Rogue Commander, Leo Maloney [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

stood off in one dark corner, arms folded, and more than mildly pissed.

Diana Bloch and Paul Kirby occupied the command row just behind Shepard. But they sat with two empty chairs between them, and the whole thing resembled divorce proceedings that weren’t going to go well.

“I am absolutely against this, Paul.” Diana Bloch slapped her knees and got up, leaned her palms on the control table, and stared through the glass at the image of Morgan.

“I’d expect you to be, Diana,” Kirby replied, fully aware of his audience. “But this isn’t a personal matter.”

“Are you sure?” she posed, then turned her head and looked at the rest of them. “Were all of you driven to this by nothing more than professional convictions?”

“Yes ma’am,” Spartan said from her chair.

“Ditto,” Diesel said.

“Frickin’ A,” Bishop said as he smoothed his gleaming bald skull.

“Bullshit,” Peter Conley said, and the rest of the Tac team turned to eye him.

Karen kept her head down and said nothing. She was merely a scribe tonight and hadn’t had anything to do with Morgan’s taking.

“Look, Diana,” Kirby said as he leaned back in his chair. “I realize this is an anomalous event.” He took off his glasses and angled one stem at the glass. “But Cobra’s actions are beyond unsupportable.”

“Like when are they ever?” Bishop murmured from behind. Spartan elbowed him to be quiet.

“After specific orders to stand down,” Kirby went on, “he broke into a top-secret federal facility, stole government property, which was also classified, then assaulted a military service member, and stole an air force vehicle. There’s a warrant out for him from the FBI. Would you have preferred that we let them take him first, Diana? Without preamble or a chance to debrief him ourselves?”

She turned away from Kirby and looked at Morgan again. “That is not the...”

“We’re gonna hafta give him up to the feds,” Bishop interrupted. “He’s a loose cannon anyway.”

“Bishop,” Conley said from his corner. “You’re muscle, not brains. Remember?”

Bishop turned to glare at Conley, who simply cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. It was Conley’s bring-it-on invitation, which no wise man ever accepted.

“Hey, all you geniuses in the Zoo.” It was Morgan’s voice booming from the recessed speakers. From his manacled perch all Morgan could see was an enormous mirror, and he couldn’t hear anything that was being said. But they could hear him, and he knew it. “While you’re all talking shit in there, Collins is probably hauling ass to Central America.”

Diana leaned over and touched the button at the base of the control table’s mike. “Just sit tight, Cobra.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I’m going somewhere?”

Diana released the button, straightened, and folded her arms. She rolled her pearls in her fingers and squinted through the heavy glass at Morgan’s rippling arms and hunched posture. Even cuffed to a steel chair that was bolted to the floor, she wouldn’t be shocked if he burst free like some rampaging beast.

She had intentionally goaded Morgan into, well, being himself, consequences be damned. She’d also set Alex up in a similar way with a mirror task—after all, the kid was just like her father. Alex had gone after Sheldon Margolis, but she was now out of contact, and who knew where? Lily was safely en route back to Zeta HQ, hopefully soon to deliver a back-brief that would connect all the dots on this rogue missile thing. However, Diana had been forced to engage Mr. Smith himself to sort all that out, which could mean that she’d soon be out of a job.

And still, here she was, surrounded by her best analysts, operatives, and agents, one of whom was playing for some other team. She’d used Jenny to clear Morgan, and she had no doubts about Alex, so at least those pieces were off the board. Peter Conley? He was Morgan’s best friend and had been for years, although that might mean nothing if someone had turned him. If someone had turned Collins, all bets were off.

Her Tactical team? They were all special operators—men and women of action who thrived on missions, were very well compensated, and rarely had dreams of greater ambitions. Lincoln Shepard? She shivered at the thought. If Shepard was dirty, then everything that happened at Zeta was in the hands of bad actors, and as explosive as a Washington hooker’s black book. Karen O’Neal? She was in love with Shepard, but that could be a ploy. The quiet ones were often most dangerous.

Paul Kirby. He thrived on his position with Zeta and seemed to have no other life. But he was vain, ambitious, borderline insubordinate. Little he did had anything other than his own promotion in mind. And during Diana’s recent, necessary, absences, he’d relished taking command. Now, emboldened, he was becoming overtly subversive.

She sighed inwardly. She trusted all of them. She trusted none of them. But that was the curse of a spy mistress.

Kirby cleared his throat. “Diana?”

She snapped from her mental calculations and turned her head. He was looking down at his cell.

“I’ve just had a text from the special agent in charge, Boston field office. He says, ‘Either you’re coming here, or we’re coming over there. What’s it going to be?’”

“Jesus,” Diesel mumbled from behind. “Just what we need here, the feds.”

“Tell him we’re running an internal debrief,” Diana said. “One hour.”

Kirby raised his palms to the sides. “Diana...really.”

“Tell him,” she snapped. “Or just give me his number.”

“All right, all right,” Kirby said with exasperation and tapped.

“Ms. Bloch,” Spartan said from the back row. Everyone turned and looked at her. Spartan rarely said anything in meetings or briefings. It was as if she considered all words weak, and only fists and feet had meaning. “Why don’t we just take a vote?”

Karen O’Neal looked up from her laptop. Peter Conley came away from the corner wall and leaned on the back of a chair.

“Spartan,” he said, “you’re taking your code name too seriously. This isn’t the Greek Senate.”

“It’s not such a bad idea.” Bishop