Once Burned, Twice Spy

by Diane Henders

  “True. Thank you, dear. That could have been… an unfortunate situation; although despite our reluctance to divulge our covers unnecessarily, your chain of command would have communicated with our chain of command. We are working for the same side, after all.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “I’m having a hard time keeping track of all the sides.”

  Karma’s deep voice broke in. “You said you might have been compromised. How?”

  I couldn’t tell them about Nora. Or that I’d infiltrated the Department’s top-secret network using classified technology to read all their reports.

  “I found out…” I began. My throat tightened with fear and I fought to hold my voice level as I continued, “…that I might be carrying embedded mental programming from… um… an old mission. Last night after I had met with a contact, that contact was discovered unconscious only a short time later. She had been shot up with ketamine.”

  I didn’t bother to add the part about leaving Ian unconscious in his room. No wonder poor Stemp had gotten suspended for handing me top-secret technology right before I apparently went rogue and attacked our allies.

  “Did you do it?” Karma asked.

  “N-No… I don’t think so…”

  I ground the heel of my hand between my eyebrows. Nora had been fine when I left. I hadn’t even gone near her. I’d gone straight out the door.

  Hadn’t I?

  “I don’t remember doing it,” I added. “But earlier in the day I’d gotten shot with a ketamine dart myself, and the dart that was found on my contact was the same type. According to my latest intel, everybody thinks I injected myself as a ruse and then attacked my contact later, but I think somebody else is framing me. But… I don’t know for sure.”

  “So you are hiding from everyone, including your own chain of command.” Moonbeam summed up the situation succinctly. “Don’t you trust them? Surely they want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do.”

  “Um… yeah… maybe…”

  No way to explain that Stemp himself might end up gunning for me if he found out that my mind might not be my own.

  I went on, “But the U.S. was demanding my extradition yesterday, and this morning I found out the U.K. is now fighting to have me extradited to them instead. So my chain of command is under a lot of pressure and I don’t trust them not to just chuck me in prison as soon as I surface.”

  “Sounds like you’ve stirred up something big, girlie.” Skidmark’s thready smoker’s rasp floated over the line.

  I sighed. “Yeah. I’m not sure whether everybody involved is crooked, or whether there’s just so much at stake that they’re all playing dirty. I don’t even know if they’re all conspiring to take me down, or whether I’m just caught in a three-way crossfire. I sure as hell don’t trust any of them; and now I don’t even know if I can trust myself.”

  “What makes you think that you might be responding to mental programming?” Karma asked. “Are you having memory problems? Cognitive difficulties?”

  “N… No. I don’t think so. The ketamine did a number on me yesterday, but I’m okay now.”

  “Are there any blocks of your time unaccounted for?” he persisted. “Have you found yourself somewhere without any idea why you’re there? Any unusual bruises or marks on your body, or stains on your clothing that seem to have appeared for no reason?”

  “No.” My blood chilled all over again. “But… if somebody had planted some secret command in my brain… could I have injected myself? And my… contact? Without knowing about it?”

  “Current medical research and opinion agrees that it’s not possible to hypnotize or ‘program’ an innocent person to commit acts that are contrary to their fundamental beliefs…” I was drawing a breath of profound relief when Karma continued, “But…”

  “But what?” My voice cracked.

  “An unscrupulous expert might be able to instil a set of beliefs that would make it seem as though violent or criminal acts were the only choice remaining to a person in order to avert worse consequences. For example, if a person subconsciously believed a loved one would be harmed unless they acted, they might carry out actions contrary to their basic nature. And…” His voice softened. “It would be easier to convince a person who was already conditioned to committing dangerous or deadly acts.”

  I bit down on the whimper that tried to escape as Karma went on, “The complexity of the actions makes it unlikely; but it is theoretically possible that you could have procured the drug, prepared the darts, and injected yourself and your contact, all while suppressing the memory of doing so. All those actions are within your skill set as an agent, and if you subconsciously believed they were necessary…” He trailed off, leaving me clenching my phone in a trembling grip.

  Sam would have had the skill to program me. And he’d had unlimited access to my mind for years.

  I sank my head into my hands. “Oh, God.”

  Chapter 30

  “You need somebody to watch you twenty-four-seven,” Skidmark said. “Can your boys help you?”

  My heart yearned to throw myself into Kane’s and Hellhound’s arms and let them watch over me.

  I clenched my teeth. Not an option. That would be the first place Holt would look.

  “No. The agent in charge knows we’re friends so he’s probably already got them under surveillance. As soon as I try to contact them, I’m toast.”

  “Not if they’re half-decent agents,” Skidmark scoffed. “You must have contact protocols you can use.”

  “Arnie’s not an agent, and I don’t have any secret way to contact him.” I sighed. “I have a code that would work with John, but he isn’t an agent anymore, either.”

  “So what? You don’t lose all your skills as soon as you quit.”

  “But you lose interest in putting yourself in danger when you have a new son,” I countered.

  “Sunstar Desert Hawk has a new baby?” Moonbeam’s voice was filled with delight. “How wonderful! …oh.” She hesitated. “And you are not the mother. I’m sorry, dear; does that mean you and he are no longer…?”

  “His son is six years old. Long story. And we’re still… um, friends. But… speaking of that… how long does it take to have a DNA test done?”

  “A couple of weeks,” Karma replied. “Why, do you have reason to question his son’s parentage?”

  “No, this is for something else.”

  I swallowed my disappointment. Two weeks. Nora had probably known that when she offered me her hairs as ‘proof’.

  “We’re wasting time,” Skidmark broke in. “Moonbeam and Karma need to stay here so our kid doesn’t get suspicious, but he’ll be glad if I’m gone. I can come down and help you.”

  My heart lifted with momentary hope, then plummeted again. Would Skidmark be able to stop me if I started to carry out a command without knowing what I was doing? He was an experienced agent, deadly in hand-to-hand combat… or he used to be. But now, with age and emphysema sapping his strength, could he still overpower me?

  Or, hell, could he even defend himself? My blood went cold. What if I was programmed to carry out my instructions at any cost? What if I killed him?

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to take a chance on involving you,” I said. “You’re there to visit Charles, not rescue me. And I don’t want you to risk your cover.”

  “So you’re just gonna keep wandering around like a loose cannon and hoping for the best? That’s a shit strategy.”

  “But…”

  “Tell me where to meet you,” he urged.

  “Skidmark, no! I’m not going to involve you.”

  “Then you deserve to be hanged for treason.”

  A gutpunch of hurt stopped my breath, but my old defensive shields snapped up an instant later.

  “Well, thanks.” My voice came out cold and level. “Nice talking to you. ’Bye.”

  As I lowered the phone from my ear their urgent voices crackled through the speaker, the gist of the garbled chorus translat
ing to, “Wait! Don’t hang up!”

  I hesitated.

  Fuck them. I had enough worries without my so-called friends stabbing me in the back.

  “We have critical intel! Do not hang up!” Moonbeam’s steely voice had so much command in it that I raised the phone to my ear again almost involuntarily.

  “I’m here,” I said flatly. “What.”

  Moonbeam’s voice softened. “Thank you, dear. Skidmark was being unnecessarily-”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Skidmark interrupted. “Sorry, Storm. I’ve been doing this mean-old-man cover for so long I sometimes forget to turn it off.”

  Still trembling with reaction, I hid my emotions in a dispassionate tone. “Okay. What’s your intel?”

  A lengthy pause on the other end of the line sent cold fear skittering down my spine. Had they been attacked?

  “Moonbeam? Karma? Skidmark? Are you okay?” My voice rose to a near-shout.

  “We’re fine. Sorry.” Skidmark’s voice softened, and he repeated, “Sorry, Storm. We lied. We don’t have any intel; we were just trying to get you to stay on the line. What I was trying to say was that if you think you might be compromised it’s your duty to accept any help and protection you can get, even if it’s from a crabby old fart like me. I wouldn’t have barked at you if I wasn’t so damn worried about you. Let me help, Storm. Please.”

  The unprecedented gentleness in his wheezy voice made my eyes fill, and I blinked back the moisture and swallowed hard. “Damn you, old man…”

  I knew he was right. It was dangerous and irresponsible for me to wander around not knowing what I might do.

  But what if I harmed him? I could never forgive myself.

  “Is that a yes?” he prompted.

  I let out a breath of resignation, my heart aching. “Yes. Take my car, it’s got all-wheel drive. It’s a blue Subaru Legacy, parked in the Sirius Dynamics lot in Silverside. The spare keys are in the kitchen drawer and the registration is in its glove box. Meet me at the popcorn stand in Market Mall at one o’clock. And…” I swallowed again. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, girlie.” He gave one of his wheezy chuckles. “You’re gonna end up kissing me yet.”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “I could kiss you right now.” Then I added teasingly, “But I’m pretty sure the moment will have passed by the time you get here.”

  “Sure, sure,” he groused. “Story of my life.”

  “Thank you for accepting our help, Storm Cloud Dancer,” Moonbeam said softly. “We are very fond of you, and we feel privileged by your trust.”

  “Thanks. I’m really fond of you, too.” My voice wobbled despite my efforts to hold it steady.

  Moonbeam mercifully changed topics, her tone becoming brisk. “There is one more thing. Your cell phone has been vibrating frequently. Would you like me to check your messages?”

  “Yes, please.” Thankful for the return to business, I gave her the security passcode and added, “It’s probably just agents hoping I’ll pick up so they can trace me; but it might be Nichele. She and Dave are getting married tomorrow, and I’m her matron of honour…”

  A giant lump blocked my throat. Holt knew Nichele and I were best friends. There was no way I’d be able to attend the wedding. I’d be lucky to be alive by then; and even if by some miracle I wasn’t dead, showing up would probably cost my life, or worse, Nichele’s or Dave’s.

  I was going to miss my best friend’s one and only wedding.

  “Blaze Featherwind has decided to trust in love after all? What wonderful news!” I could imagine Moonbeam’s radiant smile, and it made me feel even worse.

  “Yeah,” I muttered as I trailed to a halt at the next bus stop and flopped onto the icy bench.

  “Oh, Storm Cloud Dancer.” The joy had gone out of Moonbeam’s voice, and her words vibrated with sympathy. “How very difficult for you.”

  “I can’t even text her because she’ll be under surveillance,” I mumbled miserably. “I told her I was going to be away on business and I might not be able to answer her messages, but I feel like the shittiest friend ever.”

  “Oh, my dear. I wish I could offer some comfort…” Moonbeam hesitated. “Perhaps… If she is texting you, would you like me to respond? I could be vague enough that she wouldn’t guess it wasn’t you, and at least she would feel as though you hadn’t…”

  She trailed off tactfully without finishing, ‘abandoned her’.

  I considered. Moonbeam knew both Nichele and me. And she was such a good agent she could probably fake it even if she didn’t know either of us.

  “Would you?” I asked. “I hate to lie to her, but…”

  The words stuck in my throat. I lied to Nichele every single time we talked.

  “I’ll be pleased to impersonate you,” Moonbeam replied briskly. “And when the agents arrive to find out who is texting Blaze Featherwind from your phone, I’ll confess immediately and tell them you asked me to do so when you gave me your cell phone at the airport. Now I see a vehicle approaching, so we must go. May the Earth Spirit guide and protect you, dear.”

  She hung up.

  I removed the battery from my burner phone before dropping both items into the garbage can, then stood jittering beside the bus shelter.

  Shit, who was arriving at my farm?

  Stemp, with an explanation of his suspension that would conflict with the story I’d just spun?

  Holt, who would ruthlessly interrogate them? Dammit, Holt was too good an agent not to question why three seventy-plus people would be wandering around outside in thirty-below weather. And when he checked their phones, he would find call records from the same anonymous number only seconds apart, along with one that had ended only moments ago.

  I shot an anxious glance up and down the deserted street. If Holt accessed their call records, the Department could triangulate my location from the cell towers.

  No; Stemp’s parents were too good to let that happen. They had probably pitched their phones into a snowbank already.

  But what if the unknown visitor was neither Stemp nor Holt? What if it was some new enemy? One with an automatic weapon who would slaughter three elderly people without a second thought…

  The bus pulled up, and I shoved my gruesome imaginings aside and climbed aboard.

  It was a long slow ride through a series of residential neighbourhoods, and I kept my hood up and face tilted down behind my scarf. At last the bus emerged onto a busier thoroughfare, and I slumped with relief as more people got on. Soon the loop would return me to my motel.

  About time, too. I was exhausted, and my breakfast was nothing but a fond memory. My stomach growled.

  I dug into my parka pockets, hoping I’d stashed a cereal bar in there, but found only the bottle of water I’d bought the previous evening.

  God, only a little over twelve hours ago. It felt like a lifetime.

  Well, water was better than nothing. I opened the bottle and drank. When I tucked it back into my pocket, my fingers encountered an unfamiliar shape. Smooth but yielding, like a little bag of sand.

  Frowning, I drew out the object. It was a small clear plastic bag, but I couldn’t identify the contents. The bag was heavy for its size, filled with greyish powder.

  What the hell?

  I hadn’t packed that.

  As I stared at the bag, horrible suspicion oozed into my mind and my hands began to tremble.

  That looked a hell of a lot like a little bag of metal powder.

  Approximately the amount that would be generated if two short lengths of rebar were reduced to their elements…

  My pulse picked up, my heart rattling my ribs.

  How long had it been in my pocket? And who had put it there?

  My parka had been in the coatroom in the secured facility. Anybody could have tampered with it there.

  Including me. What if I had been programmed to steal the bacteria and metal powder? And to inject myself with ketamine as a distraction?

  But I ha
d passed our lie detector test. It had confirmed that I hadn’t injected myself, dammit. If I’d had no memory of whether or not I’d injected myself, the lie detector should have flashed yellow.

  Unless fake memories gave off the same brainwaves as real memories…

  I shook my head vigorously, generating a questioning look from the woman beside me. Giving her a feeble excuse for a smile, I put the bag gingerly back in my pocket and switched to worrying about it instead.

  Should I throw the bag away? Or keep it as evidence?

  But what if the only fingerprints on it were my own? That evidence would just send me to prison faster.

  I couldn’t have stolen it from the secured facility. I hadn’t had time. I had collected my team and pushed them through the smoke toward the door.

  Hadn’t I?

  My memories flickered tauntingly just beyond my grasp.

  Surely I hadn’t had time to run to the front of the room, bag the powder, run to the coatroom and put the bag in my pocket, and then run back to my team. And wouldn’t I have remembered doing at least some of that?

  Nausea twisted my guts. Not if I’d been programmed not to remember.

  But that just didn’t make sense. Sam was long dead. He couldn’t possibly have foreseen the situation unfolding the way it did, so he couldn’t have given me such specific instructions.

  But Nora could have.

  My heart sank.

  Shit.

  Had she delivered instructions to me secretly at the meet-and-greet? Was I programmed to obey her no matter what she commanded, and forget our conversation afterward? That would have been an easy instruction for Sam to embed in my brain.

  Cold chills chased themselves down my spine and I shivered convulsively.

  No, that was too creepy to contemplate. There had to be another explanation.

  Somebody else must have planted the bag in my pocket under the cover of the smoke.

  But the whole area had been searched with metal detectors while I had been unconscious. Surely they would have searched the coatroom, too. If the metal powder had been in my pocket, they would have found it.

  Hell, maybe Nora had planted it on me last night. She could have walked into Ian’s room while we were both unconscious and put the bag in my pocket. Was that why Ian had tranked me, the bastard? So they could frame me?