by Sonja Stone
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Everyone associated with Project Genesis is at risk—therefore, their families are, too. My sole objective was to provide you and Libby with the tools necessary to defend yourselves, even if it’s just a finely honed situational awareness, which you certainly learn by attending the Academy.”
She looks away, considering his words. She wants to trust him—no matter what’s happened, he’s her dad. She sighs and meets his gaze. “I think Bishop knows about Desert Mountain.” Leaning toward him, she says quietly, “I think he hired Damon to destroy the student DNA database.”
Her father frowns. “What makes you think that?”
“Damon initially told me he wanted to destroy it to protect himself against Project Genesis—against Roberts. But then he said someone hired him—he got paid a lot of money. I think Bishop was trying to hide the fact that he’s Simon’s father. It would’ve worked, too, except that Simon entered his own independent DNA sample directly into CIADIS. And that’s not all.” Nadia takes a deep breath, exhales. “I heard Roberts talking—Nightingale is alive. Maggie Pearle is alive.” When her father doesn’t react, she says, “We have to tell Simon.”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. The CIA is planning an operation to get her back, but if it fails….Don’t make Simon go through the pain of losing his mother a second time. It’s cruel, Nadia.” He sits back. “You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“My days of blindly following your orders are over. I want the truth.”
He looks amused. “I don’t recall that you’ve ever blindly followed an order in your life, but if you have something you’d like to discuss, by all means.” He spreads his arms.
She whispers to contain the anger in her voice. “You framed Damon for shooting Bishop—and you tried to use me to do it.”
“First of all, I didn’t frame anyone. I just arranged the fake shooting. And I only did that because I wanted to ensure that Senator Bishop would remain unscathed. Secondly, you need to remember that Damon is a traitor. He was a Nighthawk.”
“But he didn’t do this. You have to clear his name. His mother thinks he tried to kill a senator.”
“We absolutely will not clear his name, and neither will you. My understanding is that Damon committed suicide. And if he hadn’t, he would’ve been executed as a traitor. To a dead man, reputation is irrelevant.”
How can he be so blasé? She studies his face. “How many people have you killed?”
“I’ve never killed anyone,” he says. “I’m not a shooter. I’m an analyst. I gather intel and information. I conduct interviews. I make friends. I advise others on how to diplomatically handle difficult situations. I don’t even own a gun.”
“Everywhere we’ve ever lived, there’s been some mysterious death.”
“People die all the time. Everyone you’ve ever met, everyone you’ll ever meet.”
Nadia shoots him an incredulous look. “Dad.”
He pauses. His brow pulls together. “I used to work as a scout. My job was to investigate threats, determine credibility, then forward my report to Langley. I was in the counter-assassination division.”
Instantly, he looks so vulnerable, so human. It’s clear those deaths weigh on him. Nadia tries to lighten the mood. “Maybe you want to think about switching divisions? Because there are a lot of bodies in our wake.”
He smiles a little and looks up at her. “I prevented a lot too, smart-ass. And I have switched. Someone else can chase the spies. I’m too old.”
“Did you know about Jack Felkin’s senior project?”
“I did.”
“How could you do that to Simon? He deserves to know the truth.”
“I didn’t do anything. I heard about the operation and didn’t object—not that it would’ve mattered if I had. I wanted Simon to have some closure—without destroying a family in the process. If Maggie had wanted her son to know the identity of his father, she would’ve told him.”
“So you had me frame some innocent man who happens to work at Gentech?”
He points to himself. “Again, midlevel employee. And Oliver Westlake is not an innocent man. He’s been selling the identity of undercover operatives living abroad to foreign governments.”
“Oh.” Nadia purses her lips. “Um, you’ll probably want to catch him doing something else, because I didn’t exactly complete that portion of the mission.”
“I am aware,” he says flatly. “And I have to tell you, if you find yourself unable to execute orders because they conflict with your personal beliefs or opinions, you need to find a new calling. At some point in the not-too-distant future, your choices will cease to be belligerent acts of an impetuous young adult, and will instead become treasonous crimes. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Nadia drops her eyes and nods. “Yes. Though I could argue that removing any trace of our presence in that hotel room was the right call. You know, what with the dead body and all.”
“And that is the only reason you haven’t been expelled.”
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, she sits back, relaxes her posture. “Tell me about how you and mom met. The real story.”
Her dad rubs his face and leans back in the chair. “My team was sent to Syria. We’d received intelligence that the head scientist of the Syrian government was developing a next-generation weapon. Our job was to ascertain whether or not the intel was solid. I went in as an American grad student, set up a chance meeting with the mysterious geneticist, Zaida Azar.”
“What?”
He smiles. “Your mother and I fell in love. I disobeyed orders, and we ended up exfiltrating her.”
“Hold on—Mom is the creator of Project Genesis?” Nadia stands and paces the room.
“Why do you think she gave you all those puzzle books? Sent you to math camp? Who goes to math camp, Nadia?” He pauses. “She’s why I wanted you to attend the Academy. Not because of me.”
“She knows about the Academy?”
“Sweetheart, I may be CIA, but I don’t have a death wish. Do you honestly think I would send you here behind your mother’s back? She would kill me.”
Nadia sits back down. “Then why did Roberts come after me and not her?”
“Your mother would give her life before betraying this country, and Roberts knows that. But she wouldn’t give yours.”
“Huh.” Nadia slumps back and shakes her head. “Not in a million years would I have suspected Mom.”
He leans forward and takes her hands. “You need to understand, our early married life was a carefully fabricated legend, but we are now, and have always been, very much in love. And we’ve loved our work.” He shrugs. “It’s not for everyone, and you get to make your own decision about whether or not you’ll continue on with the CIA, but neither of us regret what we’ve done in the service of this country.”
Nadia looks at the carpet. “Dad, I saw my birth certificate. The real one. Are you—”
“Yes, Nadia. I’m your father. We were married in London a few weeks after you were born. Wentworth—Senator Bishop—was there, and Maggie Pearle. After I disobeyed orders and extracted your mother without authorization, we were forced into hiding. Maggie hid us away in an off-books MI-6 safe house while your mom and I created her legend and negotiated terms with the CIA. We rewrote her history. Maggie saved our lives. I owe everything to her.” He looks away for a moment, then back at Nadia. “My actions during that mission put everyone at risk: Bishop, Maggie, Libby, Simon, Director Cohen, Alan, you. If I’d followed protocol, if I hadn’t botched that operation, Bishop and Maggie Pearle never would’ve met. I have a responsibility to ensure that you each have the means to protect and defend yourselves.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart—I wouldn’t have chosen this life for you. But if I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
A warm feeling washes over her. He sounds like her dad again. “That’s why
you got Simon into Desert Mountain, even though it was a risk to Senator Bishop.”
Surprise flashes across his face, then he returns to neutral. He smiles. “You know a lot.”
“Yeah, well. I am a spy.”
Damon’s lifeless body is wheeled to a cold, darkened basement underneath the CIA-run medical center in an unassuming block of Central Phoenix. The medical examiner unzips the black plastic body bag, checks for vitals, takes two Polaroid pictures of his chalky face. She zips the bag and slides the body into cold storage.
* * *
—
Damon’s eyes flutter open. He’s lying on a bed in a dark, windowless room, his hands and legs restrained. It smells antiseptic, like a hospital; latex and rubbing alcohol mixed with pine cleanser. An IV tube is taped to his forearm. As he wakes, he hears the slow, steady beep of his heartbeat on the monitor behind him. A small lamp on a table in the corner casts a golden glow across the torso of a man standing against the wall. He wears a charcoal-gray suit, a lavender dress shirt, a striped purple tie. His face and legs are shadowed. Damon blinks, trying to adjust to the dim lighting.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” the man says. American. No discernible accent.
Damon lifts his head. The back of his skull throbs. “Where’s my mom?” He tests his restraints as discreetly as possible. All solid.
“Witness protection. I saw to it myself.” The man moves forward. He doesn’t look familiar.
“Who are you?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not the one you’ll be speaking with.”
“You want to fill me in?” Damon asks, though he doesn’t particularly care.
“You must be pretty important to merit a visit from the head of the entire division.”
Damon sighs. He’s tired of the games. He doesn’t bother asking what division. The answer would probably be a lie.
The man continues. “I believe you’ve already been in contact. You know him as Mr. Green.”
The door to the room opens, and a man walks in, five-ten, brown hair, closely cropped beard. Damon squints. There’s something familiar….Oh no. “You’re Mr. Green? Are you kidding me?”
He jerks his cuffed hands. “This is total bull. I did exactly what you asked me to—I destroyed the student database.”
“You kidnapped my daughter. I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“How else did you expect me to access the database? Furthermore, if you’d introduced yourself as Jericho, and not Mr. Green, maybe I would’ve done things differently.” Damon rests his head back on the pillow. “If you were trying to keep Nadia from finding out you’re CIA, it’s too late. She already knows.”
A light laugh escapes his lips. “No, no. I wasn’t trying to protect myself. I was looking out for a friend.”
“So you’re here to kill me?” Damon asks.
“Why would I want to kill you?”
“As you mentioned, I kidnapped your daughter. It’s a reasonable response.”
“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to recruit you.” Nadia’s father smiles. “Consider the last few weeks your entrance exam.”
Damon scoffs. He’s heard this before. “Recruit me for what?”
Riley takes a key from his pocket and unlocks the handcuffs. “I run a highly specialized division of black-ops. You might say we’re black black-ops. My unit is called Corpus Opera.”
“Never heard of it.” Damon rubs his wrists.
“That’s because we’re good at what we do. Technically, we don’t exist. But then again, neither do you.” Riley hands him a folder.
Inside Damon finds his death certificate, his autopsy confirming suicide by cyanide pill, and a Polaroid of his dead body. Another photograph clipped to the papers shows his old teammates standing in the desert: Nadia, Jack, Libby, Alan. The new guy. A framed picture of Damon rests on a boulder. “What the hell is this?”
“Your former teammates held a covert memorial for you early this morning.”
Damon’s eyes return to the picture. Nadia’s lighting a candle. A lock of hair hangs along her cheek. He can’t take his eyes off her. “She’s not safe, you know. As long as Roberts is alive.”
“What do you know about wetworks?”
“Your concern for your daughter’s safety is touching.” Damon closes the folder and hands it back. “I know the CIA supposedly doesn’t engage in assassinations. And I know I’m not a killer.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.” Riley’s face is unreadable. “Wetworks isn’t solely elimination. We also provide clean-up services for agents in the field, for situations that…get out of hand. We remove remains, destroy forensic evidence, take care of loose ends.”
His mom thinks he’s dead, his friends think he’s dead. He might as well be dead. He’s been blackmailed, shot at, framed for an assassination attempt, forced to commit suicide, played by both sides. He’s done. “That’s a nice way of saying I’ll either be killing people or disposing of dead bodies. I’m not interested.” Damon closes his eyes.
“Perhaps I’ve been unclear. Your options are to join us and begin a new life, or don’t, and we leak the truth: that you faked your own death. You will be hunted like a dog by every organization until you are caught, tortured, and killed.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“We’ll also kick your mother out of WITSEC.”
Damon opens his eyes. Slowly, the truth dawns on him. Agent Roberts didn’t frame him for the attempt on Bishop’s life. Riley did. “You set me up. You told the CIA I tried to kill Bishop.”
“That is correct.”
The intensity of Riley’s gaze reminds Damon of Nadia. She favors her father. “Why?”
“I just told you why. You tried to kill a man running for president of the United States. You are now wanted by the CIA, the FBI, the Nighthawks, Homeland Security, and every local law enforcement agency in the country.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I know you didn’t. It was me,” Riley says.
“Then why did you frame me?” Damon demands. “Don’t you have a license to kill?”
Riley laughs. “No, I don’t. But more importantly, I don’t want Bishop dead. We found out his life was in danger, and I saw an opportunity. I bid on the contract through back channels and made it look like you were the hired gun. I’ve been interested in you for a while.”
“You shot a man who’s running for president so that you could recruit me? What if you’d missed? What if you’d killed him?”
“My operations are painstakingly thorough. Let’s start with the bombing of the facility in Virginia. I sent an anonymous tip to Bishop that the Nighthawks were responsible. I love him like a brother, but Bishop is a blowhard, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist talking about it. Makes him look like he has inside information, and voters love that in a candidate.”
“Ah,” Damon says. “He’s the one you were trying to protect by destroying the student database. Because as soon as Libby and Simon turn eighteen, their DNA moves from Desert Mountain to CIADIS, a match gets flagged, and everyone learns the truth.”
“See? I knew you were sharp.” Riley nods approvingly. “After I heard about the contract on Bishop’s life and came up with a plan to keep him safe, I knew there was a chance his DNA would be entered into CIADIS. It was a CIA mission, after all. I didn’t want to destroy Bishop’s family.”
“You’re all heart.”
“Hey—I also tried to provide an orphan with closure. Simon was supposed to discover that his father was a deceased CIA operative prior to the student database getting destroyed. If Libby and Simon were both entered into CIADIS, Libby might be led to believe that her father was also a deceased agent by the name of Milo Riazotti, which was the information provided to Simon. I did not count on Simon manually entering his own genetic sequence into the main database, however. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on him.”
“So you’re the one who called me about
my mother being held in Baton Rouge.”
“Guilty as charged. You arrived in Baton Rouge days before someone tried to kill Senator Bishop. It’s not a huge leap to assume it was you. From the moment Bishop stepped onto that stage to the moment you woke up here”—Riley holds his arms out—“my carefully orchestrated production was flawless. Bishop suffered a tiny bruise. My doctors kept him under lock and key long enough to make the public believe it was a serious attempt. And don’t think Bishop won’t leverage that during the election.” He pauses. “I’m telling you this as a lesson. There’s not much I won’t do to get what I want.”
“I’m starting to understand why Nadia has such bad taste in men.”
Riley’s expression doesn’t change. “Back to why you’re here. When the CIA discovered you were the double agent, I checked up on you. You received top-notch training before you arrived at Desert Mountain Academy, but even more impressive are the skills you taught yourself after you lost your brother, before you ever got recruited.”
Damon looks away. He hates when people mention Gabriel.
“The CIA wanted to eliminate you. A recruit who’s actually a double agent? Talk about a black mark on our record. The Nighthawks want you dead. You know too much about their organization. But I saw an opportunity, so I framed you for the assassination attempt. Naturally, your only way out was suicide.”
Damon shakes his head. “Maybe it’s the morphine drip, but I don’t follow.”
“You tried to kill an American presidential candidate. The only way to keep your mother safe was to take your own life, or else she would be hunted and used as a bargaining chip. So now everyone thinks you’re dead. Except for me. Ironically, I saved your life.”
Damon clenches his jaw. He’s so sick of the threats, the blackmail, all of it. “So the soldier who gave me the suicide pill—he wasn’t a Nighthawk?”
“No, he’s one of my guys.”
That’s why he asked me about Nadia. Damon glances at Riley. “So why didn’t your man just kill me? Or pretend to kill me? Why the whole suicide song and dance?”