The young woman working the stables—what was her name, Teal?—this morning didn't seem surprised. In fact, she grinned widely and waved as Selena left her behind. Typical precocious Athena student. Christine didn't seem surprised by the turn of events, either, and as Selena came bursting back out of the bungalow, Christine met her with an electric golf cart, gesturing for Selena to toss the suitcase in the back.
Selena almost said, How—? but Christine preempted her. "I got a call. No, I don't know why. I just know that chopper's here for you."
Selena said, "Cole."
It was enough. Christine's mouth set in a grim line as she revved the little cart up to its top speed, not waiting for Selena to settle into place. They zipped past a line of young women running with light packs, gleaming with sunscreen against the desert morning sun. "Athena!" the girls shouted after them.
Selena knew how fast information spread here. The girls, returned from their field trip, knew who she was, what she'd done in Berzhaan, and what she was doing at the Farm—and all before they'd finished brushing their teeth. She grinned, for an instant lost in flash memories of her own days here.
And then suddenly she was clasping Christine's hand in a goodbye, climbing into the massive Bell 430 helicopter while ducking rotor wash and dragging her suitcase along behind. Christine stood by the cart at the edge of the wash, her short white hair whipping in the wind and her hand protecting her eyes. Selena pointed at her borrowed boots as she reached for the door. "I'll send them back!"
Christine waved off her concern with a you must be kidding look and Selena settled back into the seat, buckling up as the pilot lifted off. Better to think about boots than to think about Cole.
BRIEFED ON THE PLANE. No kidding.
Selena sat in the luxurious Bombardier Learjet, slowly realizing that no amount of ventilation could obscure the results of her hasty downhill ride. Selena sweat, not so bad. Horse sweat…definitely lingering. "Sorry," she'd said to the pilot of the lightweight craft as he'd greeted her upon boarding. "I was—"
And he'd already been nodding. "So I see. Well, make yourself at home in a different kind of leather seat. There are materials waiting for you on the table."
Selena jammed her suitcase into the overhead and dumped her shoulder-slung leather briefcase—worse for the wear since Berzhaan, but she wasn't about to give it up—on the window seat as she plunked herself into the aisle seat at the executive table. The folder waiting there was red, sealed with official stickers, and shouted I'm full of secret stuff. She instantly broke the seal, somehow restraining herself from dumping the contents wholesale onto the table. At some point the plane rolled down the runway and lifted into the air, but she couldn't have said when.
There wasn't all that much material in the folder. A summary, for her benefit: Cole had been called back into the field because they'd seen a perfect opportunity to use the Berzhaani reporter persona he'd established during the hostage crisis before he'd removed the disguise and ended up blazed across the front page of national and international newspapers. Au naturel, so to speak.
She took a moment to absorb the irony of that. Cole had come to Berzhaan unauthorized, on his own time, and ultimately had been released from his contract because of it. The agency hadn't even paid for treatment of the leg he'd broken in the process of helping to defeat the terrorists, although the state department had happily picked up the bill. But now the CIA had called on Cole to use the very persona he'd developed during that incident.
These are your people now, she reminded herself, and went on to read the mission brief.
Cole Jones had gone to Berzhaan to locate and retrieve a Afghan man lost in mid-defection—Dr. Aymal. Selena went hunting for a first name and didn't find it, and then realized the man must be Pashtun—a culture that generally took on surnames only to make dealing with Western nations more convenient. Aymal was this man's lone name, and he didn't appear to have any need for such convenience.
Feeling the pressure of the allied hunt for terrorists across the Mideast, Aymal had made the leap to the other side, reaching out to the States with promises of information about both Iran-to-Iraq weapons sales and impending terrorist strikes across organizations. CIA officers had gotten him from Afghanistan to Berzhaan…and then lost him and nearly one of their own in an ambush. Aymal, it seemed, had gotten away but still had nowhere to go.
Cole had gone in to find him. To do what he did best, which was to navigate his way through high-stakes circumstances that couldn't be planned to the last detail. Going into Berzhaan, he'd had only a number of contacts and pickup arrangements.
And this time, he'd missed one.
What were you thinking, to leave me? To leave us?
The brief didn't make any suggestion as to what might have happened. It noted only that no Westerners had been reported as killed or jailed since Cole's arrival in Suwan, Berzhaan's capital city.
A city Selena had recently come to know all too well.
And that's why she was here—in this plane, on the way to Langley in her riding tights and boots and aroma. Because she was Cole's wife, and the only person who had the barest chance of anticipating Cole's moves. Because she knew the city.
And because the city knew her. It loved her.
And it owed her.
BY THE TIME THEY REACHED Langley—setting down on a private airstrip, hustling off to the McLean campus in the waiting car—Selena was more than ready for a shower and change of clothes. But her clean-cut escort indicated there was no time for such luxuries. The young woman smiled pleasantly and said little, walking Selena through the lobby of the Original Headquarters Building, expediting her passage through security, stowing her luggage in a small locked room. They headed up to the fourth-floor main entrance to the New Headquarters Building, moving too quickly for Selena to catch the view of the OHB from the skylighted entry corridor. But when they hit the atrium, Selena dug in her heels just long enough to take in the four stories of airy windowed space, to get a good look at the three suspended aircraft models overhead. She recognized the Blackbird and squinted up at what looked like a drone of some sort.
"I'm sorry," the young woman said. "But they're waiting for us. We really can't linger here."
Nor did she want to. Not with Cole's fate in question.
Odd. Until the previous winter in Berzhaan, neither of them had ever seen the other in action. Even then, they'd merely passed each other in the midst of chaos, hesitating long enough for a quick exchange of information across the room. Before that they'd gone their separate ways while working, aware of what the other was doing only through vague hints and innuendos.
Now suddenly Cole's life depended on her, and unless she was mistaken, they would very much see each other in action before this was over.
She wondered if it would feel as strange then as it did at this moment.
Her guide led her through the atrium to the six-story tower on the other side, and they entered the glass-sided elevator to ascend to the fifth floor. The door at which they finally stopped opened into a room lined with windows and a view of the landscaped courtyard, fish pond and manicured trees.
Selena noted those things only absently. For sitting around the table of this little briefing room with its high-tech presentation options and Aeron chairs were several people she didn't know…and one she did.
Steven Dobry.
He looked her up and down, pausing visibly at the lime seam stripes on her schooling tights. "Nice."
She didn't respond. She suspected that were their situations reversed, Dobry would still be up on the mountain, and it was enough. Nodding a greeting to the others, she pulled her eyes-only folder from the briefcase and dropped the briefcase to the floor, sitting in the empty chair with a pad of paper and pen neatly waiting for her. Then, since everyone else had ice water at hand, she poured herself a glass from the pitcher in the center of the table and helped herself to a croissant. The sandwich she'd had on the plane hadn't nearly done the job.
"That's the idea," the woman said. "My name is Janet, and this is Randy."
Selena raised an eyebrow as she bit into the croissant. No last names, even for this? Janet smiled at her. "You'll be working with the station chief in Berzhaan. There's no point in cluttering the situation with distracting details."
Selena swallowed without chewing. "Cole is over there somewhere," she pointed out. "You can trust that I won't be distracted from that." Whatever he was thinking when he left, I intend to put us back together.
"Really?" Dobry said. "I thought the whole reason you were teaching at the Farm was that you couldn't be trusted at all."
The woman aimed a disapproving look at him. "This operation will depend on teamwork. We chose you, Mr. Dobry, because of your expertise with disguises and your familiarity with Ms. Shaw Jones, although your language skills for the area are only passable. We expect you to go in under a subtle cover, and to be available to obscure both your identities when necessary—the instant it's necessary. If we've made a mistake, we can rectify it before we waste any more time."
Dobry was smooth enough, Selena would give him that. "My words weren't well chosen, but this is something we really should put on the table."
"That's fair enough." Randy No-Last-Name put down the pen which had only hovered over his pad. Dobry's pleased nod disappeared fast enough when the man pinned him with an unwavering look. "But you should keep in mind that if we find it necessary to shuffle the team, you're the one who'll be going back to the Farm."
Janet didn't let the words ringer before moving on. "We've considered the circumstances which sent Ms. Jones—"
"Shaw Jones," Selena said. "Or better yet, Selena."
Janet nodded. "Selena, then. Monthly evaluations have shown satisfactory progress. The details of last month's incident at the Farm and the aftermath actually played a significant part in the decision to move forward with this ops plan. Selena's reaction was an excellent example of a trained field officer reacting to a perceived threat. And we trust enough time has passed so that any awkwardness resulting from the incident is gone."
In other words, we're all adults here. Let it go, Dobry.
And Dobry considered it. He looked at Selena, chewed his bottom lip for the merest instant, and nodded. "Right," he said. "Let's not waste any more time."
Right, Selena thought. Because if they looked any more closely at the incident, he might have to answer questions about his own judgment that night. Up until now, he'd covered his ass by standing by his original response, that he'd simply been taking appropriate initiative to assess what he saw as a potential problem. But scrutiny wouldn't do the claim any good.
Randy said, "Your station chief is Stan F. TRAMMEL. Selena, your station name is now Elaine P. BLUEMAN, and Steven will remain George M. FLEAGAL. All communiqués will come to you via the station at these names. Selena, I assume you know that overseas case officers refer to one another by their station names alone."
In fact, Selena knew this wasn't always the case, but close enough. She nodded. She'd had months to learn the ins and outs of her new alphabet family, and she'd absorbed much of it from Cole long before now, including the convention of using all-caps for a case officer's last name. But she raised her hand, just briefly—interruption rather than a request to speak. "I think I've missed a step." She sent an even look in Dobry's direction, weighed his probable reaction and went ahead anyway. "I don't understand why I'm being partnered with anyone at all. I'll have the backup of the local station, and I'm sure Langley's resources will be at my disposal as well." Not to mention Oracle. Although that last wasn't a fact that anyone here could know.
Janet looked at her with her agency face on, but Selena thought she saw a gleam of understanding. "Although you have significant Berzhaani government and security contacts and we expect you to work this op under the cover of your own name, there's a good chance you'll also end up working the streets. In fact, we assume that'll happen. When it does, you'll need a man on your team."
Selena winced at the thought. Under those circumstances, Dobry would have the initiative.
But the man had no agenda in Berzhaan. Had no reason to do anything other than his best, grabbing the opportunity to return to the field on a permanent basis.
And the hell of it was, the CIA was right. In the business section of the city, she could wear Western clothes and a modest attitude and get by just fine. But without the cachet of the embassy behind her, without official business to wear on her sleeve, she'd have to be much more careful in the outlying areas.
And if she knew Cole, he'd dug himself a little hidey-hole for Dr. Aymal so he could then go sniff out his options. A hidey-hole she'd have to find, and that she had no chance of finding if she was hanging out in the embassy trying to pull strings.
Dobry's expression had turned earnest. It wasn't one she'd seen on him before, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Look, I don't have exactly the same stakes as you, but this man is a CIA operative in trouble and the asset is carrying invaluable intel. I'll do everything I can to get them out of there."
Selena nodded an acknowledgment, but Janet was the one she looked to. Don't make me ask it.
Janet was no dummy. She volunteered the information. "Because of Selena's experience in Berzhaan, she's to be the senior operative." She raised a hand as Dobry's mouth opened. "However—Selena, I trust that you understand this is an unusual situation. FLEAGAL is an experienced officer. Take advantage of that fact."
Selena nodded. "Gratefully," she said, and meant it. She'd use anything that would help her find Cole and get them all out of there alive. She shifted in the chair—Aeron or not, she'd been sitting for far too long, especially in the wake of that wild ride down the mountain.
Janet's mouth pursed; she tapped the closed file folder in front of her. Red, like Selena's. "Do more than tolerate one another," she reiterated. "Work together as the team we know you can be. Because there's more to this asset than you know—information we received right before this meeting. Aymal's former case officer briefly regained consciousness. He doesn't remember much, but he does know that Aymal mentioned the terrorist attack will be soon—and that it will involve a school."
God, no. Not kids. She'd have to tell Delphi for Oracle as soon as possible, although the Oracle system probably would soon have the intel. She closed her eyes, trying to assimilate the additional urgency—another layer on top of her concern for Cole. For a moment it all mixed together, her remembered fears for the schoolkids she'd ultimately saved from the hands of the Kemeni eight months earlier, her instant protectiveness of any child, her ongoing efforts to have her own children with Cole.
But then, none of it was anything new. She'd been working for the next generation from the start, creating cooperative counterterrorism programs in allied countries as an FBI legate. She hadn't thought she'd ever be in that particular position again, but the responsibility suddenly clicked into place, as snug as the shoulder harness for her Beretta. "When do we leave?"
Randy must have been the go-to guy, the details facilitator. He smiled, and looked satisfied. "I've reserved a couple of spots on a Starlifter leaving Boiling within the hour. BLUEMAN, you can pull things from the suitcase you had in Arizona, and you'll also find a suitcase already packed. It has both Western and Berzhaani-style garments, as well as your personal effects."
Selena stopped short of reacquiring her croissant. "You went to the town house."
"While you were in the air," he agreed. "And there's a travel outfit in that overnighter by the door."
She opened her mouth, then decided to fill it with a torn piece of croissant rather than words. Just doing his job…and doing it well at that
. After she swallowed, she said, "Thank you. Do I have time to change before we leave?"
Dobry frowned in doubt. "How fast can you do it?"
At that moment, she thought, What would happen if I ditched him and showed up alone at the plane?
Tempting. So tempting.
Taz would do it.
But Selena wouldn't.
Not yet.
Instead she left her chair for the overnight bag and zipped it open with economical purpose, pulling out a deep turquoise shirt knit in a chunky, exaggerated weave, and a pair of her black cargo pants. She nodded approval at Randy, and then grabbed the bottom of her shirt—she was halfway to pulling it over her head before Janet laughed, a quietly amused sound.
Randy glanced at Dobry and said drily, "Point taken, but there's a bathroom just down the hall that will do. I think we can spare the thirty seconds it'll take for you to reach it. Not to mention it has a mirror—there's makeup and jewelry in that case, too."
Selena dropped her shirt and grabbed the overnighter. "Works for me." She looked back at Dobry on her way out. "Faster than you can flush a urinal."
WHEN SHE RETURNED just moments later, she found them up and waiting. She grabbed her croissant and a cream-cheese bear claw, wrapping both in a napkin and shoving them—a-long with a bottle of water—into her briefcase. At Dobry's raised brow she said, "I don't know about you, but I'm still making up for breakfast. I get cranky without my corn flakes."
"Can't have that," Dobry said, trying to make it sound lighthearted and failing. Selena left the overnighter in her chair—let the CIA have the horse-imbued riding tights, and she'd buy Athena another pair of boots—and breezed out the door ahead of him, close on Randy's heels. Once in the hallway, Janet said, "Randy will see you to the plane from here. Good luck, FLEAGAL…BLUEMAN."
But it hadn't taken luck to get Selena out of that embassy alive the previous winter. It had been persistence and a determined exploitation of all the tools she had on hand, from a sheaf of flying papers to decorative marbles and dry ice. It had been teamwork with Cole—an unusual remote teamwork where they'd each simply trusted the other to do what was necessary.
Comeback Page 5