She didn't look away. Every word of what he said was true. For the past few months, ever since she had signed back on to active duty after the shooting, Anna Kelso had been digging into the investigation surrounding the Skyler hit and the identity of the assailants-despite orders to leave it to the team handling the incident. The case was closed; good leads took the agency to three associates of the Red Arrow triad, but they had all perished in a police shootout before arrests could be made. Strong evidence mounted up after the fact, placing the suspects as the black armored men in Washington.
Kelso hadn't believed any of it. The triad connection was a blind, she knew it in her gut.
Someone else had been responsible for the murder of Dansky, Matt Ryan, and a handful of other good agents; but that was a minority opinion in an agency that just wanted to bury its dead and move on.
Temple's ire lessened, and he sighed. "I blame myself for this. I should have seen the signs. I should have known you weren't ready to return to operations."
"Don't talk about me like I'm…" She stumbled over the word. "Weak"
"Do you really think raking over the ashes of what happened six months ago is honoring Matt Ryan's memory?" He shook his head. "Can you imagine what Jenny and her kids would think about this?"
"You don't understand!" she insisted.
"I do," he insisted. "I know what Matt did for you, Anna. I know how much he meant to you." Temple opened the case and drew out an evidence packet containing her personal effects. He fished inside and came back with a clear plastic bag; within was the rodlike shape of an injector pen, along with a couple of drug ampoules. "And I know how disappointed he'd be to see this. How long have you been back on stims?"
Kelso's mouth flooded with saliva at the sight of the injector, and it took a physical effort to look away. "I'm not using again. It's not the same."
Her cheeks burned. "I just needed to stay on top of things…"
"I would like to believe you." He tapped the bag. "Frankly, this alone is enough to have you cashiered, maybe even net some jail time." Temple pulled out a data slate, and studied it. "Ryan got you a second chance after you were suspended for use of stimulants three years ago. If not for him, your career would have been over." He put it down. "This is worse than just backsliding, Anna. This is a lot worse. You've become erratic, even obsessed. You're unstable."
"I want justice!" she shot back, pulling against the restraint. "The attack on Senator Skyler was a false flag operation! She was never the target, it was Dansky all along, and we got caught in the cross fire!" "I read your report," Temple said. "There's nothing to back that up. And the case is closed. The men who killed Ryan and the others are dead."
"I don't believe that." Anna leaned forward. Why can't he see? "Division turned down my requests to reopen the case, so I looked into it myself.
Dansky wasn't the only one… There are others, important people, scientists and corporate executives, other politicians, even United Nations ambassadors… all of them targeted by assassins with a similar MO-"
"You can't know that!"
"The same men who killed Matt are still running free!" she spat. "I've been trying to find something, anything, a name…" Anna suddenly realized how she had to look, the wild intensity in her eyes; she swallowed hard and tried to calm herself. "That's why I came here, to deal with the hackers on the Intrepid. They could get me data that was off the grid. Get me names."
"Or maybe they were just playing you?"
"Tyrants." She said the word like a curse.
Temple eyed her. "What?"
"That's what they call themselves. The killers." She frowned. "If I can track them, find out who they are working for-"
"That's enough!" Temple slammed his hand down on the table. "Those hackers you were caught with? Half of them are known associates of a global cyberterrorist cell, a group called Juggernaut. They're on the National Security Agency's most-wanted list, for god's sake. Think, Kelso!
Can you imagine what would happen if a Secret Service agent was connected to people like that?" He shook his head again. "I saw your requests to Division, that paper-thin garbage you called evidence. You were turned down because you have nothing but supposition and hearsay. At best, you've got a half-baked conspiracy theory! I kept the heat off you out of respect for Matt, because I knew his death hit you hard. But you've crossed the line."
Anna felt a chill run through her. "So… What happens now?"
Temple folded his arms. "If things were different… I'd charge you myself. But the fact is, what with that pit bull sniffing around the Service looking for some dirt, the agency needs to keep this in-house." The "pit bull" was Florida governor Philip Riley Mead, who was working the angles on Capitol Hill, using every trick he could-including pouring scorn on the DeSilvio administration by shining a light on every mess he could find. Some people called him a crusader for good, speaking about him taking the Oval Office for himself one day; but Kelso just saw a bland, opportunist politician who was nothing but good teeth and hollow platitudes. "We're going to deal with this quietly," Temple went on.
He handed her the packet and then drew a thin envelope from the pocket of his coat. Inside there was a credit chip and an airline ticket.
Temple fixed her with a steady, measuring gaze. "Your badge and ID have already been deauthorized. I've reclaimed your service firearm. As of this moment, you are officially on medical suspension. In a month, when this has all been forgotten, a closed-session review of your conduct will be held, and you will be discharged from the Secret Service, forfeiting pension and all privileges. At the very least." He stood up. "The ticket will get you back to Washington. Do yourself a favor, Agent Kelso. Go home. Let this go. Let Matt go." He gathered up the evidence bag with the stims and grimaced at it. "And don't make things any worse for yourself."
After he left her alone, the restraint loop gave a buzz and fell off her wrist. Anna picked up the packet and something slipped out. A brass coin clattered to the table; her sobriety chip. For a long moment, she thought about leaving it where it had fallen. Angrily, she snatched it up and jammed it in her pocket.
Zubovskaya Square-Moscow-Russian Federated States
The night-black helo circled once over the buildings along Burdenko Street, the ducted rotor-rings turning, the sound-deadening baffles humming. The boxy little flyer hugged the angular tops of the offices and apartment blocks, skimming over old tiled roofs cheek-by-jowl with modern polyglass domes and sheets of solar paneling. The nose of the craft dipped as Hardesty dropped from the starboard side; then they were rising up and away, describing a wide circuit around the lines of the plaza at Zubovskaya.
Saxon straightened the Kevlar balaclava over his face and peered through his polarized eye-shields. Ahead he could see the roof of the Hotel
Novoe Rostov. The team had reviewed the deployment on the way from the airport, and they were ready.
He took a breath and ran through his own internal checklist, ending it with a last look at the ammo selector on the Hurricane tactical machine pistol that hung from his shoulder strap. The compact submachine gun was all ABS plastic and black-anodized steel, the blunt muzzle lost behind a triangular suppressor.
"Twenty seconds." Namir's words came over his mastoid, buzzing in Saxon's skull. The subvocalized radio message had the peculiar echo to it that made encrypted comms sound as if they were being beamed down from space.
Saxon frowned. They were cutting it fine. The sun was rising, and the morning light would cost them good cover if they didn't move fast. Then
Hardesty spoke over the general channel.
"Inposition"he said. "Three targets. Green light."
Namir gave an imperceptible nod. "Execute."