by C. G. Cooper
Survivor’s guilt, Higgins thought.
That led to an incident roughly one year ago, around the time of the Beirut bombings. Zyga may have taken responsibility for what happened, but when it came down to it, Spencer was at fault for beating a prisoner to death. They had been unable to get the appropriate information out of the prisoner, rendering the CIA incapable of stopping the mass murder of so many of their fellow Americans.
Higgins’s eyes sped back and forth as he took in as much information as he could. The hair on his arms began to stand on end. Spencer had plenty of motivation to want to see an end to this program. It was a constant reminder of his mistake. Of his implicit guilt.
But why would he expose his own undercover operations, his alias?
Higgins stared up at the ceiling as he let his mind work through the problem. Spencer’s real name had yet to be attached to the released alias. The leaked information had certainly caused publicity problems for the agency, but that was superficial compared to what a major leak could do. He was the target of the latest attack, no one would suspect him.
It would even allow him to pin everything on someone else, like Decker or Zyga.
Higgins dropped his gaze back to the others around the table, each pouring over their own set of folders. York had already gone through three of them.
The door opened. Spencer was standing in the frame.
His gaze wandered around the table, slowly taking in the folders and then each person, one at a time. Was it just Higgins’s imagination, or did Spencer’s eyes linger on him a little longer than it had on Johnson or Abrams?
It didn’t matter. Spencer’s gaze landed on York and stayed there.
“You have a phone call.”
She looked nearly as concerned as Higgins felt. No one else was supposed to know they were here other than Decker and Zyga.
York shook her head, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”
“You have a phone call. It’s urgent.”
“From whom?”
“I was just told to get you.”
Higgins stood. “By whom?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who told you to come get York?”
“That’s none of your business, Higgins.”
“Not many people know we’re here.”
“Guess I’m one of the lucky ones.” Spencer locked eyes with York again. “Follow me.”
Higgins watched as York followed Spencer out of the room, wondering if she was about to become the next victim in this mad scheme to destroy the CIA’s newest interrogation program.
Chapter Thirty-Two
York was only gone for ten minutes, but it felt like hours to Higgins. He sat there, folders ignored, warring with himself. Should he go after her, potentially tipping off Spencer that they suspected him, and putting himself in the middle of a situation he wasn’t even sure he could handle? Or should he sit tight, going over his notes with the intention of finding hard evidence that Spencer was their guy?
As much as he itched to get up and do something, Higgins stayed put. He had jumped to conclusions before. He didn’t want to do it again. His time in the program was like nothing he had experienced before. The situations and people were messier and more intertwined than he’d expected.
By the time the door opened and York walked back into the room, Higgins was nearly climbing the walls. His relief that York had returned was at odds with the sinking feeling in his stomach. Something wasn’t sitting right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Spencer fit the bill, but there was a piece of the puzzle that wouldn’t lock in to finish the picture. What was missing?
All eyes turned to York as she took her place at the table. Her makeup wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been when she left, and her eyes were rimmed red. She wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but it was obvious they were all looking for an explanation.
“It was a personal phone call,” she said, setting one folder aside and opening another.
There was a beat of silence before Abrams said gently, “You alright? You know you can talk to us.”
“I’d really rather not,” she said, looking up. Her eyes were hard now. “But thank you.”
The room grew quiet, but no one seemed to be returning to their work. Higgins cleared his throat, then picked up York’s file and walked it over to her, placing it gently in the middle of her own pile. “I didn’t read it, as much as I wanted to.”
That elicited a chuckle. “I figured you’d already pieced together what was in here.”
Higgins smiled. “You give me too much credit. You’re an enigma, Ms. York.”
“Do you two need a moment to stroke each other’s egos? Should we leave the room?” Abrams’s voice was light.
York shook her head and wiped away a tear. “Guys, listen. I know I’m not exactly the warmest fish in the tank. But we’re working together, for better or for worse, and the least I owe any of you is an insider’s grab at the facts. I became a detective because of my mother. She was a spitfire. Never took no for an answer. My father was the complete opposite. He stayed at home, letting my mother have the spotlight. She was something of a legend in our hometown. She was the first woman on the force in a small town in Montana, and she had the highest solve rate of anyone there. They eventually made her sheriff.”
She flipped open her file and pulled out the few sheets of paper that were in there.
“I almost didn’t join the program. Right before I’d been accepted, my mother found out she needed brain surgery to remove a tumor. We weren’t sure whether or not it was cancerous.”
“And I’m guessing you just found out.” Johnson’s voice was as quiet as Higgins had ever heard it.
York’s lips were tight, her nod rapid. “She’s got some time, but they couldn’t remove the entire tumor. It’ll metastasize and eventually kill her.”
Higgins placed a hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything we can do?”
York cleared her throat and straightened up, placing her files back inside the folder and tossing it to the floor. “You can start by removing your hand from my shoulder.”
Higgins removed his hand quickly, blushing to the sound of nervous chuckles from the other two.
“And we can make sure that my decision to join the CIA instead of staying home with my mother is worth my time.”
Abrams looked down at his watch. “Well, on that note, it’s been an hour. Any conclusions?”
Johnson tossed one of his folders on the floor. “Nope.”
Abrams sighed heavily. “Me neither. Al?”
“Spencer,” Higgins said, meandering back over to his seat. “He’s got motivation.”
“It’s not him,” York said. She was staring holes through her file, though he wasn’t sure she was really seeing what was in front of her.
“How do you know?” Johnson said. “Whoever this is, they’re smart. Spencer might be Zyga’s man, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hold a grudge.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Higgins said. He held up a few pieces of paper. “He was there in Beirut but Zyga took the fallout. As far as I can tell Spencer got off easy.”
Johnson shrugged. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It’s not Spencer,” York repeated. She had gotten to her feet without Higgins noticing. She still had the same look on her face, but now he could tell that she was in fact reading whatever was in front of her. When she looked up again, there was a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “It’s Kinkaid.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“What?” Higgins had to shake the buzzing wax out of his ears. He thought she said—
“Kinkaid.” she repeated, her voice steady.
“How?” Abrams asked. He seemed just as confused as Higgins. “Why?”
York pushed all her files away from her, causing several to topple to the floor. No one paid them any attention. She spread out several pages from Kinkaid’s dossier.
“He was there when the bomb went
off in Beirut. He was in the same room as Spencer when their prisoner died. He didn’t have a hand in it, so it didn’t catch my attention at first. Spencer got flack for the incident, but Kinkaid and another agent named Thomas basically walked away without any disciplinary action.”
“So, what makes you think—” Johnson started.
York held up her hand to stop him. “Alvin, come here. Look at this, and tell me what you think.”
Higgins jolted out of his stupor when he heard his first name come from her mouth.
“He joined the army when he was eighteen. Got recruited to the CIA a couple years later. He’s been here for some time.”
Higgins scanned the pages, waiting for an anvil to drop that solidified Kinkaid as their culprit.
“Remember what Spencer said about the Kinkaid legacy?” York said. “I bet if we look back, there’ll be several generations of Kinkaids who’d made their name in the military.”
“That’s true,” Abrams said, stepping forward to look over Higgins’s shoulder. “His father is a legend around here. Stellar operator. A lot of people had high expectations when Kinkaid finally joined the agency. I’m not sure he’s lived up to them.”
“I come from a military family.” Johnson’s voice was even, but Higgins saw the tension in his shoulders. “That kind of pressure can drive anyone bugfuck.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he’d want to destroy the program,” Higgins said.
“No, but his psych eval does,” York said.
Higgins flipped through the papers in his hands until he found it. It seemed fairly normal until he reached the doctor’s notes at the bottom. He read them aloud.
“Patient shows an impressive ability to control his emotions, possibly to his detriment. His lack of expression has the potential to escalate internal stress to dangerous levels. Recommend monitoring and possible low-level counseling for stress management.”
“So, he’s a ticking time bomb,” Johnson offered.
“This still doesn’t mean anything,” Higgins said. “I’m sure plenty of other profiles here say something along these same lines.”
York was getting visibly frustrated now. “He fits the bill more than Zyga or Spencer.”
“Wait, you thought Zyga was behind this?” Abrams’s face was caught between shock and amusement.
Higgins felt the blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. “We didn’t have as much information then as we do now. It was a gut instinct, and it was wrong.” He turned toward York. “I just want to make sure this time we’re right.”
York took a deep breath and laid the sheets out on the table. He could practically see her flip the switch and transition into detective mode. “What’s our evidence?”
Abrams ticked the items off on his fingers. “Information leak, meaning the suspect had to have access to files concerning the program. Bomb, meaning the suspect knew where candidates were being taken and when they could plant it without being seen. Another information leak, this time concerning confidential information tied to but not directly about the program.”
“Based on all of that,” Johnson said, “who are we looking for?”
Higgins could see the evidence lining up before his eyes. “Likely a white male, given that’s the most populated demographic in the agency. Someone who can fly under the radar but has access to vital information. Someone who is involved with the program and has a reason to oppose its objective.”
“That knocks out any candidates,” York said.
“And we don’t actually believe Decker and Zyga are in on this.” Abrams glanced at Higgins, who ignored the reminder of his mistake.
“That leaves the training officers,” Johnson said. “Spencer, Kinkaid, and Meyers.”
“It’s clear Decker trusts Spencer,” York offered. “He sent him specifically to tell me about my phone call.”
“That doesn’t rule him out,” Higgins reminded her. “It just makes it less plausible he’s our guy.”
“Right,” said Abrams. “But let’s shelve Spencer for now. That leaves Kinkaid and Meyers. Who has Thomas’s file?”
“I do.” Johnson held it up. “Kid’s a good agent. Quiet. Nothing stands out.”
“What about his psych eval?” Higgins asked.
Johnson flipped it open to one of the pages and held it out for the other three. “Solid.” He chuckled. “Better than mine. He’s quiet, but organized and attentive. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s not part of this program. He’d be a good fit.”
“That could be a red flag,” York said. “Not wanting to be a part of the program.”
Abrams took the file and shook his head. “He has other interests. It looks like he’s less interested in field work and psychology and more interested in computers.”
“That’s a promising field,” Higgins said, adjusting his glasses.
Johnson rolled his eyes. “Not as promising as actual field work. Computers will never be able to do what a human can do.”
Higgins looked up. “I think one day the power of computers will astound us all.”
That elicited a snort from Johnson.
“We need to focus.” York’s voice was sharp. “This leaves Kinkaid on the table.”
“All of my interactions with him have been better than with Spencer,” Higgins said. “He was in charge of the combat training, and he really seemed like a nice guy.”
Abrams looked up sharply. “Wait, he was in charge of the combat training? It wasn’t Meyers?”
“Right.” Higgins looked from one face to the next, then landed back on Abrams. “Why?”
“Because each of the senior agents were supposed to take one of the tasks. Spencer obviously had the first one. And if Kinkaid had the last one…”
Higgins felt the dawning realization like a brick to the head. “That means he shouldn’t have been there when we ran into him in the woods during the second task. Meyers was meant to be in charge of that one.”
“You ran into Kinkaid during the second task?” York asked.
“Not ten feet from the real bomb Higgins found,” Johnson added.
Higgins was surprised but delighted that Johnson had given him credit for finding the real bomb.
“We don’t have proof,” said Higgins, “but we have a reasonable suspect.” He tucked Kinkaid’s file under his arm and stepped back from the table. “We need to talk to Decker and Zyga.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Arthur Kinkaid had been tailing Spencer throughout the building for a good part of the day. After his clandestine mission had been made public, Kinkaid wanted to see what the other agent would do. Spencer wasn’t exactly one to stay down after getting knocked on his ass, but his insistence that he treat the day like any other was surprising nonetheless.
Still, Spencer kept getting pulled into meetings. First with Zyga. Then they were joined by Decker. Then all three of them made the trip to Director Thatcher’s office. Kinkaid didn’t want to risk being caught, so he didn’t stay close enough to hear what they were discussing—not that he needed to. Most likely Spencer was going over the situation for the ninth or tenth time, so they could figure out how the information had been leaked.
But no one would be able to guess where it had come from. The first one had been meant to draw the big players out into the open. Decker and Zyga had personally tracked the information to the guy who had been unlucky enough to catch Kinkaid’s attention. The trail had been laid out in order to be followed, to prove to everyone that the program was a liability by bringing in people from the outside.
Kinkaid had hoped it would stop there. Zyga seemed to be looking for any excuse to see the program fail, so he was surprised when they found the guy and kept it under wraps. He’d been careful to cover his own tracks in relation to the man he’d hired, so Kinkaid had nothing to worry about. Still, he hadn’t particularly wanted to move onto phase two.
The bomb was risky. A big escalation. But he’d needed to send a message. He hadn’t wanted to hurt an
yone, but the threat had to be real. He’d been relieved when he learned Decker hadn’t been injured.
Kinkaid’s ears pricked up toward a shuffling of footsteps in the distance. He was keeping up appearances by stationing himself in one of the empty classrooms and going through paperwork. If anyone asked why he wasn’t at his desk, he’d just tell them he’d needed a change in scenery.
In reality, it meant he could stay closer to Spencer, who was across the hall letting off a little steam in one of the training rooms. He’d been doing that a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and it made Kinkaid proud of his work. His intention was never to hurt anyone, but he couldn’t help but revel in the idea of making Spencer’s life difficult. The asshole had a habit of singling Kinkaid out and reminding him he was nothing compared to his father. Kinkaid had suffered enough of that bullshit. This was a two-birds-one-stone scenario.
Whispers echoed off the hallway walls. Kinkaid slipped out of his chair and padded over to the door. He’d left it open a crack, and when he put his eye to the opening, he saw four candidates huddled together over a folder filled with papers, walking in his direction. They were arguing, but their voices were too low for him to make out any words.
Kinkaid stepped back as they passed, pressing his back against the wall. Once they were gone, he opened the door a little wider and slipped out into the hallway. Earlier, when he’d been following Spencer, he’d seen the other agent pull York out of a room and walk her down to Decker’s office. Torn between following Spencer and seeing what York was up to, Kinkaid had relented and kept eyes on his target.
It hadn’t meant anything to him before, but now there was a pit in his stomach. Decker and Zyga had given the trainers the day off, telling them to work on the projects they’d neglected since the start of the program. Kinkaid had been elated, hoping it would give him a chance to cause a little more trouble for his superiors. His excitement had made him lax.