The Phoenix Law

by Cate Dermody

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “Greg.”

  “I think you could throw him a fair distance.”

  Alisha chuckled. “I could. I just can’t trust him that far. Even if he’s trying to do the right thing, he’s not trying hard enough, and I need all or nothing in my life right now.”

  “Tell that to Frank Reichart,” Emma said, so quietly, Alisha nearly missed it. The British woman gave her a brief smile at Alisha’s sharp look, but neither pursued the topic as Alisha bounced up to the curb again as a taxi pulled over.

  “Can you get out of the country on your own?”

  “I’ll be all right,” Emma promised. “Although I could do with some cash to pay the driver with.”

  Alisha dug into a pocket as Emma opened the cab door and said, “The airport,” in a flat American accent, then leaned on the door, waiting for Alisha’s money. “What are you going to do?” The American accent stayed in place.

  Alisha smiled and shooed the taller woman into the cab, knowing full well Emma was disappointed at not getting an answer. Only after the cab drove off did Alisha breathe, into the sounds of traffic, “I’m going to destroy the CIA’s link with the Sicarii.”

  Chapter 17

  “Erika?” Alisha kept her voice low, trying not to sound desperate, though her heart pounded and her cheeks were flushed with heat. “E, please tell me you’ve been listening in. I’m at a pay phone. The number is—shit,” she added in a whisper. She fumbled the receiver off its hook, reading the number. “Call me. Please be listening, and call me.”

  She squeezed her hand around the loop earring, disengaging its broadcasting device, and slid down into the bottom of the phone booth, face in her hands. Now that Emma was relatively safe, now that Alisha had only forward to go, there were moments for panicking. Too much energy wasted, Alisha scolded herself. She pushed to her feet again with the thought, breathing deeply. Even if there wasn’t room to do some of the more relaxing asanas, she could at least control her breathing and center herself. It would slow her heartbeat and calm her mind, even if Erika didn’t call.

  She’d barely straightened her shoulders and inhaled for the simplicity of a tree pose when the phone rang. Alisha flinched so hard a muscle in her neck spasmed and she clapped a hand against it even as she yanked the phone free of its hook. “E?”

  “Who else would it be? Jeez, Alisha, when I gave you those earrings I didn’t know you were going to turn around and use them to destroy the CIA five minutes later.”

  “Were you just listening, or do these things record when they broadcast?” Alisha tugged her earring, a nervous gesture.

  “This is me, Ali. What do you think?”

  Alisha exhaled, thudding her head against the phone booth wall. “I think not recording it would be a half-ass measure, and you don’t do half measures.”

  “So what do you want me to do with it?” Erika’s usually cheery tones were subdued.

  “Right now that recording is my only proof that the Agency is mixed up with Sicarii business. Make copies, and find me somebody I can trust to come in to. I still want the Firebird box, E. If I’m going to take this link down I want to make sure I’ve got everybody it touches, and the more proof I’ve got the better. Have you learned anything?”

  “In the last two hours? Strangely enough, no. All right, listen.” Erika fell silent for a long few seconds, before Alisha heard a chair creak, as if the technical geek was changing positions. “All right. Go somewhere with public Internet terminals—the Martin Luther King Jr. library. They’ve got a ton of them. Go there and log on to your Onetone account. I’ll contact you there as soon as I’ve got anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Whether it’s a black box location or a name you can trust to come in to, I don’t know yet,” Erika said. “So, yeah. Anything. When I’ve got anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  The problem with publicly accessible terminals was that other members of the public expected to be able to access them. A draconian librarian kept watch over the computer area, rousting users off as their thirty-minute windows came to an end. She enforced another half-hour break between logins, glowering at Alisha and locking up the terminal when Alisha tried to simply move from one computer to another. Teeth gritted to hold her tongue, Alisha signed up for another computer in thirty minutes’ time and spent the next half hour padding through the stacks.

  The third round of that came at mid-afternoon. A shift change came and went, allowing Alisha an entire hour uninterrupted before the new, equally determined librarian shunted her off in favor of allowing someone else to use the computer. Alisha put her forehead against the desk a moment, checking her mail one last time before giving up the resource. Nothing. Erika never failed to come through, Alisha told herself fiercely. It was a matter of patience.

  A virtue which was in sadly short supply. Alisha growled and stood up, muttering an apology as she bumped into the man waiting for the terminal.

  Frank Reichart looked down at her, lifted a finger to his lips in a shh, then beckoned.

  Pure startlement made Alisha’s heart crash in a thump that seemed loud enough for everyone to hear. Color rushed to her cheeks as she stared up at him, breath failing to fill her lungs. Seconds passed before she exhaled sharply and nodded, following him out of the computer area and into aisles of books.

  He stopped around the first corner, pulling her into his arms, fingers sunk in her hair before she had time to speak. “There are four federal agents outside the library,” he murmured. “Waiting for you. They don’t want to come in and make a fuss.”

  A lump formed in Alisha’s stomach and dissolved again, dismay overridden by a lack of surprise. For a big city, DC could be a small town. Someone had almost certainly spotted her. “Thank you. Frank, what are you doing here?”

  “Erika sent me,” Reichart said. “I don’t know how many favors she burned finding a way to contact me. I was already back in the States. Nobody was supposed to know I was here. Come on, we need to get going.”

  “Where?” The question was perfunctory, Alisha already moving.

  “Out of here, probably out of the States. Unless you want to go back into federal custody.”

  “You make a convincing argument.”

  Something in Reichart’s expression relaxed and he slid his grip from her elbow to her hand, squeezing her fingers. Then they were moving, not running, but walking briskly and purposefully as people in libraries rarely did. An exit door, warning of an alarm, appeared in a corner and Reichart strode for it, Alisha hanging back with a whispered, “They’ll hear the alarm, Frank.”

  He dipped two fingers into his coat pocket and came up with a library ID card, swiping it through the door’s reader and waiting for the light to turn green. “I stole it from a sweet old lady librarian,” he admitted as they pushed through the door. “I’m a bad, bad man. We’re going down.”

  Alisha laughed, the quiet sound echoing in the stairway chamber. “You are. Reichart, we’re on the ground floor already.”

  “There are archives and rare book rooms down here,” he replied, already rattling down the steps. “And a passage to the next block, so the books can be rescued in case of fire. It’s more than a century old.” He slid the card through another reader, pausing long enough to make sure the door shut silently behind them after they stepped through. For the second time, he lifted his fingers to his mouth in a shh, then caught Alisha’s hand again and scurried through a labyrinth of rooms. There were decorative insets in pale walls, frames as tall as doors, adding to the sense of being in a maze. Any of them, Alisha thought, could lead to some other place, if only they had time to explore.

  Forty-two seconds left, her automatic countdown method reminded her, focused her. Alisha set her front teeth together against whispering that warning aloud to Reichart; in the enormous silence of the archives, even a whisper would resound like bells. He drew up, raising a hand for stillness. Alisha pressed against the wall as footsteps clicke
d noisily down a hall. The woman who breezed by was entirely focused on the manuscript she held, looking neither left nor right. Reichart gave Alisha a quick, wicked grin and mouthed, “That was close,” before tugging her across the hall.

  The door he stopped at was one of the decorative insets, its only indication being nothing more than two faintly shiny spots in the paint at about hip height. Reichart finally released Alisha’s hand, placing his fingers against those spots, and gave the door a gentle push. It groaned and shuddered, paint flecking away as it sank into the wall. Alisha clicked her tongue all but silently, instinctively wanting to clean up the mess and remove any signs of their presence she could. Reichart shook his head, still silent, and ushered her into the passageway. Moments later, the door shivered closed behind them again, leaving them in absolute damp darkness. Water dripped somewhere ahead, and the air was still and warm, trapped underground beneath city streets that held late summer heat.

  Alisha closed her eyes against the darkness, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth in order to keep herself from vocalizing a protest. Underground, she wanted to remind Reichart. You know I don’t like being underground. Not like this. A basement was one thing. Caves, narrow tunnels beneath the earth, brought home a crushing sense of the air leaving her lungs. Cold bumps stood up on her arms and Alisha shivered hard, inhaling sharply. “Tell me you’ve got a flashlight.”

  “I do,” Reichart said, but she heard a shift of his clothes, as if he shrugged. “But not with me. We’re going to have to go blind. Sorry, Leesh.”

  Alisha nodded stiffly. “All right. Okay, fine. Let’s go then. Are you sure it comes out the other side?” She put her fingertips on the wall, slimy stone giving her another shudder as she edged a foot forward.

  “Pretty sure.”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence, Reichart.” Part of her wanted to abandon caution and run, keeping her hand on the wall for guidance, whatever would get her out of there faster. Fear of the floor breaking away held stronger sway, though, and she moved slowly, concentrating on what she could feel. “I thought you were stealing drones.”

  “I was.” Alisha heard a note of gladness for distraction in Reichart’s voice. His conversation came in concentrated bursts, both of them paying attention to where they put their feet in the darkness. “But your little escapade at Emma’s computer facilities didn’t go unnoticed. What were you trying to do, Leesh? Get arrested? Because you did a good job of that, if nothing else.”

  “I was trying get Brandon, but the bastard lit out on me.”

  “Hey. I thought I was the bastard in your life.”

  “Sorry. The son of a bitch lit out on me.”

  “Hey. I thought I wa—”

  “Frank!”

  His laughter rumbled through the darkness, then faded into something gentler. “So I came after you. I had a very dramatic plan to raid Langley and sweep you off your feet.”

  Despite the walls pressing in, Alisha gave a snort of laughter. “I’m sure I would’ve been very appreciat—ow!” She drew her foot back from a stone jutting out of the wall, cursing the speed she’d slowly picked up. “I’m okay,” she muttered, and worked her way forward again more cautiously. “Did your plan have any details?”

  “Lucky for me it didn’t need to. Erika called. I don’t think she even knows I’m in the States. She told me where you were and I said I’d get it taken care of. Do you know how far we’ve come?”

  “A hundred and eight-five steps,” Alisha said automatically. “I’d usually say that was a little shy of two hundred feet, but the way I’m moving right now I’d say it’s more like a hundred and fifty. How long’s the tunnel?”

  “About eight hundred feet.” Amused admiration filled Reichart’s tone. “You’ve got obsessive-compulsive disorder, you know that, right?”

  Irritation lifted hairs on Alisha’s nape and she gritted her teeth. “Yes. I do know that, in fact. I can’t help it. Are you complaining?” The clock at the back of her mind was a matter of training, but the other numbers she tracked had no such excuse. My life is a series of countdowns, Alisha thought, and sighed beneath Reichart’s response.

  “No. Just wondered if you knew. You always were better at judging distances than I was.”

  “I’m better at a lot of things than you are, Reichart. How’d you get past the Feds outside the library?” She pursed her lips. “There were Feds, right? That’s not just a story to get me out of the library with you?”

  “Don’t you trust me, Alisha?”

  Alisha stopped deliberately, letting her footsteps fall away into silence, and stared at the sound of him across the way. Reichart laughed out loud, noisy in the dark tunnel. “God, I miss you, Leesh.”

  Alisha rubbed her shoulder, just below the left collarbone, and started moving again. “I’d say you needed to aim better, but all things considered…”

  Reichart’s warmth was next to her suddenly, a hand at her shoulder, then sliding to the small of her back as he turned her to face him. It ought to be an indignity, Alisha thought, to have him move her to where he wanted her. Ought to be. Somehow she didn’t mind, and closed her eyes against the darkness as he carefully found her cheek and brushed his knuckles over it. For long moments he didn’t speak, but then, Alisha reminded herself, our silences always said the most.

  “Telling lies is easy,” Reichart finally said. “‘Cristina shot you.’ I thought you might believe it, and hell, it was better than the truth. Even if I did it to save your life, I wasn’t there in the aftermath to explain myself.”

  “You had your reasons,” Alisha said quietly. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Frank. It was a long time ago. Seven years.”

  “It matters.” A breath of warm laughter spilled over her and Reichart lowered his head, cautiously, until his forehead touched hers. “It matters because I love you, Leesh.”

  “Frank—” Alisha pulled back, the tunnel’s still air suddenly feeling thick in her chest, making her heart ache. Reichart tightened his hold, not so much that she couldn’t escape, but asking her not to. “Frank, don’t.”

  “I have to.” Another chuckle stirred the air. “Usually with us it’s hotel rooms and watching each other in silence, Leesh. Maybe there’s just always too much light between us. It’s easier to make confessions in the dark.”

  “Frank.” Alisha’s voice was hoarse, his name barely a scrape of sound. Something she didn’t want to put a name to made her heart ricochet, hot and cold pulsing through her hands in time with her heartbeat. It demanded a name as it dropped lower through her body, quick throbs between her thighs that insisted she acknowledge need. Water dripping in the tunnel echoed that desire, adding its own music to the crescendo within her. “This isn’t the time—”

  “This is the only time.” Frustration came into Reichart’s laugh and he tugged her close again. “It’s the only time,” he whispered. “There’s always going to be too much light, any other time. Dammit, Leesh.” His voice dropped further, Alisha’s heart clenching at the sorrow she heard spoken clearly in the nickname. “I got you into this whole Sicarii mess. Because I trusted you as an agent, but also because I wanted to see you again and I couldn’t just show up on your doorstep. Time’s running out now, my time, the Infitalis’s time, our time. All I have is right now, and I’m not going to let it slip away again.” He took a ragged breath, straightening away from her and loosening his grip a little. “Tell me it’s over, Alisha, and I’ll step back and this never happened. Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll accept it.”

  “Reichart…”

  “Don’t do that.” His thumb brushed her mouth in a light touch. “Don’t distance yourself. Use my name.”

  “Frank,” Alisha whispered. “Goddammit, Frank. I left you and Emma alone in London because you were happy with her. I could see it.”

  Bewilderment filled his voice. “What does Emma have to do with this? With us?”

  Alisha laughed, a broken sound. Her chest felt too full, breath struggling
for space with tears and a too-fast heartbeat. “I wanted you to be happy, you idiot. Even if I never got my answers as to what had happened, I wanted you to be happy. If that doesn’t tell you, I don’t know what would.”

  “A straight answer?”

  Alisha ducked her head, the action filled with shy amusement as she bumped her forehead against Reichart’s chest. “Jon was right,” she whispered. “It really is a love story.” She looked up again, knowing she couldn’t see Reichart’s expression, but feeling as though she could. “I never stopped loving you. I was the only one who thought I had. Nothing ever turns out like I plan for it to.” She sighed, stepping closer, and Reichart wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “We need to go, Frank. The Feds would’ve come into the building two minutes ago.”

  “They’re not going to find us any time soon.” Reichart slid his hand under her jaw, tipping her chin up and finding her mouth for a kiss. “I’m not going to let this moment go that easily, Leesh. There are too many years to make up for. Too many missed chances and too many close calls.” Kisses followed the line of her jaw to her throat, Reichart pushing Anton’s suit jacket from her shoulders. She shivered under his touch, the tunnel’s warm air chilly compared to the heat of his hands.

  “What’re you going to do, Reichart? Seduce me down here in the library catacombs?”

  He pulled back far enough to say, “Yeah,” with an unrepentant grin in his voice. “Pretty much.”

  “Reichart!” The protest was made largely of laughter that faded as he began to explore her body with easy confidence left by the memory of years past. “Reichart, we really…should…” Words gave way to a quiver as he unfastened her bra, then into another laugh that ended with, “Oh, to hell with it,” as she coiled her arms around his neck.

  “That’s my Leesh,” he mumbled against her throat. Alisha brushed her fingers over his mouth, then stopped anything else he might say with a kiss.