After a few additional minutes to steel himself, Boone finally made his way to the bathroom. He ran cold water into a sink so dingy that he wouldn’t want to actually touch the faux porcelain basin with any part of his anatomy. When he finally leaned forward to splash water on his face, his body surprised him by relieving itself of his stomach’s contents, without any warning at all.
Several minutes later, Boone finished sloshing water around the sink and making short work of his own mess. When he finally splashed cold water across his sweaty flesh, it felt better than he could’ve imagined. And while his stomach continued to buck and twist, he no longer considered it a danger. The nausea had been replaced by an acidic burn that he could feel all the way up the back of his throat, but at least the twisting and churning was coming under control.
Looking in the mirror, he was surprised at what he saw. Though he’d just rinsed his face, it was dappled in sweat once more. Dark, half-circles of pure exhaustion hung under his eyes, and he looked pale. Ghostly pale.
“Definitely not as young as I used to be,” he mumbled, as he stumbled back to the bed. It was the only place to sit in the horrible little room.
Sitting once more on the end of the bed, Boone considered what little he could recall from the previous night. Cyrus said that Voss was further along on the project than they had anticipated. He wondered how that might factor into the grand scheme of things. Certainly the mission hadn’t gone according to plan, but it wasn’t as far afield as Cyrus believed, either. Though he didn’t know it, Cyrus was only a component in a much larger plan.
Working the larger operation through his mind once more, Boone wondered how Cyrus would react if he knew what was really going on. He wouldn’t approve, of that much he was certain. But what if he knew what was truly at stake? The kid was rational, if nothing else. A case could certainly be made…
Shaking his head, Boone pushed the thought from his mind. It would never work. No matter how well intentioned, mistakes had been made and there was no way to sugarcoat or justify what had happened two decades earlier. And since he couldn’t change that, Boone knew he had no choice but to move forward. Collateral damage was always a risk. As long as Cyrus remained ignorant, he would remain a powerful asset.
Yet, the number one risk to the mission had always been Cyrus. Boone had known it from day one, but he’d kept the assessment to himself. If Cyrus knew the truth he wouldn’t participate. And depending on how much he knew, he might actively oppose the operation altogether.
A chill ran down Boone’s spine at the thought. His young protégé had a knack—a gift—for problem solving. There was a very good chance he might find out what was really going on, and if that happened, not even Boone knew how he might react.
Sitting there, Boone realized that his mind had wandered. He was finding it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts were haphazard and his body ached. He was experiencing pain in the most unusual of places. It was then he noticed he’d been scratching a patch of dry skin on his right shoulder. When he turned his head to look, a sharp pain lanced through his skull.
Grinding his teeth, he made his way back to the bathroom. Flipping the switch for the overhead light, the bulb flickered slowly before filling the room with a blinding yellow glow. The sudden burst of illumination carried a stabbing jolt of pain directly into his brain. The effect was so severe that it sucked the breath from his lungs.
Rolling back the short sleeve of his shirt, Boone examined his shoulder in the mirror. The patch of scaly skin was plainly visible, its texture entirely different from rest of his arm. At the center of the small section of dry skin was a tiny, circular bruise. Inside of that was a nearly microscopic red dot.
Boone stared at the image reflected in the mirror longer than would normally have been necessary thanks to his weakened condition. As the seconds ticked by, his mind flashed back to his conversation with Cyrus. Flu-like symptoms…a virus used as a delivery vehicle…neuropeptide tag…
Voss’s memory tag…
Cyrus was on to him.
Chapter 25
The Voss Compound
9:15 am
Setting the acoustic guitar beside her on the bed, Natasha leaned forward and showed Cyrus how to adjust his fingering for the next chord. Cyrus held a guitar that was similar to her own, though hers was an antique that she was normally reluctant to take from its case. It had been given to her by her father on her sixteenth birthday, and had once belonged to rock legend, Buddy Holly.
“There, just like that,” she said. She sat back on the bed and once more took up her own guitar to mirror the chord she was teaching Cyrus.
They’d been making slow progress, moving through the song as she instructed him. It was a bittersweet experience since they had shared Sunday mornings doing exactly the same thing, years earlier. And while the music came much more naturally to her these days, at the moment it felt more clumsy and challenging than ever. She was distracted by warm memories of past shared moments, and isolated by thoughts of the present and far too many words left unsaid.
Still, there was one thing that hadn’t changed. Jonny—well, Cyrus—that much had changed—was a quick study. She needed only to show him each position on the guitar once, twice at most, and he had committed the mechanics of each chord to memory. It never took long to teach him a song. His vise-like grip on memories never ceased to amaze her. But for as quickly as he could learn a new song, he still had to play it repeatedly before gaining a truly natural appreciation for the flow of the rhythms. Until that time, he was like a robot executing a pre-programmed series of commands. It took time and repetition for him to gain an organic sense for any tune. Even then, he had no ability to improvise and play a more ad-hoc or free form version of any given piece.
It wasn’t long before they completed the song’s final notes. When Cyrus’s eyes met hers and she saw his smile, she knew what he was thinking. She offered a slight nod and they both launched into their first complete pass of Nirvana’s All Apologies, singing and playing in unison without any breaks.
By the time they finished, they were both laughing. Natasha knew Cyrus shared her pride in their accomplishment. It felt just like old times. It felt good in a way she had long forgotten. But once the laughing was through, they sat there in silence. They stared at each other over the tops of their guitars, sitting on Natasha’s bed in a windowless room in the high security fortress that was her home.
Maybe the good old days weren’t so easily revisited.
“I thought—.” she stopped. The words were clumsy and more difficult than she expected them to be. “I thought you might come to my room when you got back last night.”
Ah!
In her mind, she’d known exactly what she wanted to say. But when she opened her mouth and that tumbled out, she knew the rest of what she needed to express was only going to be more difficult. She stared down at the guitar cradled in her lap. It was a rarity for her not to meet his eyes, but she didn’t know what to do or say next.
“I’m sorry about that,” Cyrus said quietly. “I wanted to.”
He stopped short, and she looked up. She sensed there was more. He was having trouble finding the words, as well. At least she wasn’t alone in that.
“Things didn’t go as well as I’d hoped with my friend,” Cyrus continued. “I wasn’t feeling very good about it, and I sort of just needed to be alone.”
Natasha could see the truth of the statement in his eyes. They clouded with pain when he thought about the events of the previous night. She wanted to ask what happened, but it was a simple question that would never work. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Pushing never helped. She could never get anything out of him until he was ready to talk, so she settled for asking, “Will things work themselves out?”
Cyrus shrugged. “I’ll find out soon, I guess.”
Whatever it was, she could see he didn’t feel good about it. For as well as she knew him, she still couldn’t grasp the emotion she was seeing on hi
s face. He wasn’t angry. If anything, he seemed troubled…or disappointed.
Not sure where to go from there, Natasha decided to drop the matter and move on to what was on her mind. It would either make things better or worse—she had no idea which. But she had questions that needed answers, and the longer Cyrus stayed near, the more she wanted him to remain a part of her life. She fought a nagging question specific to what had brought him back to her. It was time to get an answer.
“What do you know about Lamplighter?” Natasha asked bluntly.
When Cyrus’s eyes met hers, she knew there was recognition there. More than that, she knew she’d struck a nerve. But he was slow to respond. She could see him weighing his response, deciding what to say or how to say it.
“I know you,” Natasha said. “Don’t weigh it—this isn’t the time to hold back. If I mean anything to you, you need to tell me what you know. This is important.”
Taking a deep breath, Cyrus set the guitar aside. “I’ll tell you what I know, but then you have to do the same. You may or may not know it, but it’s a big deal—and just knowing that name could put you in a world of danger.”
Choking on a breath, Natasha was afraid to respond. Afraid that her words would betray her need to understand, and her fear for what she might learn. She nodded her agreement, all the while entirely certain that those fears were plainly visible in her eyes.
“I’d never heard of Lamplighter before a couple of weeks ago,” Cyrus explained. “Then a case file was dumped in my lap. Some pretty powerful people were getting a little nervous about the technology your father was developing, and they wanted to keep an eye on his progress. The problem was the level of security surrounding your father, his lab, and his work. While they knew what he was working on, they had no idea how far along he was, or how feasible the project was.”
Blanching at what Cyrus was explaining, Natasha felt disgusted. “You’re talking about spying on my father’s work?”
Cyrus nodded. “But thanks to the fortress he’d built for himself and his family, no one could get access. No one knew the status of his work.”
“So they sent you?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s why you’re here—to spy on my father?”
Cyrus shook his head. He didn’t speak for a long while, but his eyes never left hers. He never looked away from her accusing gaze, and didn’t whither under her allegation.
“No,” Cyrus said finally. “I’m not here to spy on your father. But I used him as an excuse to come.”
Natasha heard herself grinding her teeth. She couldn’t believe how her question had so quickly spiraled out of control. While she hadn’t known what to expect, it wasn’t this. And, she realized, none of this did anything to explain Lamplighter.
“Go on,” she managed to shoot through her clamped jaw. She felt tears threaten at the edges of her eyes, but for the life of her, she couldn’t tell if they were from rage or hurt from his newest betrayal. Either way, she promised herself that he would not see her tears fall.
“I took the assignment,” Cyrus explained. “I took it because if I didn’t, someone else would. And with the security in place here, there was a good chance that whoever tried to breach the building would’ve been caught. If that happened, someone was likely to get hurt. I couldn’t let that happen to you or your family.”
“So you came to spy on us so no one would get hurt? It had nothing to do with our history? You didn’t think you could use it to walk right in the front door?”
“Are you kidding?” Cyrus laughed. “I was probably the last person on earth you wanted to see. If I came knocking on your door, there was zero chance you were going to invite me in. Tell me I’m wrong?”
Natasha looked away. She didn’t know what she would’ve done under the circumstances, but while she would like to think she would’ve taken the high road, she was fairly certain she would’ve turned him away. There was, as she was now experiencing, simply too much pain involved in seeing him after he’d disappeared from her life.
“Let’s go back to the part where you’re a spy,” she said instead. “When did that happen? Who are you working for?”
Cyrus smiled. “Witness relocation wasn’t a good fit,” he explained. “There was a solid chance that I wouldn’t be safe, no matter where they put me. So we set up a sting. The idea was to net everyone after me, all in one shot. I figured, that way I could come home to you.”
Unable to keep the shock from her face, Natasha was rendered speechless. She heard his words but couldn’t reconcile them with the events that had taken place. Not only was all of this news to her, but he had also never come back to her.
“The operation went off according to plan, more or less,” Cyrus explained. “Maybe it went a little too good, I guess. I helped roll up a major terrorist network. When it was done, I guess some folks were impressed because they offered me a job.”
Rubbing her eyes, Natasha marveled at the unexpected turn the story had taken. “So you took a job—you became a spy, rather than come back to school with me?”
Cyrus looked away for the first time. It was the first moment of regret she’d seen from him since the start of the conversation. More than that, she could see the pain in his face, his eyes, in the whole of his being.
“It seems really dumb now,” Cyrus said quietly. He was still unable to look at her. “In more ways than you know.”
It was nearly a minute before he was ready to continue. “I can only tell you that I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was putting the greater good ahead of myself. I had a knack for the kind of work I was doing. It came really easy to me, and I was good at it. It seemed right at the time, being a part of something bigger and more important than myself. No matter how much it hurt me personally, I believed I was doing the right thing.”
It was Natasha’s turn to look away. As much as she wanted to blame Cyrus for leaving, especially when she now realized that he could’ve come back, now she wasn’t so sure. She knew what she wanted. She knew only of her pain and the toll his leaving had taken on her life. That it was equally hard for him had never really made it to the forefront of her mind.
“But a spy?” she asked finally. “Really?”
Looking at her, a sad smile finally touched the corners of Cyrus’s mouth. “Did I mention that I was really good at it?”
She laughed. In spite of herself, Natasha laughed.
What was done was done; there was no changing it now. But it didn’t stop her from wondering how things might be different if only he’d stayed with her at school. Then she would’ve stayed and the entirety of their lives would have played out differently as a result.
Natasha settled for asking, “Do you like your job?”
What seemed like a simple inquiry appeared to be anything but. It was a yes or no question, but one Cyrus wasn’t quick to answer. Surprisingly, he was giving the matter a great deal of thought.
Finally he shrugged. “Not so long ago, I would’ve said yes. Now? I’m not sure,” he offered. “Ask me again sometime.”
The reply was unexpected, and Natasha found his indecision disconcerting. She’d always known him to be decisive and confident in his decisions. It was a hint that the matter was more complicated than he was letting on.
“Anyway,” Cyrus said in an effort to bring the conversation back on track. “Lamplighter? It started out as an errant reference in a gist. It was only ever referenced once, and even that citation wasn’t explained.”
Natasha’s nose scrunched at the odd statement. “A gist?”
Cyrus grinned. “Yeah, sorry. A gist is what we call a shorthand briefing. They tend to be thick on the primary facts while being thin on peripheral supporting evidence. The idea is to provide a high level view of a case without requiring everyone to become fluent in the minutiae. Most of our cases start out with a gist. If the case looks promising, my group takes it up and we dig deeper.”
Nodding, Natasha could at least grasp the general
concept. It was a summary report of sorts—detailed in some regards but lacking in many others.
“And one of your reports had a reference to Lamplighter?”
“Exactly,” he said. But by the faraway look in his eyes, she could tell he was reviewing what he could recall of that particular report. It would be a long shot under normal circumstances, but she realized they had the advantage of the Cyrus’s amazing memory.
“It’s odd,” Cyrus said finally. “There was only ever that one reference, and only a tangential mention was ever made. Looking back, it almost seems like the reference was there by mistake. Like a word being overlooked in a redacted file.”
“But you know more about Lamplighter now,” Natasha urged. “I can tell by the way you’re talking about it.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. She saw a darkness cloud his eyes. “But…maybe it would be better if you tell me what you know first.”
Natasha instantly felt her temper surge. “Really? You’re really going to play games with me on this? After everything that’s happened!”
Waiving a placating hand of surrender, Cyrus slid himself across the top of the bed. He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. His sincerity shown through even before he had a chance to speak.
“It’s not that,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you to trust me. Things have become complicated. But I’m only concerned with your best interests. I need you to believe me—you’re the reason I’m here. You’re my number one concern.”
Taking a deep breath, Natasha choked down her personal reservations. In spite of herself, she believed him. She knew there was a reason he wasn’t yet sharing. Though she didn’t know why, she believed he would eventually reveal everything he knew, given enough time.
Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three Page 20