Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2)

by Lisa Hughey

  But Katerina would know who I was.

  If I was making a mistake, so be it. But I truly believed the only way to move forward was to collect information from Human Intelligence. I’d used all my resources for CommInt. Katerina Wolfe was perfect.

  “Professor.” Someone hailed me from behind. My brain clicked quickly seeking target recognition through voice pattern.

  Jordan tensed. I heard his huff of breath through our simplistic communication system, courtesy of the gift shop downstairs.

  He led point, five feet in front of me, in case we had any trouble. Because we’d gone the reverse of regular foot traffic, neither one of us had anticipated a threat from behind.

  I hushed Jordan softly. “He may not have seen the press conference.” And truly, how many students would purposely make contact with a professor that hadn’t seen them? Unless they were being used as--

  “Bait,” Jordan murmured.

  I ran through the possibilities. “I’m considered armed and dangerous. I don’t think so. They’d catch a rash of shit if I hurt a student.” Or a tourist.

  Jordan’s fingers brushed the side of his coat hiding his firearm. “I’m still ready.”

  “Professor,” the kid called again as he sprinted up the metal floor.

  I pivoted slowly.

  Six feet of lanky bones, the pale Asian kid was clad in designer jeans and a pink Izod. “Matthew.” His last name escaped me.

  “Hey, Professor.” Matt’s chest heaved, his breath bellowing in and out, bony shoulders lifting and falling, as he tried to catch his breath. “I thought that was you.”

  As if he’d just realized I was a physical mess, his eyes widened.

  Matt had been a particularly enthusiastic student. I had never been able to figure out if his enthusiasm was for the subject matter or me.

  “You too.” I lied through my teeth and willed Jordan to act calm and cool. “How’s this semester going?”

  “Pretty good.” His big brown eyes stared at me with hopeful intensity through his funky wire-rimmed glasses. “I was hoping you’d be teaching again this semester.”

  “I usually just teach in the spring.”

  His face lit up. “So you’ll be teaching again next spring?”

  Assuming I wasn’t in prison or dead. “I’m contracted.”

  “Sweet.” He just stood there staring at me with a slightly goofy expression on his face as if he didn’t realize his crush was there for the world to see.

  Jordan cleared his throat softly. But I already knew. I’d stood in one place for far too long. No way was this kid a lure or bait.

  “Hey, nice to see you, Matt.” I glanced apologetically down at the watch on my wrist.

  “Oh, uh, yeah.” Matt’s grin faded.

  Jordan had paused at a display, watching our interaction in the reflection of the glass case. I had to get moving before the kid noticed Jordan was spending an inordinate amount of time there.

  When Matt saw the news and reported to the authorities that he’d seen me, and he would, I didn’t want them having any idea I had a companion. That was assuming that Carson kept his mouth shut.

  “Nice to see you too, Professor.”

  “Hope to see you next semester.”

  His gaze brightened. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Take care, Matt.” I waved casually, not wanting to turn my back on him in case my instincts were totally off and he really was bait.

  “See anything or anyone suspicious?” I asked softly doing my best to scan for surveillance without being obvious.

  “We’re good.” His voice was clipped, his mouth a flat line.

  “What’s wrong then?”

  “Matthew Cho.”

  Cho. That was his name. Except...I hadn’t mentioned Matt’s last name.

  “Yes.”

  I waited for the anger I could see Jordan holding inside.

  “Mother killed in World Trade Center bombings. Father works for the State Department. No siblings. At this time, not a candidate but should be watched. He has the potential for recruitment,” he recited.

  My heart iced. “That’s my file on Matt.”

  “Verbatim.”

  “You memorized the file on Matt?” Inside I was freaking. That meant he’d seen my files. “How?” Why?

  “I memorized your files on all your recent ‘students’".

  That hadn’t answered my question, and he knew it.

  I started walking, slowly, deliberately as if I had no cares in the world and had no specific place to be. Inside I was running around like the road runner with my tail on fire. I couldn’t afford to panic, and I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

  And I had a meeting with Katerina in just a few minutes.

  “How?”

  “After you disappeared and everyone presumed you were dead--I knew you weren’t--so I decided to look for you.”

  By breaking into top secret, encrypted, and password protected files? “Look for me how?”

  “I had to be discreet, by this time someone had surveillance on your house 24/7.” Jordan took a deep breath. “So I broke into your private files and read them.”

  There were so many points in that sentence that needed to be addressed.

  “I guess my password was easy enough.” I’d used his initials and the day we’d met. Usually I change my password once a month but for sentimental, sappy,...stupid reasons I’d kept his initials and the date we met, far, far longer than a week. I’d thought since the computer was in a hidden room in my house and not connected to the internet, the information in my files was safe.

  Clearly, I’d been wrong.

  “My initials.” He was silent, the only sound the ping of our heels echoing against metal floor.

  The best way to interrogate is to drop a bomb and then wait. The longer you wait, the more nervous the interrogee gets.

  “Never in a million years did I think that you would use my initials.”

  It was so high school, like doodling his name in cursive all over paper. I’d known when I'd done it and still hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. I’d gotten a secret little thrill every time I’d logged on.

  But at some point he must have figured it out.

  Next point.

  “You read my files.”

  “Yeah.”

  He’d read my work. Was he intrigued? Disgusted?

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then....”

  “I checked them out.” Jordan’s breath was coming faster. I knew it wasn’t from exertion, so it must be from emotion.

  The question remained, which one?

  “You....”

  “Checked them out.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d known he wouldn’t approve of my work. It was the main reason I hadn’t explained what I do. He wouldn’t understand and in my heart I was afraid if I told him, then he’d leave.

  What did I say to that revelation?

  I had no idea.

  My mind wouldn’t work. I didn’t know what direction to go next. My head swirled with the implications that he’d looked into my files. Those files were extremely incriminating.

  And extremely classified.

  But not all of them. “Then you know Matthew did a stint for kiva.org?”

  “Yeah.”

  "Where I sent him." I was compelled to add, just so he would understand that I didn't send every kid off to be a terrorist or to work for the CIA.

  But I also realized that Jordan Ramirez now had information about a significant number of terrorist and CIA recruits for the past several years.

  And yet he’d still come looking for me. Hope unfurled within me. If he didn’t approve, why didn’t he just walk away? And why was he still here?

  I walked into the Mata Hari room. The rest of the conversation would have to wait. I needed to concentrate on my surroundings and this meeting.

  Katerina shouldn’t have had enough time to set up any sort of trap, b
ut I couldn’t make any assumptions.

  Any mistake now could get me killed.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Jordan assessed the specs for the Secret History of History room, shutting down the emotion he’d let bleed through at seeing one of Staci’s possible recruits in the museum.

  The room had variables he didn’t like.

  Open.

  Accessible. Anyone could walk in.

  Plenty of security cameras so they’d be easy targets.

  On the plus side, the lighting was dim and the museum difficult to police with a warren of walkways and timed entry tickets to control crowd and traffic flow. He was pretty sure the hourly security guys were more worried about kids vandalizing the James Bond toys than looking for Federal “Wanted” fugitives meeting with Defense Intelligence Agency employees.

  Just in case, he had their exit strategy mapped out.

  Partially hidden behind a Chinese screen, he stood ten feet away from the small movie room.

  When he’d worked HRT, surveillance points were set up a thousand feet away. They’d watched drug dealers in the jungle or guarded rebel compounds waiting for a clear shot. Pretty much everyone was guilty of something.

  Here pretty much everyone was innocent.

  Katerina Wolfe approached the meeting place cautiously. She was five four tops, her figure bordering on petite.

  He warned Staci through their comm system. “Don’t underestimate her because of her size.” Some of the meanest guys were the little ones.

  “Roger,” Staci said softly.

  Katerina walked into the screening room, clearly unsure what to expect. Jordan couldn’t blame her. He’d called her on her cell and been short and succinct and cryptic as hell: I have information about your suspension.

  They had been right about Katerina. She was on suspension. Just like Zeke. All the espionage agents who had been given the gene manipulation drug and been kidnapped were on suspension until their agencies could ascertain if they’d compromised national security during their abductions.

  When he was on the phone with her and indicated he might have information about why she’d been kidnapped, she’d jumped on it.

  Jordan quartered the surrounding area looking for anyone showing undue interest in Katerina.

  Everything appeared normal.

  Everything sounded normal, the clang of feet, the shouts of children, the admonishments of parents to slow down.

  Staci stayed concealed in the shadows. He’d wanted to be the front man, but Staci didn’t want him linked with her in any way and while it chafed, he understood.

  He was her ace.

  “Ms. Wolfe.”

  Only the two women occupied the small movie room.

  Katerina looked over at Staci in the shadows. “A man called me. Who are you?”

  “No threat,” Staci responded.

  Jordan marveled at her body language which was as non-threatening as she could make it.

  “I’m not susceptible to blackmail,” Katerina said abruptly.

  Katerina’s black checked blazer barely hid the straps of a shoulder holster. In her late thirties, her white blond hair was regulation short and spiked, her nails unpainted and trimmed, her hands strong. The defined lines of her face gave her a hard edge.

  Staci said, “I want to ask you some questions.”

  Katerina narrowed her gaze. “Nope. I’m not getting in any more trouble than I already am.” She executed a military sharp pivot.

  “Wait.” Staci stayed in the shadows, keeping her face hidden. “I wanted to ask you about 5491.”

  “Never heard of it.” Katerina started walking to the exit of the room, no falter in her stride, no stiffening in her shoulders.

  Staci said softly, “Everyone on suspension, all the kidnap victims, receive monthly payments from a department in the NSA--5491. We believe they are reparations for the deaths of their parents or grandparents.”

  Katerina froze. “Insurance.”

  “Come on. How many insurance companies pay every month for over fifteen years?”

  Katerina didn’t say a word, her back still to Staci.

  In the background, whoops from a particularly boisterous group of young children echoed in the corridor. Parents ambled by at a slower pace, laughing.

  Jordan could see her weighing her words carefully. She pivoted back around to face Staci. “I was kidnapped and compromised because of those insurance payments?”

  “Not as far as we can tell, but everyone kidnapped has been receiving those payments.”

  “So...what?”

  “Something disturbing is going on.”

  Katerina’s gaze flicked to the lighted alcove holding a picture of Harriet Tubman then back to the shadow of Staci. “I’m already in enough trouble. I can’t help you.” But she hadn’t moved.

  “This concerns your family.”

  “I don’t have any family,” Katerina snapped. “Just my little boy, and I need a job to take care of him.”

  “Why’d you come today?”

  “I thought if there was any way, any information that you had that could get me cleared for active duty sooner, I would grab at it.”

  “I believe we can help each other.”

  Katerina paced around the display podium holding a copy of a communique from Mata Hari. “What the hell did you expect to accomplish here?”

  They’d lost her. Jordan knew it would be impossible to get any more information, especially without giving anything away. As if Staci realized that too, the air shifted. Shit. Too late to stop her. Staci stepped out in front Katerina, revealing her face.

  Jordan’s heart double-timed in his chest. A hot ball of worry lodged in his throat. This was not part of the plan. Dammit.

  “How much do you know about me?”

  Jordan could see the moment Staci’s identity hit Katerina. He pulled out his Glock and held the weapon at his side, seconds before Katerina’s hand moved to her holster.

  “Holy shit. You are alive.” Katerina blinked once, twice.

  Staci held her hand up in the classic gesture of stop. “Calm down.”

  “You’re....”

  “Not armed or dangerous.” Staci paused.

  Jordan kept his weapon at the ready. He wouldn’t miss, not from this distance.

  “Put the guns away. It’s counter-productive,” Staci commented, her voice full of reason.

  “I’m in such trouble.” Katerina Wolfe took a step backwards. “They’re already vetting me all the way back to kindergarten. I am so fucked.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone we met,” Staci said.

  “Right.” Katerina laughed bitterly. “My career is already halfway down the shitter. This just totally caps it off.”

  “I need to ask you some questions,” Staci said calmly.

  The wheels were turning behind Katerina’s cornflower blues. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be OUTCONUS?”

  “Outside the Continental U.S. would be a lot safer for me now. Unfortunately, my business is here in D.C.”

  “Business,” Katerina dropped her hand from her holster.

  “I’m being set up.” Staci wiped a stray hair from her cheek.

  “I read your file." Katerina's voice was scornful. "You recruit terror trainees.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Katerina believed my press. After being outted on national television, my career was pretty much over. Any loyalty I might have had was gone. Maybe it was all supposed to shake out this way. Now I’d have more time to devote to de-mining and making a difference for women, for families in Afghanistan. What the hell.

  I decided right then, I needed to defend myself. “For the CIA.”

  You’ve heard that expression jaw dropped, but until now I don’t think I’d ever actually seen it happen.

  I could see her processing at rapid speed while I continued.

  “I started looking into Department 5491, and a month later I was imprisoned in Afghanistan, declared dead by the U.S. Government
, and then as soon as I resurfaced in the U.S. someone outted me in a national press conference.” I hammered home my points.

  “I think it has to do with Department 5491 from which you are receiving payments, and connected to why you were kidnapped, and resulted in your suspension.”

  Katerina Wolfe shook her head in denial, stepping back slowly one at a time. “I can’t get involved with you, with this.”

  “You are involved.” I thought of the only lever that would twist her. I placed a hand over my belly and hoped I wouldn’t have to threaten her son. “Where did the information about me come from? Do you know?”

  “I’ve been suspended for the past two weeks.” Her gaze flickered away from mine.

  “But your office knew about me before you were suspended.”

  We needed her to confirm this. “Yeah.”

  “Who is the military guy at the press conference, Major Vandenburg?”

  “Major Tony Vandenburg.”

  “What’s he in charge of?”

  “He runs the Civil Affairs Division.”

  Why would that guy care that I was in Afghanistan? The Civil Affairs Division had multiple programs run by the military to facilitate aid to the countries we occupied. But every village I’d visited seemed to be benefitting from his programs.

  Familiar bile rose up in my throat. Dammit, not now.

  “I was captured in Afghanistan eight weeks ago.” My voice was rough with effort to keep the contents of my stomach in my stomach, instead of all over the Spy Museum. “Someone set me up. The region is friendly to Americans. And yet, I was imprisoned. Then once I escaped, there were American soldiers at the village near the prison looking to recapture me.”

  Knowledge bloomed in Katerina’s eyes.

  I continued, “They aren’t about to piss off Americans. We’re paying them to destroy their poppy fields, protecting them from the Taliban forces, we’re giving them money and supplies through Operation: Rebuild.”

  The facts were clicking through her brain, I could see her putting them all together and coming up with the same conclusion I had.

  “They aren’t going to piss off Americans,” I deliberately used the phrase again, “unless someone with high-level connections got to them.” Perhaps offered them a better deal with the government than they already had.