would I explain that? That’s tantamount to abuse of power and ten other things. How’s that gonna look to my constituents?”

  “Daddy,” Libby says with a steady voice. “Apparently, I have failed to make my position clear. Simon stays here with me, or every single voter in the entire country finds out about your illegitimate son, conceived while your poor wife was at home, pregnant and alone. Furthermore, I expect you will insist on creating a scholarship for his college education. And he will be returning home with me during summer break.”

  “I beg your pardon. Are you blackmailing me?”

  Libby’s heart is in her throat. “Yes, Daddy, I believe I am.”

  A full minute of dead silence follows. Sixty seconds is a God-awful long time when you’re waiting on the other end of the line.

  He finally speaks, his voice full of honey. “Of course, sugar. What was I thinking? I would be delighted to help that poor boy. In fact, I won’t take no for an answer. I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it myself.”

  With her sweetest tone, Libby says, “Thank you, Daddy. I just knew I could count on you.”

  Friday night, well after the girls have returned from the evening’s study session, Casey knocks on their bedroom door. “Nadia, Dean Shepard would like to see you in her office.”

  “Now? It’s almost nine.” Nadia locks eyes with Libby and shrugs at her roommate’s questioning look. Shoving her feet into her sneakers, she grabs a sweater from the back of her chair.

  “You want me to walk with you?” Libby asks, even though she’s just changed into her pajamas.

  Nadia shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. Thanks, though. I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

  “If you’re sure.” Libby looks relieved. “Good luck.”

  Nadia cuts across the unlit lawn. The breeze picks up, blowing tendrils of hair across her face. She sprints up the steps of Hopi Hall.

  The interior is lit only by the glowing exit sign hanging in the lobby. After a deep breath, she walks to the sitting room, then on to the dean’s office. She knocks on the closed door.

  “Come in,” Shepard calls.

  As Nadia enters, the dean stands and moves toward her. Behind her, a man rises from one of the guest chairs. He turns around.

  Nadia’s stomach flips as her father says, “Hello, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Shepard says. “It’s good to see you again, James, and send my regards to Zaida.”

  “Of course,” he answers. “And thanks again for the call.” As soon as Shepard steps out and closes the door, he says, “How are you?”

  Nadia narrows her eyes. “How am I? Uh, not great, Dad. If that is, in fact, your real name.”

  He laughs. “That’s cute. Why don’t you sit?”

  “I don’t even know what to say to you!” The anger, confusion, and deep sense of betrayal she’s felt for weeks force themselves to the surface. “Why would you send me here without telling me the truth? Do you think I’m incapable of making my own decisions?”

  “Of course not,” he answers calmly. “You may recall, the true nature of the Academy is never to be discussed beyond these walls. I thought it would be a good fit, and I wanted to protect you. You need to be able to defend yourself if anyone comes for us.”

  His reasonable tone infuriates her. “Why would someone come for us?”

  Her dad withdraws a folded sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his coat. “Before I can explain, you’ll need to sign this nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “It’s the only way Director Vincent would agree to let me talk to you.”

  “Where’s Mom? You didn’t leave her home alone, did you? Roberts is after you, and if he can’t get to me, he’s gonna try her.”

  “Your mother is safe. I can’t tell you any more if you don’t sign.”

  Nadia strides to the desk, snatches a pen from Shepard’s desk blotter, and scribbles her signature across the page.

  “Don’t you want to read it first?”

  “You shot Senator Bishop.” She hisses the accusation.

  “Yes.”

  His honesty catches her off guard. She misses a beat, then asks, “Why?”
/>   “We received credible intel that his life was in danger.”

  “So you shot him?”

  “Well, not me personally.” Her dad smiles. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “Dad.”

  He sighs. “Please, let’s sit down.” She plops into her chair and waits while he gets situated. Finally, he continues. “A few months ago, during an overseas interrogation, the head of Mossad—”

  “Director Cohen,” Nadia interrupts.

  “Yes, Director Cohen.”

  “He’s here.”

  “I know. He and I are old friends. He came to Desert Mountain to watch over our charges until this whole mess could be taken care of.”

  Nadia raises an eyebrow. “Epic fail.”

  Her dad gives her a closed-lipped smile. “Director Cohen received intel through a reliable source that a hit had been ordered on a United States politician. Together, we investigated the specifics. I met with Bishop long before the debate and told him about the threat—along with my plan to keep him safe. Bishop wore a bulletproof vest lined with blood capsules. Our shooter targeted predetermined spots on the vest—not with lethal ammo, I might add. We staged the whole thing.”

  “Why?”

  “So the Nighthawks aren’t aware that we’ve infiltrated their organization. They were left believing that the shooter succeeded in an attempt, but failed at his final mission.”

  Nadia leans back and crosses her arms. “So you know about Desert Mountain. Alan’s grandfather knows….Libby’s dad—”

  “No, Senator Bishop doesn’t know. He’s not CIA. But we should probably brief him before he figures out Libby is rooming with the daughter of his old friend.”

  She scoffs. “So it’s just a coincidence that Libby was recruited?”

  “Of course not. I asked Sloan to look into Libby’s test scores. She’s extremely qualified; I just greased the wheels. I hate to tell you this, but I’m a midlevel employee at best. The CIA makes most of its decisions without consulting me.”

  Nadia shakes her head. “Why would you do that? I thought Senator Bishop was your friend. Not everyone wants this life for their child.”