Miranda shook her head.
Clarissa didn’t know why she felt relief, but she did.
She noticed that Miranda was doing something strange with her hand. Tucking her fingertips under her thumb joint and moving it back and forth over her lap.
Strange woman.
Then she noticed Holly wasn’t watching the others. Or even watching Miranda as she often seemed to do, at least out of the corner of her eye. She was staring right at Clarissa.
Fine.
Let her.
What did she care what the woman thought?
46
Holly had parts of an idea.
The question was could she trust Clarissa Reese?
Drake had lectured all of them that Reese would have a game within a game within a game for every single thing she said, implied, or flat-out lied about.
Holly was plenty familiar with move and countermove tactics. They didn’t serve a field team well. That called for hundred-percent reliability and trustworthiness.
But she didn’t need trustworthy at the moment.
When everyone shifted to their feet, she was caught off guard.
What had she missed?
The film idea should work fine, as well as any other approach to this psychotic mission.
She recalled a few keywords: camera equipment, fake passports, transports. All arranged by the CIA. No one said a word about what would happen after they reached the plane. Jeremy wasn’t mentioned again.
But she’d have to get any real details from Mike or Jon Swift.
As the others headed for the door, Director Clarissa Reese remained in her seat. A statement of power. I don’t need to rise to escort such people out.
Holly stayed in her seat as well.
She could feel Mike hesitate by her chair, but she waved him out. Instead, she just stared at Clarissa and Clarissa stared back at her.
The door swung silently and closed with a soft click.
Holly didn’t have time for waiting games, but she wasn’t ready to speak first.
There was something…
So close…
“You’re thinking very hard there, Ms. Harper.”
“I’m wondering if I can trust you, Ms. Reese.”
“In what way?”
“I know what you’ve done on your way to this new position. The drones, the extreme rendition sites in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I won’t mention the mess in Oman or why a certain Saudi prince fell from high favor and is probably executed by now. Or the sudden exposure of your ex-Vice President’s predilection for juvenile whores—though I’ll personally offer a ‘Well done’ on that.”
Clarissa did no more than arch her eyebrows.
Jeremy had found that Reese’s history at the CIA was cloaked in some very nasty, aggressive code. He’d teamed up with a pair of CIA cyber-specialists that he’d met she-didn’t-want-to-know-where. The three of them had very quietly cracked the shell, pulled a copy, and sealed it back up with no one the wiser.
“I take it this isn’t blackmail or a threat. You aren’t that foolish.”
“No, Ms. Reese. I just like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“As do I. Blow up any bridges lately, Ms. Harper?”
It took all of her training to reveal nothing of that gut punch. Holly allowed herself a ghost of a smile in response.
Of course, Clarissa would have long since had their whole team investigated.
She didn’t trust herself to speak yet.
“We have a problem,” a voice spoke up behind her.
Holly spun around to see Mike leaning with his back against the closed door. She wanted to chew him out, slap him down, or…something.
He moseyed forward until he was once again sitting in the chair beside Holly.
And she was so glad to see him.
Clarissa was infinitely slippery, but Mike was off-tap good with people, maybe he would know how to finish this clusterfuck she’d started. Holly had been dumber than a dipstick for trying this on her own—in so far over her head that all she was drawing up was mud deep enough to drown in. And the crushing blow of that image she couldn’t hide.
She didn’t give a damn what Clarissa saw, but Mike? She’d rather he didn’t—
He was looking right at her. With sympathy.
“Worse than the ‘Team’ ghost?” His whisper so soft it barely reached her. Clarissa strained forward but her frown said she’d missed it.
Holly could only nod.
Mike didn’t react. Instead he turned back to Clarissa. “Our problem is that we need a person…squelched.” Of course, Mike had understood perfectly why Holly had stayed behind.
There had to be a way to take out Elayne / Elizaveta. But Zaslon operators were invisible, disappearing into the endless anonymity of the trackless wasteland between one black op and the next. This mission to grab the Persona satellite might be their one chance to get ahead of her.
“And you want to borrow an SOG asset?” Clarissa sneered.
“No. That’s not the kind of mission that Miranda can ever be a part of. No wetwork. No assassins.”
Again Holly stared at him in surprise.
“That’s the old you, Holly. Not the new you,” Mike said it with far more surety than she felt.
She wasn’t so sure herself, but she liked the way it sounded when Mike said it.
“However, as I mentioned, we have a problem.”
“This person?” Clarissa asked, all sweetness.
“No,” Holly finally found her voice. “You. I expect that this total bitch is someone you’d very much like to meet.” Two pit vipers of a kind. Dead-set real they’d be hell together if they teamed up.
She had to trust Clarissa to handle Elayne. But did she dare take the risk of even introducing them?
Mike folded his hands neatly in his lap. “We want a very simple arrangement. You can deal with her, but you cannot make a deal with her. Because if you do…” His shrug conveyed far more threat about ruining Clarissa’s future than anything Holly could ever say.
Mike wasn’t good. He was amazing.
47
“What was that about?” Jon asked Holly as they walked to the helipad in front of the CIA headquarters.
Miranda stayed close enough to listen. She knew that Holly didn’t like Director Reese, therefore, remaining behind was an unusual action.
Holly merely shook her head and climbed aboard.
As they lifted off the well-groomed green square just above the Potomac, Drake placed a call.
“Have the jets ready to launch in five minutes and have a car waiting for me. Four passengers.” He hung up and turned to speak to Lizzy.
Miranda turned to Holly and Jon.
She reached out to take both of their hands. It wasn’t like her to do that, but this time she wanted the connection.
“I want you two to be careful.”
“Yes, Mom,” Holly smiled.
But Jon took it seriously. “Yes ma’am. I have no intention of not coming back.”
“Good. Remember, you’ll be flying an Antonov AN-124 below two hundred feet. With a wingspan eighteen feet longer than the C-5 Galaxy. Normally that wouldn’t matter, but with a total wingspan of two-hundred-and-forty feet—one-twenty per side—that places your wingtip at only eighty feet above the ground in a hard bank. And it places your other wing above three hundred. Fly as level as you can. Slow turns.”
She held up her hand with the thumb out and rested her other forefinger across it like a wing. Tilting her little mock plane side-to-side had her forefinger tipping low, then high.
“That’s good, Miranda. That’s really good. Thanks for the reminder.”
Miranda saw a small shudder run along Jon’s arm.
“Are you sure about this, Jon?”
“Yes. It’s just…big.”
Holly nodded. “The trick to any special operation is to remain both focused and loose. Focus on the next step, but stay loose enough to be flexible and appear natural. Y
ou can plan a whole mission ahead of time, but you can’t let yourself picture it. If it becomes this large, any preconceptions fixed in your mind limit your ability to react. There’s never been a spec-op that went a hundred percent, mate.”
“Yes,” Miranda had always liked Holly’s ability to explain things. “It’s like a crash.”
They both eyed her strangely.
“You can’t just see the cause of a plane crash. You have to build it in layers, approach it a piece at a time.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry,” Jon made a show of wiping sweat from his unsweaty brow. “I was just channeling my ancestor.”
“Your ancestor’s story,” Miranda saw it now. “Picturing it like a crash is opening the door to the land of the Lilliputians. Picturing a crash investigation is perhaps a more proper analogy.”
The helicopter was already descending toward the airfield.
Drake turned to them. “You abort at the least problem. I’m not happy sending in a civilian and a crash investigator, whether or not you’re in the Air Force.”
“Any better ideas, General?”
“Go to hell, Major Swift.”
“Part of the mission plan. Yes sir, Uncle!” Jon saluted him sharply.
Instead of Drake getting angry as Miranda expected, he smiled. “Just bring both of you back in one piece and we’ll declare this to be a success. Anything else you get is a bonus.”
48
“Reese.” Clarissa answered the phone without even thinking to look at it.
“Hey, honey.” Clark was the only one she let get away with that endearment—or any endearment. “Something’s come up at the White House. Roy wants me to join him.”
“Social?” She really didn’t have time for that right now.
“No. He’s inviting me into a briefing. Wants to keep his Vice President in the loop rather than out of it.”
“Good.” That was very good. Also, she needed the evening free, and only now realized how disappointed he’d be if she canceled on him. It was better this way.
“You’re not upset about us missing tonight?” He actually worried about such things.
“Are you moving out before tomorrow night?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll make up for it tomorrow night. Twice over.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“We could even make a habit of it.” Clarissa winced. She usually played Clark better than that.
“Absolutely.” Did he understand that meant marriage?
“I’ll have to decide whether to put Second Lady or D/CIA on my business card,” she kept her tone light.
“Do both!”
That had her glancing toward DC in surprise. Vice President Clark Winston was out there somewhere being…supportive. Not telling her to choose the wife-life because he and his position were what was important. But to be wife, Second Lady, and D/CIA.
“You’re the best, Clark. Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
“Um…”
And for one second, a chasm was ripped into her world. Clark had just said such a wonderful thing—and now there was a catch? She’d fucking kill the man with her own bare hands.
“I, ah, didn’t mean to propose over the phone. I meant to do that in person.”
“Oh.” Clarissa caught her breath, momentarily unsure how to proceed. She’d sworn to never, ever let a man control her emotions again. She’d almost let herself really care about Clark, and would have to be much more vigilant in the future.
Yet the image of Clark proposing formally… It was a nice image. One that should happen publicly with a newsie tipped-off to be there.
“You still there, Clarrie? Sorry if I upset you.”
“I’m still here. And you can make it up to me by doing it properly next time we’re together, maybe over a dinner at Komi tomorrow before we go to your new house. A girl likes to have her moment.” And where had that come from? She was sounding like a bad movie.
“Deal! Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Go help President Cole; go learn from him. It’s still my first day, so I have some things here I really should see to. I’m not too disappointed.” She gave his ego the win.
“Perfect. Come home whenever you’re done.”
‘Home’ was another word that had lost all meaning years ago. Mom had made one, Dad had destroyed it. And she hadn’t had one at all since she was sixteen and had helped dear old dad depart this life. She had a nice condo, but ‘home’ was just another lie.
“Now that you’re Vice President, perhaps we shouldn’t shack up until we’re engaged.”
“Ring’s in my pocket.” Again the good man. She wasn’t used to that. Maybe never would be.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now go.”
And he went.
Which left Clarissa in her office staring out into the darkness.
Clark, and whatever these stray feelings were, constituted the least of her concerns tonight. Time to shake all that off.
A Persona satellite.
She couldn’t believe that they were actually going for it. It was mad, audacious, and potentially a massive intelligence coup with zero risk for the CIA—all on her first day.
Every arrangement that could be made, was made.
A Turkish charter company—a very discreet one that she’d had occasion to use before—would fly the team directly from Warsaw to Samara. The team would land at the international airport and get a cheap taxi to Bezymyanka Airport. The Turkish jet would be out of Russian airspace before the team even reached the Progress Rocket Space Centre to begin their fake interviews.
If they didn’t get the flight—and weren’t apprehended—the Turks could double back to fetch them.
She reviewed the plan they’d hashed out several times to be sure, but she’d missed nothing.
Everything that had been discussed was in place.
At least everything discussed in the group session.
There was still the proposal from Holly and Mike.
They’d left it to her as an option but Mike had made one thing very clear. If Clarissa did decide to do it, she’d have to play it one hundred percent the way they had mandated.
His threat if Clarissa didn’t had been as clear as it was unspoken.
Had the threat come from Holly, Clarissa might have dismissed it. But from Mike it was a far more calculated threat. And they were each other’s surety: one on the mission, the other under Drake’s wing on the way to the White House.
Screw up in any way and Clarissa’s past would be tomorrow’s headlines. She’d lose the D/CIA, Second Lady, and eventual First Lady titles. It might even bring down Clark. Which, this close to the election and having just lost his first VP, would put Cole out of office as well.
It didn’t matter where or how Holly had gotten her information; it was wholly accurate. If it all came out, the Saudis, Iraqis, and Afghanis would put out a hit on her—at the very least. Perhaps even the CIA, despite her being the director.
But, if she was instrumental in such an intelligence coup on her first day in the chair, she could ram it down every CIA department director’s throat and several Senators who’d voted against her until they choked on it.
Holly’s threat was real, so if she played Holly’s game, she’d have to play that part of it straight.
Yet, it would be a hell of a game.
49
Gregor Federov woke up in his favorite place, tangled up with Vesna.
Only occasionally did she spend nights with him outside the club. But they were becoming more frequent, twice this month, and the month wasn’t over yet.
But what had woken him wasn’t the lovely Vesna. She slumbered soundly beside him.
His cell phone vibrated loudly on the nightstand.
He snatched it up before it could rouse her.
“Ty ne znayesh', kotoryy chas?” He asked, because he had no idea what time it was. Just dark.
“Hey, Monster.”
“Hey, Beastmaste
r. I was just having a dream about…” Two dogs and a horse dying in the mud of the Siberian village he’d never expected to escape? Thankfully the dream faded fast. “…never mind.”
Hearing from Clarissa Reese twice in a single night was… He was going to say unusual, but he often didn’t hear from her twice in six months. That meant—
He switched to English as Vesna shifted in her sleep and snuggled up against his back. “Oh, did that tidbit turn out to be something interesting?”
“Yes,” Clarissa’s tone was pleasant, but businesslike. Definitely not a late-night sex call. He pulled back the phone enough to glance at it. Four a.m. Evening in DC.
By her continued silence, he wondered if he’d missed something.
“Very interesting,” Clarissa finally continued.
“You know I don’t—”
“Get involved, Monster? Yes, I know that.”
“Okay.” He’d been worried there for a moment. He didn’t mind passing on the smallest bits and pieces for amusement, but he wasn’t going to be some deep mole who had his skin flayed from his body in some secret prison either. The old specters of Stalin and the KGB still loomed large in the modern Russian psyche.
“But I was wondering if you could do a small favor for me.”
“What kind of a favor?”
“I need you to whisper something into someone’s ear.”
“Yours?” He considered whispering a few very suggestive somethings right now. But with Vesna sleeping against his back, he reluctantly decided against it.
“No. Where is that lovely creature you showed me earlier?”
Gregor shifted, but didn’t answer.
“Ah, she’s there with you. Well done, Monster.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I want to have something whispered into her ear. In fact, why don’t you hand her the phone?”
“She’s asleep.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Monster.”
“Vesna?” he asked softly over his shoulder.
Condor Page 17