“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask, pitching my voice low.
“Well, right now I’m enjoying a slice of Chicago’s finest,” she notes with a grin. “But I gotta say, New York pie is far superior.”
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.”
Justice laughs and takes another bite of the piece as I study her for a moment, startled by how different she looks from the first time I saw her. In the library, she could have passed as a college girl. Today, in a white knee-length skirt with blue flowers, a white button-down shirt, and a blue sweater, she’s got more of a soccer mom look to her. Even her makeup is different, making her appear a little older than she did the other day. She doesn’t even look like the same person.
She has such non-descript features, she could be anything ethnicity-wise. She looks like she could be white, Asian, Hispanic—her ethnicity seems so watered down, it’s almost impossible to tell what she is with any certainty. That plays to her advantage. With the right makeup and different hairstyles, different clothes, she can blend in anywhere. It’s a good skill to have.
“You’re a chameleon,” I note.
“Did some special effects makeup work back in college,” she nods. “Got pretty good at it. But it wasn’t my true calling.”
“And what is your true calling?”
She drops the pizza slice down on the plate and wipes her fingers off with a napkin. She leans across the table and gives me an enigmatic smile.
“Same as you,” she replies softly. “I work for the Agency. Or—I did, anyway.”
“Oh? And what was it you did for the Agency?”
“I was a cyber threat analyst,” she says with a frown. “More than anything, I wanted to work in Clandestine Services, but they wouldn’t give me a chance. Said I was too valuable as a CTA.”
I glance around again, sure I’m going to see Tower agents watching us. I have a bad feeling about this conversation. I know it should not be happening. Although Delta never specifically said talking to other operatives is out of bounds, I assumed that given their tightly controlled operational security protocols, I figured it should be a given.
“You know you shouldn’t be sitting here with me, right?” I ask.
“Says who?”
“Says—common sense,” I attempt. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Yeah, trying to crack the uncrackable,” she laughs.
“And how in the hell do you know what I’m working on?”
Her grin is wide. “Because I’m damn good at what I do.”
“And what is it you do?”
She sighs. “Still an analyst and sometime bagman—obviously,” she groans. “But our mutual bosses are impressed with my work, and there’s a chance I’ll be moved into ops soon.”
“So at the moment—you’re a delivery girl,” I chuckle.
“Eat shit,” she snaps.
It’s obviously a sore spot with her. But I think she’s romanticizing what it is to be an operative. Probably grew up watching the Bond and Bourne movies—shit like that. Thinks being a spy is glamorous and exciting. And doesn’t realize what it entails or how dangerous it can be.
“Look, if—our mutual bosses—find out we’re having this nice little chat—”
“I want to learn from you,” she says bluntly.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t know you, but I’ve heard enough people talk about you. You’re like a legend, man,” she says. “And if I’m ever going to move into ops, I need to learn. So I want to learn from the best.”
“Yeah, not a good idea.”
She grabs my beer and takes a long swallow. I just stare at her, amazed by her boldness. She sets the mug down and gives me a smile.
“You’ve got balls. I’ll give you that,” I tell her.
“I’ve got more than that.”
I sigh. “Look, I don’t doubt you’ll make a good field agent at some point,” I offer. “But I can’t afford to rock the boat too much here. If they find out I’m even talking to you, let alone training you, that’s my ass.”
Justice frowns, and I can see the disappointment on her face. I can see she’s got the fire and the drive, and she’s obviously got some skills, but I’ve got too much on the line to risk taking her on. I’m already running a risk by looking into Sherise’s murder as it is.
“What if I can guarantee you they’ll never find out?” she asks.
I laugh softly. “I don’t know much about the organization,” I say. “But I know enough to know you can’t guarantee something like that.”
“Trust me. I can,” she presses. “Please. Give me a chance. I want to be in the field, Echo. But I need experience. I am begging you.”
I sigh and drain the last of my beer. Justice is hungry for an opportunity. But she’s going to need to prove herself if she wants a shot in the field. I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my hair. I know what a bad idea this would be. And yet, there is something about her that won’t let me say no outright.
“How can you guarantee they won’t find out?” I ask.
“Look, to be honest, I’m really low on the food chain here. I’m a nobody. A glorified gopher. Nobody pays attention to me until they need somebody,” she admits, a tone of embarrassment in her voice. “But I have skills, Echo. I have talent. And I can add value to the organization. All I need is a chance.”
I signal the waitress to bring two more beers. She shows up a moment later and drops them off for us. I wait until she walks away before turning back to Justice.
“Tell me this—why do you want to work in the field so badly?”
“Because I want to help. I want to do something to protect this country. I know there are some bad people doing bad things who need to be stopped,” she says, her eyes lighting up with purpose. “And I know I can do more than what I’m doing now. I want to do more than I’m doing now.”
“And you don’t think what you’re doing is important?” I ask. “You don’t think we need your technical skills?”
“Lots of people can do tech. I want to be more direct. More hands-on. I don’t want to sit behind a goddamn computer when I know I can do more.”
“Why is it so important to you?” I ask.
She picks up her mug and raises it to me, a silent word of thanks. The takes a long swallow of it and sits back in her chair, looking at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. She gnaws on her bottom lip, and I can see a flash of pain in her eyes.
“My father was killed in 9/11,” she says, saying the story as if she’s said it a thousand times. She probably has. “He never did anything wrong to anyone, but one day he was just… gone. My mom had to move us out of New York to Chicago when I was little. My brother joined the Marines to protect us from attacks like that, but he was killed in Afghanistan.”
I can see the emotion in her face, but she quickly buries it. A mask of cool indifference descends over her face, and she’s able to control those emotions tightly. It’s a good skill to have. It can’t be easy when you’ve endured the sort of tragedy she has. Or maybe you get so numb to it, it gets easier.
“I’m sorry for your losses, Justice,” I say.
She gives me a tight smile. “For a long time, I felt like I should find some way to follow his example, but I’m obviously not cut out to be a Marine, so I didn’t know how to go about it,” she explains. “So when I was recruited by our organization—for my tech skills—I took it as a sign. I’d found my way to follow the example my brother set.”
I take a long swallow of beer, watching her carefully. I respect her drive and her boldness in coming to me like this. It takes real grit. She has courage, strength, and a desire to protect this country and do the right thing. Really—how in the hell am I supposed to say no to that? I know I should. If I were smart, I would.
“I can prove to you that I add value,” she answers the question I hadn’t even asked.
“Yeah? How are you going to do that?”
> She gives me a sly smirk. “By cracking that uncrackable nut you’re struggling with.”
I know this conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory, and I know we need to play this smart. I doubt Delta has operatives watching my every move, but I’m not one to take stupid chances. I signal for the waitress to bring the check and tell Justice to hold her thought.
I slip some cash into the check folder and get to my feet. She’s looking at me in a way that reminds me of a lost puppy, desperately searching for somebody to give her a home. I shake my head and sigh.
“Follow me.”
Chapter Thirteen
After we leave the cafe, we walk down the street. I surreptitiously watch the street around us, looking for a tail. The crowd is heavy but spaced out fairly well—well enough that a tail would stand out. I don’t see anybody, but I remain vigilant anyway. Better safe than sorry.
I walk Justice into a plaza half-filled with people. Most of them are hanging out on the patio in front of a sports bar on one side of the plaza that’s playing a Blackhawks game. On the other side of the plaza are a restaurant, coffee house, and ice cream parlor. They’re less populated than the sports bar, but there’s still a decent crowd.
I lead Justice over to the fountain directly in the middle of the plaza. I think between the crowd at the bar cheering their ‘Hawks on, the ambient noise from the other side of the plaza, and the splashing of the water in the fountain, it’s loud enough to obscure any attempt at electronic eavesdropping. Justice turns and looks at me with a small grin on her face.
“Paranoid, much?” she jokes.
As I lean close enough that my mouth is near her ear, she starts to recoil. I grip her arm tightly, holding her in place. From the outside, we look like a couple sharing an intimate moment—which is the point. Despite the noise all around us, I pitch my voice low anyway.
“Lesson number one—if you’re serious about getting into this line of work, you’re going to need to be paranoid as hell,” I whisper. “Assume you are being watched and listened to at all times. And if you are discussing something sensitive, you take measures to beat it. Always.”
“Lesson number one?” she practically squeals. “So you’re going to do it? You’re going to train me?”
“That remains to be seen,” I reply. “Before I decide anything, tell me how you can crack my uncrackable problem.”
“Well, I know that you’re looking at Eleanor Vogel,” she says.
“And how do you know that?”
She arches her eyebrow and gives me a roll of the eyes. “Who do you think put that very complete, very thorough dossier together?”
I chuckle. “Right. Okay,” I nod. “Go on then.”
“Well, I obviously don’t know the op specifics, but I assume you’re either looking to steal something or plant evidence on Vogel,” she continues. “I assume if it had been a greenlight op, you wouldn’t be casing her place of business.”
“That’s a fair observation,” I offer with a shrug, neither confirming nor denying anything.
“Well, I’ve done some homework on my own, and I think either way, you’re going to need access to her computer—which is air-gapped,” she adds. “Which adds a whole different set of problems.”
“Obviously,” I say.
“But the biggest problem you have in front of you is that—as you’ve undoubtedly seen—her place of business has Pentagon-level security,” she says. “Which makes sense since they do a lot of work for the Pentagon in there.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” I say, growing impatient with the pace of her big reveal. “The place is an uncrackable nut, as you said.”
A grin curls one corner of her mouth upward. She looks at me with a mischievous glint—and a glimmer of victory in her eye.
“Did you ever stop to think that she sometimes works from her home office?” she asks. “And assuming she does—which, spoiler alert, I happen to know for a fact that she does—that she would have a computer in said home office?”
I turn away from her for a moment. I don’t want her to see me silently kicking my own ass. How in the hell could I have not thought of that? It was so obvious, but I had a pair of goddamn blinders on the whole time and didn’t see it. I scrub my face with my hands and gather my wits about me before I turn around and face her again.
Justice looks back to me, sparing my ego and dignity, the hammer-blow of some well-deserved mocking for missing the obvious. Instead, she simply moves on to her next point.
“I took the liberty of scouting her home system and found that it too is air-gapped.”
“Which means we’ll still need physical access to it.”
Justice nods. “Exactly. But the good news is that while she has better than average home security, it is nowhere near the level of her tower.”
“You are thorough,” I say with a shrug. “That’s good work, Justice. You were right—you’ve got skills.”
“Thank you. That means a lot,” she says, her cheeks coloring suddenly, as if she’s uncomfortable with hearing praise.
“So now we just need to figure out how to get into her home,” I say.
“I’ll noodle some ideas and get back to you.”
I take a long look at her for a moment. Though her snarky personality is amusing, it makes me wonder about her ability to do the job.
“You do know that if you finally get a chance in the field, you will be assigned greenlight jobs,” I say. “If you want to do this job, you will have to kill somebody when you’re tasked with it. No doubts or questions. You do what you’re paid to do or, shit, I don’t even know what.”
“I understand that.”
“And? Do you really think you’ll be able to do it?” I ask. “Do you really think you’ll be able to look somebody in the eye and pull the trigger?”
“Yes. I do.”
“And you realize this job—doing what we do—is nothing like the movies.”
She gives me a firm nod. “Of course I do.”
I search her eyes closely, looking for any sign that she’s fooling herself. I see nothing. But the flippant personality is gone. And in its place is one that’s far more serious. Grim. Determined. It’s as if she can slip into and out of personalities as easily as she can clothing. Just as she can look like somebody different every day, she seems able to become somebody different every day as well.
Some people might say being able to shift into and out of different personalities with the ease this woman does is sociopathic. I say it’s one of the hallmarks of an outstanding field agent.
I still can’t quite shake my own embarrassment at having missed the obvious fix to my problem. But I know I’ll need to get over it. No harm done, and she’s given me the solution. Given that fact, I can’t say no to teaching her some tradecraft, even if I wanted to. And judging by the smirk that’s returned to her face, she knows it. I narrow my eyes and glare at her hard for a moment.
“If you’ve read my file, you know that I don’t have my memories, right?” I ask.
She nods. “I do know that. And most of the stuff from before that has been redacted. But I’ve heard stories.”
“Then you should know that you’d probably be able to get a more thorough education from somebody else.”
She laughs softly. “You’re cleared for duty,” she says smoothly. “And I know your memories are coming back to you. From what I read, even if you only get twenty-five percent of your training to come back, you still know far more than most other agents out in the field.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
She gives me a serious expression. “It’s not a vote of confidence,” she says, her tone as serious as her expression. “It’s a statement of fact.”
Her unwavering faith in me is not something I want. It’s a responsibility that shouldn’t be mine. I’m damaged goods and I can’t give her the sort of training she’s going to need to do this job and do it at the same level I would have demanded of myself if I co
uld remember all of my training.
But one thing that’s clear to me is that Justice is going to do this one way or another—with or without my help. She can be a bright star and do a lot of good if she’s allowed to flourish. If she’s taught well and encouraged to grow. I don’t think I’m the right person to do that and think somebody else would be better suited to it. But I can’t let her go out there and get herself killed because I refused to share what little knowledge I’ve actively retained.
“Okay,” I say. “Think up different scenarios for beating the security and getting into that house.”
She snaps me a mock salute. “Yes sir.”
“Great. We’ll meet in a couple of days and go over what we’ve come up with.”
“Thank you, Echo.”
I shake my head. “Don’t thank me. Just listen to what I say and do what I tell you,” I respond. “That’s the only way this is going to work—if you follow my orders.”
“Understood.”
“Disobey one of my orders and I’ll cut this shit off immediately.”
“You only need to tell me once,” she says.
I grin, hearing my words to Delta echoed back to me. As I stand there, trying to decide whether or not I’m going to regret this, an odd thought occurs to me. I purse my lips and look at her for a moment.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I just—you’re not a field agent, right?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. A lowly analyst with lofty aspirations.”
I laugh. “I thought only field agents got the super stupid code names.”
She cocks her head at me. “What do you mean?”
“Justice? You told me to call you Justice. I’m the Hanged Man, remember?” I say. “It’s one of the major arcana of the tarot and—”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and then erupts into laughter. I stare daggers at her until she eventually stops laughing and wipes away the tears that had welled in her eyes.
Web of Lies Page 6