“No, Vitaliy Kirillovich. Just making sure that’s what you want. You can count on me.”
“Good. You have seven days to get everything ready. Then we go to Moscow.”
…13
The sun had set and twilight had faded away, leaving a moonless night in its place. Yet the window curtains pulled shut didn’t let a single hint of light be seen from outside, despite multiple powerful light bulbs flooding the blue room with a blinding light.
The corkboard covered in images, Post-it notes, and pushpins tied together with colored yarn hadn’t changed much in the past few weeks, yet Alex studied it carefully, processing again every bit of information as if it was the first time she’d seen it.
Curled up in her armchair, legs folded underneath her and leaning against one of the armrests, she went over every milestone in her timeline, looking for anything she might have missed. Nothing new… nothing, whatsoever.
But there was a troublesome article in the newspaper she had just flipped through, a short entry about a near-miss incident involving a Russian military aircraft and a Canadian vessel in the Black Sea. Nothing had really happened, but Alex vaguely recalled a few of these incidents occurring in recent weeks, maybe even months.
She made a mental note to research it a little and see if anything out of the ordinary came to the surface, but it would all be speculation even if it did. There was no visible connection between any recent Russian military activity and the terrorist plot The Agency had just folded. None whatsoever… she was just reaching.
Her cell phone rang, almost startling her. She smiled, seeing the caller ID, then accepted the phone’s prompt to encrypt the call. Ever since she’d started working on her last case, she’d been using cell-phone encryption software on every call, ensuring that her private conversations remained private.
“Sam!” she answered cheerfully, glad to hear from him.
“How are you, kiddo?”
“Great, just great,” she answered excitedly. “I was just thinking of you. Were your ears burning?”
“Nah… just wanted to check on you, see how you are.”
She paused for half a minute, not sure what to say.
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” she started, “maybe there’s a correlation between our case and these Russian military incidents?”
“Ah… Your mind still goes there, huh?”
“Yup,” she confessed in a sheepish voice.
“Crazy wall and all that?”
“Yup.”
He let out a long sigh.
“We might never catch him, kiddo, you know that, right? We discussed it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“The yeah buts are not gonna cut it, you know. We talked about this. I’ve spent my entire life chasing spies and terrorists, and I haven’t caught all of them, only some. The vast majority,” he clarified further with pride, “yet not all of them.”
“But you know what I mean, right? You’ve felt this; you’ve done this too, right?”
“What? Obsessing about some anonymous face that eluded me for years? Yes, and I almost lost my mind because of that. That’s why I want you to be smarter than I was.” He grinned, and she heard the smile in his voice.
“So, if you’ve done it too, how come you expect me to not wanna do the same? How can I let go? Who’s gonna catch this guy?”
“Listen, kiddo, if anyone’s gonna catch this guy, it’s gonna be you, I promise you that much. But if you wanna have a real shot to catch this son of a bitch you have to let your mind be free of obsession, of bias and frustration. You have to be cold and factual, and see facts and data only where facts and data exist, not where you want them to exist.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s no visible real, logical correlation between the Election Day plot and the Russian military incidents we’ve been reading about lately, yet you thought there might be one. Is that your gut talking? Or is that wishful thinking? Only you can answer this question. Only after you have become completely level headed and rational about this case. You need to stop caring about it from an emotional perspective, and only care about the intel — the facts, whatever the facts might tell you.”
“Yeah, but that data might tell me we’re never gonna find out who he is,” she protested angrily.
“That might be true. But imagining correlations where there aren’t any is not gonna help either.”
She swallowed hard. “Right… What should I do then?”
“Just keep in mind that it’s not over yet, but don’t let it ruin your life. Be ready; get ready. Watch your back. Be aware of your surroundings. See if anyone is following you. Spend time at the firing range with Louie until you’re better than he is.”
“Ha! That’s never gonna happen!”
“Are you sure? ’Cause I’m not!”
She fell silent for a minute, taking in his advice.
“I miss you, Sam. I miss your training, your friendship, your advice. I miss the life, the buzz of the action. I can totally see how someone can become addicted to this life.”
“Of course you do,” he laughed. “You’re a natural born spy; it’s in your DNA. Are you working on a case now?”
“Yeah, I’m support on Brian’s new case,” she said, letting a tad of disappointment color the inflexions in her voice.
“Is it an interesting case?” Sam probed.
“Yeah, they all are… to some extent.”
They both burst into laughter at the same time.
“Not nearly as interesting as our last case, Sam, not even close. Just the typical, run-of-the-mill case.”
“Just be patient, that’s all. This country has many powerful, motivated enemies. Their interests will flush your Mr. X out from whatever hole he’s been hiding in, and you’ll be right there to nail him. Just hang tight, and I promise you he’s out there and you’ll get him one day.”
“I’ll hold you to that, OK?”
“Deal!”
Minutes after they’d hung up she still stared into the cell phone screen that displayed the end message of an encrypted phone call. Just a few months earlier, she hadn’t even known she could encrypt calls on her cell. Now she didn’t conceive of making or taking a call without encrypting it.
Things did evolve, and did change. With these changes, always came a change in perspective. That’s what she needed, a change in perspective.
…14
Quentin Hadden read his latest email, clenching his teeth. His boss wanted to see him. Not good. Lately, their relationship had turned from bad to worse, his conflicts with the idiot in charge — as he liked to think of Bob McLeod — evolving from technical disputes into full-blown arguments followed by sit-downs and feedback sessions eagerly delivered by the idiot with arrogance and condescendence.
He decided to face the music now rather than let the thought of it torment him for much longer. He walked briskly down the hall and entered McLeod’s office after a quick tap on the door.
“You wanted to see me?” Quentin prompted.
“Yes. Sit down, please.”
McLeod took his time shuffling papers, making Quentin feel how insignificant he was. Quentin didn’t matter… he could wait. What an asshole.
“I called you because of the installations project on the Lloyd. Your team has fallen behind schedule. Again.”