Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) (26 page)

“Why’d you wait?”

“What?” But, I knew what he was asking.

“Why did you wait to tell them about us?”

“I hate paperwork.” I flipped back at him, unwilling to bare my soul.

He stopped, stared at me.

“Okay. Sorry.” I tossed the garbage from Breadline in a can. “I’d wanted to keep you to myself. Until I filed that form, until I told you about the CIA, you were all mine.” In a way no one ever had been.

I’d cherished that sense of us. That sense of ‘we’ that I might never be able to get back. But I wanted it back.

As if I’d surprised him, he blinked. Unspoken feelings stretched between us and like a giant rubber band, we could only pull so far apart before boinging back together. Then, Jordan threaded his fingers through mine and started walking again.

Once we arrived at the car, the plan to meet with my contact at the CIA needed to be put into action.

“I'll need to change my appearance.”

“Yeah.”

In the car, I did a quick change into a black stretchy turtleneck and a black stretchy skirt, courtesy of Thea, and wrapped a vivid scarf in hot pink, purple and black around my neck.

No self-respecting agent would ever wear a piece of clothing that could trap them or potentially injure them. I hoped even if someone had a whiff of recognition they would discount it.

To alter my appearance, I sprayed more gray over my black dye job, smoothed it back into a crisp bun, and added an inflatable prosthetic I’d had in my backpack to make my stomach look as if I had a roll of fat. The clingy top only accented my new tummy.

I tucked some cotton balls into my cheeks to add fullness to my face. We didn’t have time for anything more sophisticated.

I was ready. Hopefully this move would give us some answers.

“Let’s do it.”

TWENTY-NINE

October 19

11:15 am

The Mall, Washington D.C.

The meet was set.

I’d used an extra disposable cell phone I’d had in my messenger bag and followed the instructions I’d been given long ago.

The recording had come on and said the castle was sold. I punched in the requisite code and left the meeting time and place Jordan and I had agreed on.

So here we were at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

Jordan went in first and purchased his ticket for the show on the Cosmos in the Albert Einstein Planetarium.

After he entered, I waited five minutes, watching the doors, watching for any surveillance.

I hunched my shoulders, carrying a giant handbag with all of my belongings tucked inside.

No weapons, as they frowned on that sort of thing at the Smithsonian. The museum was predictably busy, although not as packed as a Spring Break day.

I’d hoped by picking a tourist destination we’d avoid security details looking for glory.

These guards weren’t focused on finding a fugitive from justice. What sort of person on the Most Wanted list would take time off to check out the Apollo 11 memorabilia?

At least that was my theory.

After five minutes passed, I’d seen no one suspicious. I also hadn’t seen my boss arrive.

I got in line, shuffling my feet as I progressed toward the entrance. At the door, I grabbed a brochure and sat on a bench near the planetarium and pretended to read, but the big glasses perched on my nose made the print blurry.

Watching the crowd, I studied the people, looking for anyone who was paying more attention to the people than the exhibits.

The crowd was boisterous. Children running and screaming with delight. Dads and grandfathers staring in wonder at the older airplanes suspended from the ceiling. The shiny hull of the space shuttle jutted up to the second story. The chatter of several different languages swirled around me.

I let my eyes go unfocused and centered into the Zen of waiting, listening without a specific target, letting my ear pick up words or phrases that caught my attention.

“...ai faim...let the baby touch...Heinrich, stop running...Jesus, it’s hot in here...remember watching on the television....”

Nothing jumped out at me.

Jordan waited in line, hands clasped in front, shoulders back, as he occasionally stared at the plane suspended near his position.

He didn’t fidget or look around or glance at his watch, as if waiting for someone. He was in character, completely absorbed, and didn’t break.

The other people waiting were hanging over the railing pointing to the various objects.

Out of the periphery of my vision, I noted someone rush up to the end of the line, polished Cordovan wing tips clicking on the floor, tan raincoat flying out behind them. Carefully I slouched against the wall, while my heart pounded in my chest so hard I thought it would bust right out of my ribs and bounce across the floor.

Carson Black, Director of Field Operations for the NSA, waited to hand in his ticket. This was not good news. Carson wasn't my CIA contact.

The belt loops loosely tied in back left the coat hanging perpetually open, and showed only glimpses of his perfectly pressed gabardine suit. His dark bald head gleamed under the heavy industrial lights hanging from the ceiling.

The unnatural florescent highlighted the sheen on the top of his head, as if he’d run to get there in time. True we hadn’t given him a big window. Except he shouldn’t have been at the other end of that phone line.

As I pretended to study my brochure, I ignored the funny twist in my stomach. Not morning sickness. But the little lump of affection and stress all rolled into one.

For all intents, Carson had been a surrogate father to me. I didn’t know how he’d react to my current change in status. I didn’t have so many people in my life that I could afford to lose one.

And I had to be suspicious.

My boss wasn’t here, but Carson was?

Why and how would Carson have access to my contact information? What was he doing here?

If he had backup coming or if he had a wire, he didn’t show it. That kind of relaxed body language took years to cultivate. He had no little tells to indicate a stiffness or itch from the tape. No hitch in his step. No roll in his shoulder.

Oddly enough, he’d been the one to steady me after my grandparents’ death. He’d taken me under his wing, so to speak, and even had me over to his home for Easter in what had become a tradition.

He’d counseled me, mentored me, given me advice on an investment advisor, and generally been a sounding board. He’d birthed my entrance into the espionage world. Could he be here now to end it?

I hadn’t seen him much recently. Since I’d taken up with Jordan, really.

Carson had a wife. He seemed to make their relationship work with his job, but I didn’t want to know if he thought my relationship with Jordan was a bad idea.

So, I’d begged off the last time he’d called to get together for a drink.

I continued to observe the area around me. No one had taken undue interest in either Carson or Jordan.

I couldn’t take the chance that somehow Carson had identified Jordan. Couldn’t leave Jordan without a defense. The plan had been for Jordan to observe from inside the auditorium and watch for my contact to see what he would do. But I was changing the plan.

With one minute left to enter the auditorium, I shuffled up to the ticket taker, clutched a wadded up tissue in my right hand, and smiled at the rotund lady taking the computer-generated, time-stamped ticket.

I ambled into the auditorium, took a moment to orient myself and find both Jordan and Carson.

The circular room had a pit in the center where the images of the 360 degree film would be projected onto the domed ceiling.

The lights were, thankfully, already low.

We’d agreed I would wait in the lobby. Screw that. I wanted to be close. For backup and observation. I couldn’t protect Jordan from the lobby.

The theater was about three quarters full.

I wandered into the room to find a seat in the back row, right by the exit.

I eased down slowly, wiggled the amplification device into my ear, then rolled my thumb over the little wheel to turn the device on. The ear bud fitted uncomfortably into my left ear, but hopefully the device was unobtrusive. I plopped the giant purse on my lap and dialed up the sound.

The background noise from the other occupants blasted in my ear as a woman in front of me let out a monster sneeze. Jeez, it’s a wonder she hadn’t blown herself halfway to Baltimore with that one.

A little kid halfway down the other side kicked at the row of seats in front of him until I wanted to scream. The lady sneezed again.

I surreptitiously quartered the circular room searching for both Carson and Jordan. I found Jordan immediately, his broad shoulders easily identified even in the dim light.

And then I found Carson.

My heart stopped.

They were sitting together. And it was clear they knew each other.

I must have jerked, because for a split second, Jordan’s attention was focused on me. His body stiffened and his mouth tightened as recognition dawned.

He’d made me.

Now the question was...had Carson?

Even more important. Had I been set up?

THIRTY

It was hard to say who was more surprised...him or Carson.

Jordan had seen Carson as soon as he walked in, of course. The last time Jordan had seen this man, they’d been working clean up on the shooting of Susan Chen’s associate.

Carson made a circuit of the room before settling in next to Jordan.

Carson said softly, “I’m assuming this is not a coincidence.”

“You wired?” Jordan asked Carson through clenched teeth, and hoped the answer was a solid no.

“Who had time?” Carson returned.

That wasn’t a no.

If Carson had brought any backup, Staci had placed herself right in the line of apprehension.

Since he’d spotted her he’d studiously avoided looking at her. Dammit. This wasn’t what they had agreed on.

Didn’t she trust him at all?

And what was the deal? Carson Black worked for the NSA, not the CIA. He was Jamie Hunt’s boss. Not Staci’s. So what was he doing here?

He didn’t know Carson well enough to figure out if the guy was nervous. He seemed relaxed if a bit winded from getting here so quickly. Clearly Carson had come to meet with Staci. Maybe they could get some information out of him.

“Let’s make this quick.” Jordan surreptitiously activated the record button on his cell phone. “Can you help?”

“After you turn off that device.” Carson crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat as if getting situated before the movie short began.

Jordan nodded once and flicked the button off. It had been worth a try. He consciously slowed his heart rate, concentrating on the flow and ebb of the blood through the ventricles.

He was more used to covert stakeouts than up close and personal meetings but he had to get his head back in this game. This guy was a master of espionage.

“You see the news?” Jordan asked as music piped into the room.

“Ah, yes.” Carson rubbed a finger along the bridge of his nose. “Nasty business.”

Jordan knew he had to be careful what he said. Just in case. “Why was that information released?”

“I’m as much in the dark as...you,” Carson responded. “I tried to do some checking, but suddenly that file is extremely high clearance.”

“Is it possible they don’t realize what they’ve unleashed?”

“Probable.” Carson relaxed back into the plush seat, one leg crossed over the other. “This has all the earmarks of a CF.”

“Yeah.”

Jordan wasn’t sure how to ask the next question without revealing he had more knowledge than he should.

“Could this have anything to do with a certain file?”

“I don’t know of any file that would be relevant,” Carson answered calmly.

That was a lie, and Jordan knew it. “Let me refresh, a numerical file.”

“What do you know about that?”

Shit. He’d hit a nerve. He could feel it.

Maybe Staci was right. Maybe her troubles did stem from her investigation into the mysterious Department 5491.

The music crescendoed to a climax and the theater went completely dark.

Jordan waited until the soundtrack began again before he answered slowly. “It exists.”

“It should be irrelevant.”

“You’re sure?”

Even with peripheral vision, Jordan could see the pulse in Carson’s neck pick up. “I don’t see why or how.” But his voice was faint and lacking conviction.

“Since she was accumulating data...perhaps someone wasn’t happy with the contents.”

“That’s something I shall have to explore.” Carson pursed his mouth, lips tightening as if he’d swallowed a sour grape.

He reached into his jacket pocket, the movement had Jordan tensing. All Carson did was pull out a roll of antacids. With a buffed, manicured finger he thumbed one disc into his palm. In an almost delicate move, he slid the antacid onto his tongue and closed his eyes for one brief second.

“I think it’s the key to finding why all of this is happening.”

Carson blanched. “It’s a dead issue.”

The lights from a meteorite exploding on the ceiling showered over Carson’s face.

Jordan hesitated unsure about broaching this next subject. He was not even sure there was any connection to Staci, but unable to shake the possibility they were missing something.

“Was there a report filed regarding the events from last week?” He knew Carson would get the reference to the shooting at the Presidential Suites and the capture of Susan Chen. Carson had been there.

“Of course.”

“Would it have been released to members of the Senate?”

“Most definitely not.” Carson pretended to watch the stars float across the ‘sky’. “Why?”

“Someone attempted to question me about those events, and he referenced a report.”

Carson raised one brow. “Who?”

Rather than say Senator Jordan's name or the state of Virginia aloud, he gave the nickname. “Old Dominion.”

“He is known for being a hardliner but also a friend to our,”
the espionage
, “community.” Carson lolled his head back against the seat and whispered, “I’ll check into how he got access.”