If Wilson gave Graham a bad drive, and he's dropping the good one for somebody else . . .
No.
It couldn't be.
But it couldn't be anything else. The man she'd trusted with her life was leaking the CIA's secrets to the enemy.
A tear rolled down Sydney's cheek, the start of a heart-wrenching ache taking over her whole body.
Wilson's a double agent.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: SST
Have completed drop per your instructions. Confirm receipt and arrange earliest possible extraction. Suspect SD-6 surveillance. Would obviously prefer to get out alive.
13
I CAN'T JUST STAND here.
The thought cut through the haze in Sydney's brain, forcing her to concentrate on something besides the pain of Wilson's betrayal. People continued to pass her on the sidewalk, but that was no guarantee of safety. Whoever Wilson was working for, it wasn't the CIA, and that meant she was in danger.
I should go after him, she thought, paralyzed.
Maybe if she confronted him, he'd still be able to explain.
Explain what? she thought bitterly. What could he possibly say? I have the evidence right in my hands!
And if he had no chance of justifying his actions, she had even less of bringing him down by force. Wilson was a big man, extremely well trained, and very probably armed. The deadliest weapon she was carrying was her car keys. What was to keep him from just shooting her?
He wouldn't.
But she wasn't sure of that anymore. She wasn't sure of anything.
I could be standing in somebody's sights right now.
Torn, confused, and late to meet her father, Sydney tucked the hard drive into her blazer pocket, turned around, and ran.
By the time she parked her car outside the restaurant, Sydney had achieved an outward appearance of calm. The tears she'd cried driving across town had dried, and even the ache of her loss had dulled, replaced by a growing anger. Wilson had betrayed her. He'd betrayed them all. And as soon as she got through dinner, she'd decide what to do about that.
Assuming my dad even waited, she thought, running up to the entry. She was almost an hour late and fully expecting a tongue-lashing if he was still there.
The front door of the steak house was standing open. Sydney hurried through it, craning her neck past a giant fish tank in an attempt to see the tables. There weren't many diners that Monday night, and her father sat conspicuously alone, a menu and cup of coffee in front of him.
“Can I help you?” a hostess asked, quickly inserting herself between Sydney and the dining room. She was young and nervous-looking, her long hair gathered into a loose ponytail down the back of her Hawaiian-print dress.
“That gray-haired man,” Sydney said, pointing at her father. “How long has he been here waiting?”
The girl turned to look. “Five minutes. Ten at the most.”
“That's not possible!” Sydney protested.
“I seated him myself.”
“Oh. Well, okay. If you're sure . . .”
But she still found it inconceivable that her obsessively punctual father had been almost as late as she was. What had he been doing?
If he gives me a hard time, at least I have ammunition, she thought, heading toward his table. I'm not even going to make up an excuse. In fact, I dare him to ask why I'm late.
But Jack simply nodded as she approached, as if she were right on time. “Hello, Sydney. Did you have trouble finding this place?”
“Maybe a little,” she said warily. “Did you?”
“Of course not. I'm the one who suggested it.”
“Right.”
He looked expectantly from her to the empty seat on the other side of his table. She sat down on cue, nervously picking up the menu lying there.
“Have you ordered yet?” she asked.
“No, I was waiting for you.”
You weren't waiting very long. But she kept the thought to herself. She had enough problems already without picking a fight. “What's good here?” she asked instead.
“The steak. And the seafood.”
“Uh-huh. Pretty much everything on the menu, then.”
“Exactly.” If he'd noticed her sarcasm, he didn't let on.
A waitress walked over. “Can I bring you something from the bar?” she asked Sydney.
“Sadly, no.”
“We'll order dinner now,” Jack said. “Do you have a special tonight?”
“We have three,” the woman replied, gearing up for a lengthy description. “Our first is the almond-crusted halibut with—”
“I'll have that,” he said.
The waitress blinked. “You don't want to hear the other two?”
“That's not necessary.”
“Um, soup or salad?”
“Salad. House dressing,” he said brusquely.
“All right.” The woman turned her attention to Sydney. “Also tonight, we have a seared—”
“I'll have the halibut too,” Sydney said, putting down her unread menu. The sooner she got out of there, the better. “House dressing.”
The waitress walked away shaking her head.
“I'm sorry if I seem rushed, but something's come up at work,” Jack told Sydney. “I'm afraid I'll have to eat and run tonight.”
“I thought you were on vacation.”
He shrugged. “I just have to make some calls. Clients . . . you know. Sometimes it takes concessions to keep them happy.”
“Concessions. Right,” she said, seething inside.
Who was he to talk to her about concessions? Wasn't she sitting with him in a restaurant she hadn't wanted to go to, waiting for a meal she didn't want to eat, while a dangerous double agent ran wild and a hard drive full of missile software rotted in her purse?
But forget all that. No, we're cutting dinner short tonight because one of Jack Bristow's precious clients desperately needs a wing nut.
The situation was almost too ridiculous.
How did I ever start believing that what I do is important? she wondered sullenly. Dad's got a big-time career selling airplane parts, and I'm just trying to save the world.
“Thanks for coming,” Sydney said, stepping out of a shadow behind the UCLA gym.
Noah flinched, startled, then tried to pretend he hadn't. Darkness cloaked the surrounding athletic fields, but a security light on the building made reading his face easy.
“No problem,” he said, joining her in a sheltered alcove. “Now tell me what's so important you couldn't say it on the phone.”
“Just . . .” Sydney hesitated. She'd had a lot of time to think while she'd pushed that halibut around her plate, while she'd driven back to campus, and while she'd waited for Noah to show up. What if, in spite of everything, she was wrong about Wilson?
“Oh, I get it,” he said smugly, pulling her into his arms. “You want me. It's not in my job description, but I'll try to be of service, ma'am.”
“You wish.” Sydney pushed him off her, in no mood for his jokes. She hesitated another second, then blurted it out. “Something terrible's happened, Noah. I don't know what to do.”
His expression changed immediately, becoming completely serious. “Tell me.”
“Look.” Pulling the hard drive from her bag, Sydney handed it over. “Check out the mark on that side. That's the drive—the exact drive—you and I stole from SST.”
Noah held the case close to his eyes and squinted. “If you say so. But why do you have it? Did Graham give this to you?”
“No. Wilson dropped it into a trash can on a Hollywood street tonight. I thought . . .” The lump in her throat had begun choking her. “He's been acting funny, so I started following him around. And now . . .” She gestured helplessly to the disk.
Noah's face told her all she needed to know. This was serious—as serious as she'd feared.
“It doesn't have to be what it looks like,” she sa
id, still wanting to be wrong. “What if he's involved in some op you and I don't know about? An SD-6 op, I mean.”
“It's possible,” Noah conceded. His eyes hardened. “But it's not likely.”
“I just don't want to get him in trouble if he's not doing anything wrong. Wilson's like . . .” Squeezing her eyes shut against rising tears, Sydney drew in a shuddering breath. “He's important to me.”
“I understand. But you were right to call me,” Noah assured her, tucking the drive into his coat. “This has to be reported.”
“Right now? Maybe the two of us could deal with this ourselves—just until we're certain. Wilson doesn't know I saw him tonight. We could shadow him. Set up surveillance and stakeouts and—”
“Not this time.” Noah shook his head sadly. “I'm sorry, Sydney, but this has to go higher. You know it does.”
Hot tears escaped her eyes at last. “I don't even know who to report it to.”
Noah put his arms around her again and rested his cheek on her head. “You've already reported it—to me. I'll take it from here.”
“Who are you going to tell?”
“Someone who'll know what to do. I'll take this program back to headquarters, make my report, and then . . .”
“What?” she asked desperately.
“We'll have to wait and see. For your sake, I hope this is some sort of mix-up, but . . .” He shrugged against her body. “Whatever happens will be over soon.”
“I just . . . Will Wilson go to prison?”
“We'll have to see,” he repeated, smoothing her hair away from her face. “But now I have to go.” He turned her loose and stepped away, his expression full of purpose.
“I'll let you know what happens,” he added. “And if SD-6 needs your help, I'll call you. But for now it's out of your hands. Try not to worry about it.”
Sydney nodded mutely and watched him walk off into the darkness, Wilson's fate in his coat pocket.
Noah was right: It was out of her hands. For better or worse, she'd set something in motion that she couldn't stop. If Wilson was innocent, he was going to know she'd betrayed him. And if he was guilty . . .
Sydney covered her face, afraid to finish the thought. “What have I done?” she moaned.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Urgent
Did something go wrong with the drop? Why haven't you returned my messages? Respond ASAP.
14
I CAN'T DO THIS, Sydney thought, arriving on the main floor of SD-6 the next afternoon. I won't.
But she hadn't been given a choice. Noah had made his report and word had come back from on high: There was no secret SD-6 operation. Wilson was a traitor.
Noah's instructions to her on the phone could not have been more clear. The brass at SD-6 wanted Wilson taken into custody, but not inside headquarters. If he decided to shoot it out, too many people could get hurt. Snatching him at his home had been ruled against as too public and likely to fail. Instead, they would have an armed security team apprehend him inside a deserted downtown building.
It was Sydney's job to lure him there.
“Why me?” she'd protested when Noah told her the news. “Why can't someone else do it?”
“Because Wilson trusts you,” he'd replied.
“That's exactly why I don't want to be involved!”
But in the end he'd convinced her. Wilson was going to be picked up anyway; she owed it to her colleagues to make sure no one got hurt in the process.
Not even Wilson.
Not that he's likely to appreciate it, she thought, striding down the hall to his office. I'm not expecting gratitude.
She didn't know what to expect.
“Sydney!” Wilson exclaimed when she appeared in his doorway. “I told you to take the day off today.”
“Something's come up,” she said. At least she didn't have to fake the worry in her voice. “I think someone's spying on me.”
“What?” Wilson's brows drew together in a way she might once have confused with concern. “Who?”
“I don't know. But Owen Vincent's still out there, right? And presumably he has friends.”
“We can't arrest him now,” Wilson said. “Without the missile software, we've got nothing.”
“Yeah. It's a shame how that turned out.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Still, Kristin Jarvis disappeared kind of suddenly. Maybe he put two and two together.”
“Do you really believe he has you under surveillance? Tell me exactly what you saw.”
I saw you drop that hard drive into a trash can! she wanted to scream.
She took a deep breath instead.
“This guy's started following me around campus,” she said. “I got suspicious and tracked him to a building a few miles from here, but the place is deserted. He walked in and disappeared.”
“People don't just disappear, Sydney.”
“They do if they're spies.”
Wilson smiled. “You have a point. But there must be an outlet you didn't find. A secret exit somewhere.”
“I know. Can you come help me look for it?”
She had done it. The question hung between them. Sydney held her breath, half hoping he'd say no.
Wilson grimaced. “Now?”
“Could you? Maybe it's nothing, but if this guy knows who I am, and he knows where I live . . . I won't sleep until I find out what's going on.”
“I can't leave the office now, Sydney. Let's call in Agent Hicks to help you.”
“It's almost five o'clock,” she said, having anticipated this objection. “And I'd rather have you.”
“Really?” Wilson raised a skeptical brow. “I thought you and Noah had hit it off.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, embarrassed. “He never even talks to me!”
“Hence my suspicion,” he said with a wry smile.
“Noah's all right,” Sydney admitted, making Wilson's smile even broader. “But he's hotheaded. He rushes into things, like that SST disaster. I'd feel safer if you came with me.”
Wilson looked worried again. “You honestly think you're in danger?”
“Maybe. I don't know. Will you come?”
This time he didn't hesitate.
“Of course,” he said, grabbing his jacket.
In her car on the way to the rendezvous point, Sydney was in agony. If Wilson had refused to come with her, the burden of his capture would have shifted to someone else. But there he was, riding cluelessly in her passenger seat, full of apparent concern about whether someone was trying to hurt her.
Which only makes this harder.
SD-6 brass had been right about Wilson; he cared about her. If he didn't, would he be letting her drag him off on such a wild-goose chase? He trusted her.
And she was about to betray him.
No! she thought, sneaking a sideways glance at her recruiter. He's the one who betrayed us!
But nothing she told herself could make what she was doing feel right. SD-6 had guessed how much Wilson cared about her; they didn't seem to realize how much she cared about Wilson. He had believed in her when no one else had. He'd recruited a shy, lonely freshman and turned her into something more than she'd ever dreamed she could be. He had trained her, nurtured her, kicked her butt when she needed it. . . .
He wasn't her father—he was closer than that.
I love him, she thought, nearly choking on her guilt.
“So, how's school?” Wilson asked obliviously. “Are you caught up in your classes yet?”
“Pretty much. I should be by the end of the week, anyway.” Something told her she was about to have a lot of time on her hands.
“It's amazing the way you balance your school schedule with everything you do for SD-6,” he said. “Everyone at the agency's in awe. I should have told you that before.”
“It's not that hard,” Sydney lied, mortified. Now he wanted to praise her?
“When I was a freshman,
I couldn't even balance my classes with my drinking binges. You're so much more mature than that.”
“Well . . . you know . . . ,” she said uncomfortably. “Girls mature faster than boys.”
Wilson laughed. “Yes. So girls keep telling us.”
Sydney could see her target office building up ahead, and the long, empty stretch of curb in front of it. Business hours had ended for the day, which explained why most of the surrounding buildings looked vacant too. She guided her car toward a spot at the curb, wishing the whole experience were over.
She hit the brakes harder than she'd intended, rocking them both in their seats. The Mustang stopped two feet from the curb.
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Remind me to always wear my seat belt with you.”
He opened his car door and stepped into the dry gutter. Sydney gripped the wheel a moment longer, then abruptly jumped out too. A warm wind blew down the street, pushing scraps of paper before it. She breathed in the scents of summer and smog, the entire situation unreal.
Wilson was already waiting for her by the entrance.
“It's unlocked,” she said, reaching past him for the doorknob. “At least it was before.”
The door swung open, revealing a small, dark lobby with grimy walls and soiled carpeting. There was no furniture, only a few coils of abandoned computer cable lying on the floor.
“This doesn't look too promising,” he observed. “What's in back?”
Don't go in back! Sydney had to fight the impulse to shout it out loud. Turn around, Wilson. Turn around and run!
“Storage racks and a loading dock,” she said.
“Better. Let's look there.”
She watched him walk through the lobby, everything seeming to happen in slow motion. Her heart pounded, her lips moved, but she was frozen in place. He reached for the back door. His hand closed over the knob.
“Wilson?” she blurted out.
He paused, turning to look at her. “Yes, Sydney?”
The door flew open, pulled hard from the other side. Wilson staggered back with it, and before he could catch his balance, four black-clad men were on him, pinning his arms and legs and stripping his sidearm from under his jacket.
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