Chasing the White Lion, James Hannibal [ebook reader macos .TXT] 📗

“Look. Jordan’s harsh. But an abrasive boss isn’t necessarily a traitor. I learned that lesson with you six months ago. I’d hate to make the same mistake twice.”

Brennan sighed and steepled his fingers over his spare tire. “So, what’s your play?”

“Business as usual. Keep my eyes open.”

“And if she sends you out again?”

Talia shrugged. “I go out.”

“Risky.”

“Comes with the job. Ask Luanne. She’ll tell you.”

“And what about Tyler?”

Talia scrunched up her nose. “What about him?”

“If Jordan sends you out again, you’ll keep Tyler in the loop. Right?”

Talia flicked his donut box with a finger and laughed. “As if you won’t. I know where he gets his intel.” She started for the door.

“By the way, young one,” he called after her. “I picked up on the thinly veiled insult earlier. For your information, I was never an abrasive boss.”

“See you, Frank.” She let the door to OTHER fall closed behind her.

CHAPTER

TEN

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

EDDIE GUPTASAW TALIACOMING. She watched him duck behind his bank of monitors when she entered the gleaming intelligence palace known as Russian Ops, still called The Russian Ops Desk by all who knew of its existence.

The central branch of the Directorate’s Russian Eastern European Division had shrunk to just that—a desk—after the dubious end of the Cold War. The Agency’s operational focus shifted to counterterrorism, and funding for old-school espionage against America’s favorite foe had diminished. But in recent years, thanks to the almost mystic talent of its chief, Mary Jordan, to put officers in the right places at the right times, the desk had once again bloomed to a full branch. And Talia was its rising star.

This hadn’t earned her a great many friends.

“Terrance.” She gave a ’sup chin lift to a passing case officer, a veteran of the branch. Terrance had scored a seat at Russian Ops four years earlier and had dug in like a tick. He favored bow ties, although he refused to see any correlation between his fashion choices and his glaring lack of field assignments.

He answered with a curt smile. “Welcome back. I hear you got your asset killed. Nicely done.”

“He wasn’t an asset. Not yet.”

“Oh, that’s right. You never landed him in the first place.”

She glowered at his back as he marched up steel-grate steps to his cubicle. Russian Ops had reached its lateral limits, and Jordan had added staircases and a few upper-level cubicles—sought-after real estate, like the top bunks at summer camp. Terrance had already declared to Talia she’d never get his.

“Eddie . . .” Talia approached the geek’s desk. He didn’t answer from behind the monitors, but she heard a sneeze and a juicy sniffle. “I know you’re there.”

He rose like a prairie dog peeking out of its hole, assuming a prairie dog could hold a handkerchief to its nose and wear wire-rimmed glasses that were perpetually sliding out of place. A second hand appeared, palm up, holding a little box of chocolates.

Gifts were not really a thing between them. Talia set her coffee on the edge of her desk and folded her arms. “What’s this?”

Eddie traded the handkerchief for his phone, showing her a text message on the screen.

She knows.

Arriving today.

Run, hide, or bring gifts.

Maybe all three.

The sender was listed as UNKNOWN. “Tyler?”

“Finn, I think.” Eddie looked at the screen as if trying to decide. “You can almost hear the Melbourne accent.” He brought the chocolates to her and offered them, lowering his head. “Look. I’m sorry. I should have told you I was working on Tyler’s project.”

“I get it. And you’re forgiven. Sending him to Volgograd saved my life.” She accepted the gift. “But don’t tell him that.”

The designation NC-1701-D was stamped in gold print on the clear plastic top of the chocolate box. She turned it over. “Hey. This says ‘Free with your purchase of Star Trek: The Next Generation commemorative Christmas socks.’” She lowered the box. “And it’s dated two years ago.”

Eddie scrunched his shoulders. “I was pressed for time.”

The chocolates went straight to the trash bin under Talia’s desk, and she followed Eddie back to his monitors. Hundreds of lines of alphanumeric code rolled up his left screen in a continuous stream. Corresponding graphs and tables flashed up and down on the center and right screens. “Wow. What are you working on?”

“Oh this? This is my screensaver. Makes it look like I’m doing Jordan’s bidding when she walks by.” Eddie clicked his keyboard. The code and graphics dissolved, revealing a flat global map that took up all three monitors. Arcing red and yellow lines joined cities all over the world. “This is what I’m really wor . . . wor—” He sneezed. Hard. His glasses clacked down on the keyboard.

“Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing. Probably spring fever.”

“It’s the fourth of December.”

“Whatever.” Eddie wiped his nose, put the glasses back on, and went to work again.

The map coalesced into a globe on the center screen. Some of the yellow lines ran to satellites, hopping from one to the next before returning to Earth.

“The Volgograd save came from a breakthrough I had in Tyler’s project.” Eddie zoomed in on a bird in geostationary orbit over the South Atlantic. “But this morning I had another one. Big—like someone handing me a cheat code for Legend of Zelda. Suddenly hidden rooms and side quests were popping up everywhere.”

A diminutive woman of Korean descent walked by, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail—another Specialized Skills Officer like Eddie. She glanced at the screen with interest.

Eddie hit a key to bring up his screensaver. He swiveled his chair and motioned with his handkerchief for the woman to keep moving. “Eyes to yourself, Sue Lin. These are my screens, not yours. You’re not cleared for this.”

Sue Lin let out a huff, hugged a stack of files to her chest, and walked on.

Talia looked down her nose at her friend. “Can a guy with your social skills afford to alienate a girl like Sue Lin? You two have a lot in common.”

“I don’t need her.” Eddie swiveled his chair back to his