J
ESSICA REEL COULD NOT SLEEP
either. And the weather was as bad on the Eastern Shore as it was in D.C. She stared at where her home had once been before it had been destroyed. She had actually done the deed herself. Well, she had booby-trapped the place and Will Robie had triggered the explosion that had almost claimed his life. It was incredible how a partnership could have been born out of such grim circumstances.
She pulled her hood tighter against the rain and wind and continued to tramp over the muddy earth, while the waters of the Chesapeake Bay to the west continued to pound the little spit of land.
She had departed from Robie feeling both hopeful and lost, such an unsettling feeling that she was unsure from which end to work through it. If there was even a way to do so. For most of her adult life her work had been her entire world. Now Reel wasn’t sure she really had a job or world left. Her agency despised her. Its leadership wanted her not merely out of the way but dead.
If she left her employment there she felt she would be giving them license to terminate her in that far more permanent way. Yet if she stayed, what would her future be like? How long could she reasonably survive? What was her exit strategy?
All troubling questions with no apparent answers.
The last few months had cost her all she had. Her three closest friends in the world. Her reputation at the agency. Perhaps her way of life.
But she had gained something. Or someone.
Will Robie, initially her foe, had become her friend, her ally, the one person she could count on, when Reel had never been able to do that easily or convincingly.
But Robie knew her way of life as well as she did. Her way was his way. They would forever share that experience. He had offered her friendship, a shoulder to lean on if it ever came to that.
Yet part of her still wanted to withdraw from such an offer, to keep going it alone. She had not figured out her response to that or him yet. Maybe she would never have one.
She looked up at the sky and let the pelting raindrops hit her in the face. She closed her eyes and a rush of images came to her. Each one a person and each one of them dead. Some were innocent. Others not. Two had been killed by someone else. All the rest had died by her hand. One, her mentor and friend, lay in a vegetative state from which she would never awaken.
It was all pointless. And it was all true. And Reel was powerless to change any of it.
She slipped the medal on its chain from her pocket and looked down at it. It was identical to the one Robie had been awarded. It had been given to her for the same mission. She had performed the kill shot—agency orders. Robie had helped her escape nearly certain death. They had made it back to the States to the chagrin of a powerful few.
It was a meaningless gesture, this medal.
What they really wanted to do was put a hole in her head.
She walked to the edge of the land and watched the waters of the bay spray over the dirt.
Reel hurled the medal out into the bay as far as she could. She turned away before it struck the surface of the water. Metal didn’t float. It would vanish in a few moments.
But then she turned back around and used her middle finger to flip off the sinking medal, the CIA in general, and Evan Tucker specifically.
That was the main reason she’d come—to chuck her medal into the bay. And this place had been her home, to the extent any place was. She did not intend to come back here. She had come to take one last look, perhaps to gain some closure. Yet she wasn’t finding any.
The next instant she pulled her gun and ducked down low.
Over the sounds of the water had come a new intrusion.
A vehicle was pulling to a stop near the ruins of her waterside cottage.
There was no reason for anyone to be visiting her here. The only reason anyone would appear here would be a violent one.
She raced over to the only cover there was: a pile of rotted wood stacked near the water’s edge. She knelt down and used the top log as a gun rest. While she could see nothing clearly, they might have night optics that would reveal all, including her location.
She managed to follow them only by subtracting their darkened silhouettes from the darkness around them. She centered on one spot and waited for their movements to cross that point. By this method she counted four of them. She assumed they were all armed, all commed, and here for a specific purpose: her elimination.
They would try to outflank her, but her rear was not capable of being flanked, unless they wanted to jump into the bay’s cold and storm-tossed waters. She focused on other spots and waited for them to cross. She did this again and again until they were within twenty meters of her location.
She wondered why they were staying packed together. Separating during an attack was standard tactics. She could not follow so easily multiple groups coming at her from different points of the compass. But so long as they stayed together her focus need not be diffused.
She was deciding whether to fire or not when her phone buzzed.
She was not inclined to answer, not with four bogies bearing down on her outgunned butt.
But it might be Robie. As corny as it sounded, this might give her an opportunity to say goodbye in a way that had not been possible before. And maybe he would go after her killers and slay them for her.
“Yes?” she said into the phone, keeping her shooting hand on her Glock and her eyes on the forces coming for her.
“Please hold for DD Amanda Marks,” said the efficient voice.
“What the—” began Reel.
“Agent Reel, this is Amanda Marks, the new deputy director of Central Intelligence. We need you to come in to Langley immediately.”
“I’m a little busy right now, DD Marks,” replied Reel sarcastically. “But maybe you’re already aware of that,” she added in a harsh tone.
“There are four agents currently at your cottage on the Eastern Shore. Correction, where your cottage used to be. They are there simply to escort you to Langley. Please do not think of engaging with them and perhaps doing them harm.”
“And are they planning to do me harm?” snapped Reel. “Because it’s the middle of the night, I have no idea how they even knew I was here, and they’re acting quite furtive.”
“Your reputation precedes you. Hence they are acting with care. As to your location, we determined you were nowhere else.”
“And why do you need me to come in ASAP?”
“That will all be explained when you get here.”
“Is this about a new mission?”
“When you get here, Agent Reel. I can’t trust that this line is secure.”
“And if I choose not to come in?”
“As I told Agent Robie—”
“You called Robie in as well?”
“Yes. He’s part of all this, Agent Reel.”
“And you’re really the new DD?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what happened to the last two?”
“The exact same question Agent Robie presented to me.”
In spite of everything Reel smiled. “And your answer?”
“The same as yours will be. Just get your butt in here.”
The line went dead.
H
OURS LATER JESSICA REEL ARRIVED
at Langley. The sun was up, the rain had passed, but her mood had not improved.
She cleared security and entered a building she knew well.
In some ways too well.
She was escorted to a room where she found a familiar face already waiting.
“Robie,” she said curtly before sitting down next to him.
“Jessica,” said Robie, inclining his head slightly. “I take it you received the same invitation.”
“It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order. Did they send goons to bring you in?”
He shook his head.
“Then I guess they trust you more than they trust me.”
“We trust you both the same,” said a voice as the door opened and a woman
in her early forties, with shoulder-length brown hair
walked in carrying an electronic tablet. She was petite, about five-four and maybe a hundred and ten pounds, but lean and fit, and her wiry physique suggested a strength that belied her small size.
DD Amanda Marks. She shook each of their hands while Robie and Reel exchanged bemused looks.
“Thank you both for coming in so promptly.”
Reel said, “If I knew I had a choice I wouldn’t have. The four guys you sent after me didn’t provide any options.”
“Nevertheless, your cooperation is appreciated,” said Marks in a brisk tone.
Robie said, “I thought after the last mission we had some stand-down time?”
“You did and now that’s over.”
“So a new mission?” Reel said wearily.
“Not yet,” replied Marks. “First things first.”
“Meaning what?” asked Reel.
“Meaning that you both need to be what I would term recalibrated.”
Robie and Reel exchanged another glance. He said, “You recalibrate instruments.”
“You are instruments. Of this agency.”
“And we need recalibration why, exactly?” asked Reel.
Marks had not made eye contact with them before, even when shaking their hands. She had either looked down or over their shoulders. It was disconcerting, but the tactic was not unexpected by either Robie or Reel.
Now Marks stared directly at them. And to Robie she had the eyes of someone who had spent time behind a long-range scope at some point in her career.
“You really want to waste my time and yours asking crap like that?” she said in a low, even voice.
Before either of them could respond Marks said, “You both went rogue on us.” She turned to look at Reel. “You killed one of our analysts and my predecessor.”
She turned next to stare at Robie. “And you aided and abetted her after being sent out to terminate her. In the aftermath of that
situation,
we had the decision to terminate or rehabilitate. The decision to rehabilitate was made. I’m not saying I agree with it, but I am here to implement it.”
“I guess so much for our being awarded the CIA’s highest honor,” said Robie.
“Congratulations,” said Marks. “I have one in my closet too. But that’s history. I’m concerned only with the present and the future. Yours. You’ve been given an unbelievable offer. There are some people here who desperately want you to screw up so other plans can be put into motion.”
“I can guess who one of them is,” said Reel. “Your boss, Evan Tucker.”
“And there are others here who hope you succeed and become productive members of this organization once more.”
“And what camp are you in?” Robie asked.
“Neither. I’m Switzerland. I will lead your rehab, but the outcome is entirely up to both of you. I don’t really care which way it goes. Up, down, or sideways. It doesn’t matter one iota to me.”
Reel nodded. “Comforting. But you report directly to Evan Tucker.”
“In a sense everyone here reports directly to him. But I can assure you that you will have a full and fair opportunity to be rehabilitated. Whether you are or not is up to you.”
Robie said, “And exactly whose idea was this? If it was Tucker’s I really can’t see how the process will be fair in any way.”
“Without going into details I can tell you that a compromise was reached at the very highest level. You have powerful friends, Mr. Robie. You know exactly who I’m talking about. But there are also powerful forces aligned against both of you.” She looked at Reel. “Some who want nothing more than to see you executed for your past actions. If I’m not making myself crystal clear, please stop me.”
Neither Robie nor Reel spoke.
She continued. “Those forces collided and the result was this compromise. Rehab. Do or die. Up to you. Pretty generous, actually, in my humble opinion.”
“I didn’t think anyone trumped the president,” said Robie.
“Politics is a dirty, ruthless business, Agent Robie. It makes the intelligence sector look relatively honorable by comparison. While it’s true that the president is the thousand-pound gorilla, there are lots of big beasts in this playground. And the president has an agenda he wants to push through, and that means he has to make concessions. In the grand scheme of things you and Agent Reel are not so important that you are above being traded as chits to further the man’s agenda. Whether you got a medal or not. Do you follow?”
“What precisely does rehab mean in this context?” asked Robie.
“We start from square one. You both have to be evaluated in every possible way. Physically, psychologically, and intellectually. We’re going to look pretty deep into your heads. We’re going to see whether you have what it takes to cut it in the field.”
“I thought we had proved that in Syria,” interjected Reel.
“Not part of the compromise. That was a one-off and even then you didn’t follow orders.”
“Well, if we had followed orders we’d both be dead,” Robie pointed out.
“Again, not something I care about. It was the not-following-orders part that helped trigger what will happen now.”
She turned on her electronic tablet and tapped the screen. Robie noted that her fingernails were cut below the tips of her fingers and had not a speck of color on them. The image of her as a sniper entered his mind
once more
.
She looked up at him. “You sustained serious burns to your leg and arm.” She glanced at Reel. “Her doing, not that anyone is keeping count. How are these injuries?”
“Coming along.”
“Not good enough,” said Marks. “Now, you both jumped off a moving train. I’m sure that was fun.”
“More fun than the alternative,” replied Reel.
Marks said, “You lost friends during this past, uh,
adventure
. I understand that you blame the agency for that.”
“Well, their personnel were partially responsible. I’m not sure how else you can cut that.”
“To have an effective rehab you will have to get over that,” replied Marks sharply.
She looked once more at Robie. “You were sent out to find Reel. You did find her but did not bring her in. You ended up joining forces with her against the agency’s orders.”
“I went with my gut and it turned out to be right.”
“Again, during rehab you will have to decide where your ultimate loyalties lie, Robie. The next time your gut may be wrong. And where does that leave you and the agency?”
She did not wait for an answer but continued. “The rehab will be very hard on all of us. I will be with you both every step of the way. You may quit the process at any time.”
“And if we do?” asked Reel quickly.
“Then all appropriate action will be taken against you.”
“So I get habeas corpus and a fair trial?” Reel said.
Marks looked up. “I didn’t say
legal
action, did I?”
“So it’s do or die, then?” said Robie.
“You can label it however you wish. But ultimately the choice is completely up to you. So what will it be?”
Robie and Reel exchanged another glance. Then Reel nodded. Robie did the same.
“Excellent choice,” said Marks.
“Where is this rehab going to take place?” asked Reel.
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t I mention that?”
“No, you didn’t,” said Reel tersely.
“It will take place at a location I think you both know well.”
She paused and took a moment to look at one and then the other.
“The Burner Box,” she said with a slight smile. “We leave in twenty-four hours.”