Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) (27 page)

“How come you placed the ad?”

“I’ve been...concerned.”

“How did you know what to say?”

“Because I’m the one who set up the process years ago.”

Jordan didn’t say anything but glanced around. They’d been together too long. They needed to get the hell out of here.

“There’s a lot of nasty refuse coming her way,” Carson said. “Why not just get out?”

“I protect what’s mine.” Jordan decided to go for broke. She’d only reluctantly agreed to stay and with the slightest incentive, she’d be gone. “And she’s mine.”

“She’s very lucky,” Carson commented softly.

I’m the lucky one.

“Is she...okay?”

Jordan would bet Carson had seen the report from the prison as well. “As well as can be expected.”

Carson’s face tightened. “Let her know I’m available to help in any way I can.”

“You mean that?” Jordan clearly heard the sincerity in Carson’s voice. There had also been an element of affection and tenderness which surprised him.

“Of course,” Carson replied.

“Thanks,” Jordan said.

“Be careful. And watch your back.” Carson clapped him on the shoulder. His gaze shot briefly to Staci and then back to Jordan. “Both of them.”

Without another word, he was gone.

***

They made it back to the car without incident. Jordan hadn’t bothered to talk on the way there. He was too worried that if he opened his mouth, he’d start shouting.

“How do you know Carson?” she asked after she slid into the front seat of the car.

When she ripped the stomach prosthetic from around her waist and pressed to deflate the air, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of the soft skin of her stomach.

Not the right time. He took a deep breath and prepared to be calm and reasonable. “Carson? I met him when I helped rescue John Wishbone and Bella Holden.”

“Carson Black, Director of Field Operations for the NSA was on an op with you. Right,” she snapped, or tried to, her words coming out garbled. She spit out the cotton.

“The NSA doesn’t have Field Ops.” His denial was automatic.

She snorted. “Yes they do.”

He sat thinking about that for a minute. “Okay. My turn.”

She sat stubbornly in the passenger seat, arms crossed over her chest mutinously. A small piece of cotton fuzz was trapped on the curve of her chin.

“You know Carson.”

“Obviously.”

“So when you saw him, why the hell didn’t you get out of the museum?” Jordan gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “What if he’d been there to bring you in?”

“If I left, I certainly wouldn’t have seen you two getting all friendly.”

They spoke at the same time.

“I was trying to get information to protect you.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

Emotions swirled around the interior of the car, turning the air heavy with their pent up aggression and frustration.

Without volition, Jordan reached out to brush the piece of cotton from her face, rubbing his thumb tenderly along her mouth to clear the final wisp. “My heart stopped when I saw you.”

“It was unexpected, seeing him.” She relented, for a moment turning her cheek into his palm. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

Staci sighed. “It was a waste of time.”

“Maybe not. He was adamant that 5491 had nothing to do with your problems.”

A little too adamant?

They were both silent.

Finally, she said, “I think we should talk to Katerina Wolfe.”

“Who?”

"She's another person on the 5491 list."

"Why would you want to get anywhere near her?"

“The idea’s been brewing in the back of my mind.”

He was more surprised than if she’d said she was hoping for twins.

“Both Zeke and Jamie are out of town. But Wolfe lives in the area.”

He blinked once, slowly then his eyebrow rose. “And you don’t think she’ll turn you in?”

“Think about it. Barb said we should talk to the other people who had the drug. Katerina is connected.” Staci argued. “She’s part of 5491.”

Jordan finished. “She also works for the Defense Intelligence Agency. Like Zeke, she’s probably still on leave which means she has a vested interest in figuring this out.”

The more he considered the idea, he could see the merit. But he had to remind her. “Or she could get back in their good graces by turning you in.”

“So we’re careful.”

He had conditions to be met before he’d agree. “I cover your back and listen in.”

“Deal.”

Jordan continued, “If I sense any kind of trap or set up, we abort.”

“Fine.”

“If she’s being followed, we abort.”

“Fine.”

THIRTY-ONE

October 19

12:00 noon

International Spy Museum, Washington D.C.

What kind of espionage agent arranges a meeting in the Spy Museum? Located on F Street, the museum was either a brilliant spot or a disaster waiting to happen.

Rather than take the elevator to the beginning tour room, we slipped passed the exhibit exit door and made our way through the museum backwards. We strolled up the corrugated steel flooring ramp, ignoring the lighted glass cases featuring spy memorabilia, until we arrived at the agreed upon meeting room which chronicled the escapades of Mata Hari, Harriet Tubman, and others,
The Sisterhood of Spies
.

The irony did not escape me.

Katerina Wolfe had taken the bait nicely. We'd agreed to meet in twenty minutes, which gave us just enough time to get here. Luckily we’d been able to buy tickets for the right time.

For this meeting I felt I needed to be recognizable. I had combed out most of the gray and hoped the average tourist wouldn’t take notice of my face or recognize me, assuming they even watched television on vacation.

But Katerina would know who I was.

If I was making a mistake, so be it. But I truly believed the only way to move forward was to collect information from Human Intelligence. I’d used all my resources for CommInt. Katerina Wolfe was perfect.

“Professor.” Someone hailed me from behind. My brain clicked quickly seeking target recognition through voice pattern.

Jordan tensed. I heard his huff of breath through our simplistic communication system, courtesy of the gift shop downstairs.

He led point, five feet in front of me, in case we had any trouble. Because we’d gone the reverse of regular foot traffic, neither one of us had anticipated a threat from behind.

I hushed Jordan softly. “He may not have seen the press conference.” And truly, how many students would purposely make contact with a professor that hadn’t seen them? Unless they were being used as--

“Bait,” Jordan murmured.

I ran through the possibilities. “I’m considered armed and dangerous. I don’t think so. They’d catch a rash of shit if I hurt a student.” Or a tourist.

Jordan’s fingers brushed the side of his coat hiding his firearm. “I’m still ready.”

 “Professor,” the kid called again as he sprinted up the metal floor.

I pivoted slowly.

Six feet of lanky bones, the pale Asian kid was clad in designer jeans and a pink Izod. “Matthew.” His last name escaped me.

“Hey, Professor.” Matt’s chest heaved, his breath bellowing in and out, bony shoulders lifting and falling, as he tried to catch his breath. “I thought that was you.”

As if he’d just realized I was a physical mess, his eyes widened.

Matt had been a particularly enthusiastic student. I had never been able to figure out if his enthusiasm was for the subject matter or me.

“You too.” I lied through my teeth and willed Jordan to act calm and cool. “How’s this semester going?”

“Pretty good.” His big brown eyes stared at me with hopeful intensity through his funky wire-rimmed glasses. “I was hoping you’d be teaching again this semester.”

“I usually just teach in the spring.”

His face lit up. “So you’ll be teaching again next spring?”

Assuming I wasn’t in prison or dead. “I’m contracted.”

“Sweet.” He just stood there staring at me with a slightly goofy expression on his face as if he didn’t realize his crush was there for the world to see.

Jordan cleared his throat softly. But I already knew. I’d stood in one place for far too long. No way was this kid a lure or bait.

“Hey, nice to see you, Matt.” I glanced apologetically down at the watch on my wrist.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Matt’s grin faded.

Jordan had paused at a display, watching our interaction in the reflection of the glass case. I had to get moving before the kid noticed Jordan was spending an inordinate amount of time there.

When Matt saw the news and reported to the authorities that he’d seen me, and he would, I didn’t want them having any idea I had a companion. That was assuming that Carson kept his mouth shut.

“Nice to see you too, Professor.”

“Hope to see you next semester.”

His gaze brightened. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Take care, Matt.” I waved casually, not wanting to turn my back on him in case my instincts were totally off and he really was bait.

“See anything or anyone suspicious?” I asked softly doing my best to scan for surveillance without being obvious.

“We’re good.” His voice was clipped, his mouth a flat line.

“What’s wrong then?”

“Matthew Cho.”

Cho. That was his name. Except...I hadn’t mentioned Matt’s last name.

“Yes.”

I waited for the anger I could see Jordan holding inside.

“Mother killed in World Trade Center bombings. Father works for the State Department. No siblings. At this time, not a candidate but should be watched. He has the potential for recruitment,” he recited.

My heart iced. “That’s my file on Matt.”

“Verbatim.”

“You memorized the file on Matt?” Inside I was freaking. That meant he’d seen my files. “How?” Why?

“I memorized your files on all your recent ‘students’".

That hadn’t answered my question, and he knew it.

I started walking, slowly, deliberately as if I had no cares in the world and had no specific place to be. Inside I was running around like the road runner with my tail on fire. I couldn’t afford to panic, and I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

And I had a meeting with Katerina in just a few minutes.

“How?”

“After you disappeared and everyone presumed you were dead--I knew you weren’t--so I decided to look for you.”

By breaking into top secret, encrypted, and password protected files? “Look for me how?”

“I had to be discreet, by this time someone had surveillance on your house 24/7.” Jordan took a deep breath. “So I broke into your private files and read them.”

There were so many points in that sentence that needed to be addressed.

“I guess my password was easy enough.” I’d used his initials and the day we’d met. Usually I change my password once a month but for sentimental, sappy,...stupid reasons I’d kept his initials and the date we met, far, far longer than a week. I’d thought since the computer was in a hidden room in my house and not connected to the internet, the information in my files was safe.

Clearly, I’d been wrong.

“My initials.” He was silent, the only sound the ping of our heels echoing against metal floor.

The best way to interrogate is to drop a bomb and then wait. The longer you wait, the more nervous the interrogee gets.

“Never in a million years did I think that you would use my initials.”

It was so high school, like doodling his name in cursive all over paper. I’d known when I'd done it and still hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. I’d gotten a secret little thrill every time I’d logged on.

But at some point he must have figured it out.

Next point.

“You read my files.”

“Yeah.”

He’d read my work. Was he intrigued? Disgusted?

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“And then....”

“I checked them out.” Jordan’s breath was coming faster. I knew it wasn’t from exertion, so it must be from emotion.

The question remained, which one?

“You....”

“Checked them out.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d known he wouldn’t approve of my work. It was the main reason I hadn’t explained what I do. He wouldn’t understand and in my heart I was afraid if I told him, then he’d leave.

What did I say to that revelation?

I had no idea.

My mind wouldn’t work. I didn’t know what direction to go next. My head swirled with the implications that he’d looked into my files. Those files were extremely incriminating.

And extremely classified.

But not all of them. “Then you know Matthew did a stint for kiva.org?”

“Yeah.”

"Where I sent him." I was compelled to add, just so he would understand that I didn't send every kid off to be a terrorist or to work for the CIA.

But I also realized that Jordan Ramirez now had information about a significant number of terrorist and CIA recruits for the past several years.

And yet he’d still come looking for me. Hope unfurled within me. If he didn’t approve, why didn’t he just walk away? And why was he still here?

I walked into the Mata Hari room. The rest of the conversation would have to wait. I needed to concentrate on my surroundings and this meeting.

Katerina shouldn’t have had enough time to set up any sort of trap, but I couldn’t make any assumptions.

Any mistake now could get me killed.

THIRTY-TWO

Jordan assessed the specs for the Secret History of History room, shutting down the emotion he’d let bleed through at seeing one of Staci’s possible recruits in the museum.

The room had variables he didn’t like.

Open.

Accessible. Anyone could walk in.

Plenty of security cameras so they’d be easy targets.

On the plus side, the lighting was dim and the museum difficult to police with a warren of walkways and timed entry tickets to control crowd and traffic flow. He was pretty sure the hourly security guys were more worried about kids vandalizing the James Bond toys than looking for Federal “Wanted” fugitives meeting with Defense Intelligence Agency employees.