"We're all believers here, Daniel. We did the government a favor yesterday. The HYDRA investigation had been ongoing for nearly three years, and they had barely cracked the nut on Al Qaeda. This would have dragged on for another year or two, until it was too late, or somebody tipped off the terrorists. It was a sideshow, but a worthwhile production. I had to remove that file from government custody. We're rebuilding, and the file contained information that could immediately undermine the process. We're going to take the fight to the enemy in ways our government can't."
"And get rich in the process," Daniel replied.
"I never heard you complain about your 'finder's fee,' or whatever you called it to make yourself feel better. I didn't take a cut and walk away like you did. I reinvested every dime of that money into the program and kept it going for an entire year after government funding vanished. Anyway, we won't need to skim off the top anymore. We have the guaranteed backing of some very powerful and wealthy individuals."
"What do you get when you combine my unhampered pragmatism with your undying patriotism?" Petrovich asked.
"A damn effective team," Sanderson said.
"I was thinking more along the lines of body bags and unnecessary funerals. Some innocent people fell yesterday," Daniel said.
"I regret putting you through that. We had some unexpected surprises that led to some unfortunate casualties."
"Unfortunate casualties? You've been pulling strings for too long."
"I feel terrible about the police officer. Not much you could have done about that."
"Really? I appreciate your supposed concern, but you're not the one who saw her shield fall to the pavement along with most of her guts. I don't blame myself at all. I blame you and whoever was pulling the assassination team's strings."
"I've been in your shoes, Daniel. I don't need a lecture," Sanderson said.
Daniel shook his head and stared out into the forest. There was no use arguing with Sanderson. He was a user and a fanatic, who had grown way too accustomed to calling the shots from a distance. Part of him wished Jessica had gone to the feds and cut a deal.
"Is that a helicopter I hear?" Daniel said, cupping his hand to one of his ears.
"Very funny. I'll be inside, working on our exfiltration from the States."
Daniel smiled, and General Sanderson opened the screen door, shaking his head.
Out of nowhere, Petrovich fired a question into the air. "What kind of deal did you make with the CIA?"
"The kind that will keep them off our backs and give us an early warning system. Maybe some new recruits."
"What are you giving them in return?" Petrovich said.
"Capabilities. Resources. All untraceable back to them."
"I'd love to know how you pulled that off in less than thirty seconds."
"Remember when I said there was no such thing as a coincidence?"
Daniel shrugged his shoulders to indicate he really didn't care what Sanderson planned to say next.
"Every once in a great while…I'm proven wrong."
"Any chance of drink service for the legendary Daniel Petrovich? Maybe one of the newbies?"
"I'll have Colonel Farrington get right on it. Welcome back, Daniel."
"Apparently, I never left," Daniel muttered as the screen door slammed shut.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
7:55 p.m.
Havana, Cuba
Dario and Natalia Russo relaxed in comfortable chairs on the rooftop bar of the Santa Isabel Hotel in Old Havana, which overlooked the tree-lined Plaza de Armas. A small marble-topped wrought iron table sat between them, holding two recently emptied martini glasses. The napkins placed under each sweating glass were soaked to the table with condensation. A warm sea breeze passed lazily through the uncovered bar, compliments of the nearby Gulf of Mexico, providing a small respite from the heat and oppressive humidity. Still not accustomed to the warmer climate, Dario glistened from persistent beads of sweat. Natalia looked unaffected by the heat, but welcomed the breeze.
The couple had arrived at the hotel thirty minutes earlier, drawing envious stares all the way to the small table at the balcony's edge. They were the kind of couple that you would expect to find adorning the sun deck of a private luxury yacht docked in Cannes, France. Dario's tanned skin contrasted against a crisp, white, short-sleeved shirt tucked loosely into dark tailored pants. On his left wrist, an expensive watch shined in the fading sun when he ran his hand through his jet-black hair. Natalia sparkled from two silver cuff bracelets and a thick silver jeweled aquamarine necklace. The straps of her black dress hung loosely over the exotic dark skin of her well-toned shoulders. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuating her strong, angular face, and her eyes were dark brown to match her Argentinian passport.
The Russos were native Argentinians, descended from Italian and Irish immigrants, which on the surface didn't attract any attention. Nearly seventy percent of Argentina's population shared some degree of European descent, mostly Italian. The fact that neither of them spoke fluent Spanish or Italian was something they needed to correct, and they'd have plenty of time to work with Sanderson's linguistic experts once they were in place at the new training compound.
Dario, or Daniel, squinted as the sun slipped below the top of the two-story stone walls of the Palacio de los Capitanes Generales on the far side of the Plaza, casting a shadow across the rooftop terrace. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and a golden amber light poured through the Plaza over the mix of vendors and tourists straddling the sides of the cobblestone streets.
A waiter dressed in an impeccable white suit placed a single martini with two olives on the table between the two of them, removing the empty glasses. Daniel detected a hint of olive juice shaken into the clear, chilled vodka, by the slightly darkened blur swirling through the drink. He glanced up at their waiter, expecting to see another dirty vodka martini descend from his tray.
"Compliments of the gentleman," the waiter said, gesturing with his hand in the direction of the terrace's far side.
Dario and Natalia both glanced at the lone gentleman sitting at the far corner table. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white oxford shirt, wearing a light brown baseball cap. His shirt reflected the burnt orange color of the sun, which poured around the Palacio and still bathed the corner of the rooftop. The man nodded to them and removed his sunglasses. The man's face didn't register with Daniel, but when he glanced at Jessica, he saw an emotional response.
"Oh my God," she muttered under her breath.
"Sabes lo?" Daniel said, emphasizing their need to speak Spanish in order to avoid unnecessary suspicion.
"Sí. Give me a minute…and watch the door," she whispered.
"Bien. Otro martini por favor," Daniel said.
Jessica picked up a black purse and her drink from the table. She kissed Daniel on the forehead before she walked over to meet the mystery guest. The man looked like he was in his early fifties, trim, and handsome. Daniel wondered if this man had been one of her professors in Boston, or possibly Loyola. Her warning to watch the doors suggested he was a ghost from a more distant past, which left him uncomfortable.
He didn't expect any trouble in Cuba, but underestimating situations wasn't a luxury he could afford, or a habit he wanted to start. He analyzed every object and angle within his view, running multiple scenarios through his head like a computer, still keeping an eye on Jessica. The man didn't get up to greet her; instead, he motioned for her to join him at the table. She placed both the purse and the drink on the table in front of him, which told Daniel everything he needed to know about the situation.
The purse contained the only knife they carried, and she would never have placed it within the man's reach if she didn't trust him. He felt a little better about the situation, but didn't relax. After a long ten minutes for Daniel, Jessica and the man stood up from the table. Poised for action, and wishing they had ordered an appetizer that would have placed
a knife on the table, Daniel watched as they hugged. The interaction looked cordial, and the man patted her on the back right before they separated. He watched Jessica walk back to the table, along with every other man on the crowded terrace.
Daniel still wasn't accustomed to the strong machismo attitude found in South and Central America, which apparently allowed men to gawk at women in front of other women. Jessica certainly didn't help matters with her choice of expensive outfits, or the confident energy she exuded simply walking from one table to another. A subtle change had washed over her as they settled into their new lives. She was bolder. Happier. More in her element.
He couldn't help but think that maybe General Sanderson had been right about her. There was still so much that she wouldn't discuss about her time in Serbia, before they had rediscovered each other during a chance encounter in a Belgrade nightclub. Daniel avoided the club scene with regularity, preferring to spend time in the field staring through his sniper scope. On that fateful night, he had relented under pressure from his boss, Radovan Grahovac, agreeing to join him in a few shots of rakija to "ease the memories." As soon as he saw her in the cramped, smelly club, everything finally made sense to Daniel. CIA.
She had disappeared from his life after a casual pizza dinner near Wrigley Field, three days after college graduation. Stoically fighting back tears, she announced that they would not be able to see each other anymore. Daniel had barely noticed the uncomfortable waitress push the check between two empty pilsner glasses and scoot clear of the scene. He remained stunned and speechless as she kissed him lightly on the cheek and told him that she loved him…but they could never be together.
He didn't follow her or try to figure it out that night. He had ordered another beer and sat at the bar, wondering exactly what had gone wrong that day. He was accustomed to her wild mood swings, usually connected to something related to her parents, but this felt different. When he called early the next morning, her roommate told him that she had abruptly walked out of the apartment with her bags to a waiting taxi. She had left no forwarding address and never said goodbye. She just simply vanished.
He couldn't lose her again. They would give this new life a try and look for a way out along the way. Folding into Sanderson's new organization had been the path of least resistance for both of them. For now.
Jessica placed her empty drink and purse on the table and sat down, forcing a smile.
"Everything all right?" he said, stroking her bare arm.
"I think so."
"Who was that?"
She glanced around for the waiter, who was attending to a nearby table, and leaned in to whisper, "That was my former agency mentor." Then she leaned back to speak in a normal tone. "A very good, trusted friend."
Daniel turned his head to examine the man, but found the corner table empty, and no longer in the faded sunlight. He looked to the door that led into the hotel. Gone.
"In Cuba? Must have been important to him. Should we be concerned?"
"No. He was tipped off by our new employer. Sounds like they have an agreement," she said and reached into her purse.
Daniel started to wonder about Jessica's mentor, and if it was possible that…His thought was interrupted by something she placed on the table.
"He told me you left it with him in Georgetown," she said and slid it across to him.
He stared in disbelief at the same cell phone he had thrown into a burning doorway, a little over a month ago. He took a long sip of his martini, contemplating how close he had come to tossing a grenade into the doorway instead.
"You've never met him before, have you?" she said.
"Not really, but we talked briefly."
She grasped his hand, and they quietly watched the last rays of light creep back along the walls of the buildings lining the Plaza. Daniel kept an eye on the street below, until he saw the brown ball cap and white shirt. He tracked the man walking up Calle Obispo, past a small street side café, and into the last beam of sunlight to infiltrate the Plaza. He saw Karl Berg stop and look over his shoulder at the rooftop terrace. Daniel raised his right hand a few inches from the table and acknowledged him. Berg nodded and walked out of sight, chasing the sunlight deeper into Old Havana.
The End
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Steven Konkoly is the author of The Jakarta Pandemic (2010) ~ Black Flagged Redux (2012) ~ Black Flagged Apex (2012) ~ Black Flagged Vektor (2013) ~ The Perseid Collapse (December 2013).
Go back to Features Index
Table of Contents
Veil of Civility
Prologue I
Prologue II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Also by Ian Graham:
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