by Jack Mars
She shrugged. “If by ‘best friends’ you mean ‘one of the only people we can trust to not try to kill us,’ then… yeah. I guess we are.”
“Huh.” Reid shook his head. When he picked the girls up from the safe house in Arlington two days earlier, he and Watson had talked briefly and privately about the abduction attempt by the Division in Switzerland. Watson had vowed to look into it for him; he still had a few weeks of medical leave, despite being almost fully recovered, and was keen to have something to do. Reid thanked him but refrained from telling him anything about a possible motive. He had already implicated Strickland. He didn’t need to bring anyone else down with him.
“And what about you?” he asked Maya carefully. “Given it any more thought?” He didn’t want to push the issue too hard; it was what caused their argument before.
“I have,” she said evenly. “And I scheduled a meeting with a counselor at Georgetown for tomorrow, to see if it’s not too late for me to make up the work I’ve missed.”
Reid couldn’t help but smile. “That’s great. I’m proud of you—”
“But,” she interrupted, “you made promises too. Don’t think I forgot.”
“I know. And I plan to keep them.” He had promised that if the girls went back to school and caught up in their work, he would teach them the things they had asked of him—how to shoot, how to fend off attackers. For him it was a win-win; they’d get to learn what they wanted, and he’d have a better peace of mind knowing they could defend themselves if need be.
Reid cleared his throat. “Speaking of, you never did tell me how you managed to subdue the man that came for you in Engelberg.”
“Oh. Right.” Maya took a very long sip of orange juice. “Watson didn’t tell you?”
“No. He only told me that he had run for some food and got jumped by three others. When he came back, you two had the guy tied to a chair?” Reid raised an eyebrow.
“Well, not much to tell,” Maya shrugged. “The guy was dumb and sloppy. He claimed to be CIA. I asked him for credentials. Sara hit him over the head with a log—”
“Sara did what?” Reid said, dumbfounded.
“I took his gun and we tied him to a chair,” Maya finished. “Easy-peasy. Watson came about two minutes later.”
“That’s…” He was about to say that it was unbelievable, but after everything he had seen, it really wasn’t. He just wasn’t giving his daughters enough credit. They were both strong, smart, and capable. I guess Maria was right again. They’re not kids, not anymore. “That’s incredible,” he said instead. “And that was some smart thinking on your part. I’m really proud of you.”
Maya blushed a little. “Thanks. I’m proud of you too.”
“Me? Why?”
She blinked at him. “Didn’t you just help stop a bunch of terrorists from blowing up a battleship?”
“Oh.” Right, that. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about it, but rather that he was taken by surprise hearing Maya tell him that she was proud. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.”
“So… are you going to go back to it? The fieldwork? Or was this a one-time thing?” She looked him in the eye as she asked it, but Reid couldn’t gauge what she was hoping he’d say.
“Um…” He hesitated.
“We both know that you want to,” she added quickly. “Me and Sara, that is.”
He smiled. “I think that maybe the three of us should sit down and all have a good talk about our future,” he said. “Not just mine, either.” He had definitely not forgotten about Maya’s announcement of wanting to become a CIA agent, but he wasn’t about to bring that up now, not when he had a meeting with the world’s most powerful man. “I gotta run.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Tell Sara I said have a great day. I’ll see you both later.”
“Tell the president I said hi,” Maya joked as he headed out the door.
It was a short drive to Langley, less than thirty minutes from his driveway to the parking garage, but it seemed a bit longer today. He had to admit that he was more nervous than excited about meeting Pierson. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Cartwright had informed Reid, along with Maria and Strickland, that the president wanted to congratulate them personally for their success on the op.
It seemed a little strange; there hadn’t been any presidential pat on the back after he secured the mutated smallpox strain that had been threatened to be released on the entire United States. There were no congratulations in the wake of stopping Amun, who counted the vice president among their targets at Davos. Both of those endeavors were objectively more impactful than the attempted bombing of the USS New York.
Yet Reid reminded himself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was nice to be recognized, even though the meeting itself would be a secretive one. There would be no media presence, no cameras, no one present that didn’t need to be there. That was just the nature of being a covert CIA operative; no one would know his name or what he had done.
That’s not entirely true, he thought with a smile. My daughter knows. And she’s proud of me.
He pulled into the parking complex at Langley and headed for the entrance. There was a clicking of heels behind him; he didn’t turn as Maria fell in stride with him. He couldn’t help but look her over. She wore a simple but tasteful black dress, just above the knee and buttoned at her collarbones.
“You look nice,” he noted.
She shrugged. “I figured the occasion called for something a little more than the ordinary.” She looked him over and added, “You’re not so shabby yourself.”
“You think Riker is going to be there?”
Maria snorted. “Of course she will. You think she’d miss the opportunity to schmooze with the president?”
The two of them flashed their identification to the guard and headed towards the bank of elevators to head upstairs. As they waited, Strickland strolled up to them. His face fell as he looked from one to the other; he wore a simple blue shirt, the collar open and lacking a tie, the sleeves rolled to the elbow.
“I knew I should have dressed nicer for this,” he groaned.
“You’re meeting the president and you didn’t think you should dress it up a bit?” Maria chided.
The three of them got into the elevator as Strickland said, “I don’t know I was thinking. I was excited. This is a really big deal.”
Maria shrugged. “Eh, it’s like my fourth time.”
Reid frowned. “Wait, have I met the president before?”
She bit her lip. “Would it make you feel better if I said no?”
He scoffed. He had already met President Pierson, and couldn’t remember it. Not only was it irritating, it was embarrassing; yet another person that he didn’t know but knew him. He thought of Dr. Guyer back in Zurich, who was hopefully hard at work on his device.
“Why couldn’t we have had this meeting at the White House?” Strickland griped.
“Because,” Maria told him gently, “on paper, we didn’t do anything to warrant a visit to the White House. But if you really want to see the Oval Office that badly, I hear they do tours.”
Reid almost laughed. The normally somber Strickland was showing his youth in his zeal to meet the Commander in Chief.
The three of them reached the designated conference room and entered to find their bosses already present—Deputy Director Cartwright, Deputy Director Riker, and Director Mullen sat at one end of the long rectangular table, closest to the door, with Mullen at the far end.
“Sir,” Strickland nodded to Mullen first. “Sir. Ma’am.”
“Agents,” Mullen waved a hand over the table before him. “Please, have a seat.”
They did so, Maria sitting beside Riker and Reid choosing the seat farthest from any of them.
Cartwright flashed him a smile. “How are the kids, Zero?”
“They’re fine,” Reid replied. He glanced over at Riker and added, “Great, actually.”
She held his gaze with a passive expression of her own. If there was any ma
lcontent behind those eyes, he couldn’t perceive it.
The door to the conference swung open and two men in dark suits entered wordlessly. The Secret Service agents posted themselves on either side of the entrance, their hands clasped in front of them, staring straight ahead as President Eli Pierson entered the room.
The six CIA members stood immediately at his presence, but Pierson chuckled and put his hands up. “Hey now,” he said pleasantly, “no need for all the pomp and circumstance, especially not in a meeting like this. We’re all friends here. Please, have a seat.” He headed for the head of the table opposite Mullen—the seat closest to Reid.
President of the Unites States Eli Pierson was fairly young for the position at forty-six years old. His hair was still thick and brown, despite nearing the end of a somewhat tumultuous first term. Pierson had snagged the election three and a half years earlier on a platform of tax cuts for the middle class and bringing industry back to the US; he was not a career politician, but rather a businessman, one who had made his fortune in nonrenewable resources.
Reid was registered Democrat, but he couldn’t honestly say that he had strong feelings one way or another about the president. Pierson was naturally charismatic, a good orator, and had won favor from both sides with successful compromise on important legislation. If Reid knew anything about the president’s character or personality from their prior meetings, it was lost to his memory now.
“Good grief,” Pierson said as he glanced around the windowless conference room. “This place looks like the Situation Room in the White House, and I never get good news there.” He chuckled to himself. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “There’s a reason I came down here today—no, sorry, there are three reasons I came down here today.” He beamed at each of the agents in turn.
“Mr. President,” said Director Mullen, this here is Agent Todd Strickland.” Pierson reached over and shook Strickland’s hand enthusiastically. “He’s a former Army Ranger,” Mullen continued, “and one of the youngest solo field agents we’ve had in the agency’s history.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Strickland said.
“Likewise, son. Former Ranger, huh? Well, Agent, I thank you for your service, both then and now.” Pierson turned to Maria and smiled broadly. “Maria. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“And you, Mr. President,” Maria said graciously as she shook his hand.
Finally Pierson turned to the person closest to him. He regarded Reid with a strange sort of smile, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure something out. “And the man that needs no introduction,” Pierson said. “Agent Zero.”
Reid forced a smile and shook the president’s hand. “Sir,” he said simply.
President Pierson clasped his hands in front of him. “You know,” he began, “a man in my position understands discretion—just as the three of you do. Discretion requires strength. It requires significant willpower. And, in many cases, discretion is a necessary evil, as we unfortunately know all too well today.
“Media outlets around the world have reported the incident of the attempted attack on the USS New York. If you’ve watched any of those broadcasts, you’ll see that they are attributing it to the joint efforts of Israeli and American military. They don’t know the truth. To be frank, the world at large will never know the truth. But you do. Your bosses do. And I do.
“The USS New York,” Pierson continued, leaning forward in his seat, “is just a machine. It’s a piece of equipment. I didn’t come here today to thank you for not letting a boat blow up. No; I came here because there were one hundred and seventy-three souls on that ship, and every single one of them is still alive today. That’s because of you. None of those men and women will know what you did for them, that you saved their lives that day. This is the bittersweet part, that necessary evil of discretion. You know this, or you wouldn’t be in this line of work. So on behalf of those one hundred and seventy-three people, their families, their friends, and the American people, I thank you and congratulate you on your success, Agents.”
“Thank you, sir,” Strickland said.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Maria added.
“Thanks,” Reid murmured. He had heard every word, and had to admit that Pierson was as affable and charismatic as he appeared to be on TV, but he was still distracted by the president’s odd smile, the way he had said the name “Agent Zero.” Just how many times have we met before? he wondered.
Pierson rose, and the others stood with him. “Now, unfortunately I do have another engagement to attend,” he announced, “but I thank you all again for your service, not only to our nation but to the world. We owe you a great debt.” He rounded the table and shook each person’s hand again.
“Thank you for coming down here today, Mr. President,” said Director Mullen as he clasped the president’s hand in his.
“Of course, Director.” Pierson cocked an eyebrow. “But before I go… could Agent Zero and I have the room for a moment?”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Reid looked up sharply at the president’s request for a private audience with him. Maria’s gaze flitted from Pierson to Reid, and even Strickland looked suspicious.
Director Mullen answered without hesitation. “Of course, Mr. President.” He, Cartwright, and Riker immediately filed out the door. Strickland followed, and then Maria, who threw one more glance over her shoulder at Reid as alarm bells rang in his head.
“Thank you,” Pierson called after them. “You too, guys,” he said to the pair of Secret Service agents posted at the door. “It’ll be just be a minute. We’ll be fine.” They left as well, closing the door behind them and leaving only Reid and the leader of the free world in the conference room.
“Have a seat, Zero,” the president said as he took the chair Mullen had just occupied.
“Yes, sir.” Reid’s mind raced, wondering just what exactly was going on.
Pierson chuckled. “There’s no one here but us. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Hell, in a fairer world, I’d be calling you sir.”
Reid was not amused, nor taken with Pierson’s attempt at flattery. “What’s this about?” he asked point-blank.
“A straight shooter. I like that.” Pierson smiled. “Zero, you’ve done more for this country in the last few months than anyone I can name. You’ve certainly done more than a hundred old men sitting around an assembly hall and arguing about politics.” Pierson leaned forward and folded his hands atop the table. “But let’s be honest here. This field agent thing, this is a young man’s game, right? Guys like that Agent Strickland.”
Reid frowned. I’m only thirty-eight, he thought, though he didn’t say it aloud.
“And you’ve got a couple of kids at home, right?” Pierson continued. “It seems to me that sooner than later, you’re going to be looking for something a little less dangerous and a little more stable. Director Mullen tells me you’ve been doing some work with the National Resources Division, and that’s great—but I don’t think there’s where a man of your talents should be.”
Reid raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”
“A spot is going to open up soon on the National Security Council,” Pierson said. “I can’t say who, but someone near the top is retiring. And I can’t help but think that with everything you know…” Pierson looked him in the eye and tapped lightly at his own temple. “With everything you’ve got going on up there, you could do wonders for the NSC.”
Reid balked. The NSC oversaw the CIA. Among its members were the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, and joint chiefs of staff. But it was a politicians’ forum, hardly a fit for a former field agent.
When Reid said nothing, the president pressed on. “I’m not just offering you a job,” he said. “I’m offering you security. The pay—well, let’s just say it’ll be more than I make from the office. You’ll never have to leave the country unless you want to. And your kids? No school in the whole damn count
ry would turn them down. They’d be as set as you.”
Reid thought desperately of something to say. Just about anyone in his position would leap at the opportunity without a second thought. They’d see financial security, possibly a chance to make a real difference in people’s lives—but all Reid could see were red flags. Perhaps it was his paranoia, but to him it felt like an amiable attempt at a bribe.
“Um… thank you,” he said finally. “It’s an amazing offer. Really. But the agency, it’s… kind of my second home, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure I’m ready to leave it behind.” Of course that was an outright lie, but he knew he had to say something and make it convincing.
“I understand,” Pierson nodded. “But opportunities don’t come along like this every day, and the window is not going to be open for long. If you’re worried about excitement, trust me—there’s plenty. You’d be privy to some of the most confidential and sensitive information the world over. You’d have control over kill authorizations and detainee interrogations.” The president paused for a moment before adding, “Not to mention you’d be on the… best side of things.”
The alarm bells in Reid’s mind doubled their cadence. Is he in on it? Is Pierson aware of the conspiracy? Does he know that I know?
“And what side is that?” Reid asked quietly.
“The winning side,” the president answered with a charismatic smile. “My side. We’d work together, Zero. I bet there’s not much we couldn’t do.”
Reid looked into Pierson’s eyes, light blue flecked with pale green and hubris.
“I really appreciate it,” Reid said, forcing a smile. “And it sounds like a great opportunity. But I can’t give you an answer right now. I’d need some time to think, and talk it over with my family.”
“Of course.” Pierson grinned and patted Reid on the back once. “Not a problem. But like I said, let’s not take too long, huh?” The president stood again and Reid rose as well. “I really do have to get going though. This has been great. It was really good to see you again, Agent.”