Legends Lost

“I think we should go.”

Amanda, who’d been in the process of putting a casserole dish down in the middle of the table, dropped it the last inch. It clattered loudly.

Lee was apparently having a similar reaction. “What do you mean by that, Sport?”

“Exactly what I said,” answered Jamie. “I think we should go to London. You said you could probably wait until after the end of the school year, so I wouldn’t have to transfer in the middle. But I’ve only been at Swanson part of this year anyway.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t really have any friends.”

Amanda found her chair and sat down. This was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

“What about that girl you were arguing history with?” asked Lee. “I think you said her name was Nikki?”

“We’re just workin’ together on a project. It’ll be done by then.” He sniffed. “She’s in with the preps anyway.”

“There won’t be any baseball,” Amanda told him. “They don’t play that in England.”

“Oh, I know. But they do have that other game. Cricket. It might be fun to learn how to do both.”

Now she frowned. “You’re awfully accepting about this. It would also mean you couldn’t spend as much time with your father and Carrie as you do now.”

At that, Carrie and Joe, who’d been seated across the table, exchanged an inscrutable look.

“What?” asked Amanda.

Joe nodded slightly. Carrie spoke up. “We, ah, we — Jamie, do you remember a few months ago when we were offered positions in Côte d’Ivoire?”

“Yeah,” he said as his face fell. “Yeah. I’d forgotten. Maybe we should stay. I mean, I really do like spending time with you. It’s just that — well, it would be a different school, and a different place, and I wouldn’t have to look around and see Grandma an’ Phillip everywhere I go.”

Amanda felt her frown deepen. Jamie was still in therapy, but she’d gotten the impression he was making progress. She made a mental note to ask a few more specific questions the next time they met.

Carrie and Joe had exchanged another glance. “Part of the reason we were so willing to turn them down — it wasn’t just you, love. We didn’t really want to go there. We’d requested assignments in Algeria.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And, well…” she trailed off. “Joe and I got a call yesterday. The IRC has found a place for me in Algiers. That’s the capital of Algeria.”

“And the EAO hasn’t been able to fill the position I’d been aiming for over there,” added Joe. “We were going to talk to you about me maybe asking for it again. To see if you were ready.”

Amanda sat up straight. “Not this soon.”

“Wait a minute, Mom,” said Jamie. “Wait. How long does it take to get from Al-al-algiers to London? Is it easier or harder than getting here?”

“It is closer,” said Carrie thoughtfully. “But it’s still a few hours on a plane. And plane tickets can get expensive.”

Jamie looked down at his plate for a long moment. Then he looked back up. “Am I old enough to work in England? Maybe I could pay for the tickets.”

“No,” said Amanda and Lee together. Lee continued. “Jamie, if this is what you really want, we can find a way to pay for the tickets.”

“No, Lee,” said Amanda. “No. We can’t afford to send him to a good school and pay for plane tickets both.”

“We’d help pay for the tickets,” said Joe. “There’s a travel allowance with both our positions.”

Now Carrie was the one shaking her head. “Jamie, love, you said you wanted to get away from everything that reminds you of your grandma and your brother. Moving won’t solve problems like that. It might be better for you to stay and keep working that out.”

“But it might help,” he answered, his expression firming. “And I’d keep working with someone in London, Mom, Carrie, if that’s what you’d want.”

“We’d all want that,” said Joe softly. Lee nodded as well.

Amanda turned it all over in her mind. Plane ticket prices fluctuated a lot. And it would be such a change, after him going through — after them all going through — so many changes during the last several months.

On the other hand, Jamie did have something of a point. There was something to be said for taking a break from an environment if it was emotionally difficult.

“We won’t be over there forever,” she pointed out. “It’s a five-year assignment. Lee and I would want to come back home after that.”

“Yeah, but that’ll be when I’m starting college. That’s different.” He looked directly at her. “Please, Mom? Will you think about it?”

She looked at Lee, wondering what he was thinking. His expression was carefully neutral. Not wanting to influence me, she realized. Wanting it to be my decision.

Amanda shook her head. They should all be a part of this decision.

“When,” she asked Carrie, “would you need to answer the IRC?”

“Soon. A day or two, at most. I’d like to answer them tomorrow, but if you think we should talk some more…” she trailed off with a meaningful glance at Jamie. “I can do that. I believe Joe can as well.”

“I can,” he confirmed.

“So can I,” said Lee. “All right, Sport. This isn’t what I…”

“We,” murmured Amanda.

“We,” he repeated, “were expecting. How about your mom and me talk about this, and Joe and Carrie too, after dinner.”

“With me?” asked Jamie.

Amanda began to object, but the look in her son’s eyes was too compelling. And he’s thirteen, she reminded herself. He’s old enough to be part of these discussions now.

“Yes,” she answered. “With you.”

---

Francine seemed more like herself when she reported to Billy’s office the next morning. Good. That was going to make this easier.

“Come in,” he told her. “Close the door. We do have some things to talk about.”

She sat down quietly. “I figured we would.”

Billy sighed. “Don’t look so forlorn, Francine. Amanda told me what you said right after you locked Ansar al-Safa out of the Army mainframe. She was exactly right.” This one’s for you, Jonathan, Amanda had quoted. I got your message. I just wish I could send you my reply.

“Doesn’t change why I was suspended.”

“No,” he answered. “It doesn’t. But it did tell me you’re ready to come back.”

Her eyes flicked up.

“Yes,” he said. “You’ve been out three weeks, and that’s going to be treated as a suspension without pay. And you’re being reinstated, but there are conditions. I couldn’t get you out of everything.”

“I don’t think you should have,” she said, but there was no bite to her tone. “I deserved it.”

“You two were engaged, Francine. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Too much of that’ll send you right back where you were.” He paused. “You’re not going to be promotable for a long time. If ever. And that,” he continued, “means I can’t keep you as my second.”

She nodded. “Am I being put back out in the field full-time? Will my pay be cut for this demotion?”

“You’re right that it’s a demotion,” he told her, “but your pay’s the same. It may be frozen for a couple of years to compensate. And yes, you’re going back out into full-time field duty. But not alone. You’re going to require a regular partner, someone who has the authority to go over your head to me if needed.”

“Who?”

“That’s the other thing I managed to get for you. Unless you object, it’ll be Zeta.”

“Zeta? Not that I wouldn’t be happy to partner with her, Billy, but she’s still pretty junior.”

“She got through to you that time you were tearing into Scotty. And her performance in this case has been excellent.”

Francine nodded. “I agree. I just don’t know if she’s going to have enough confidence to refuse an order long enough to check with you.”

“We’ll work on that. Together. I’d like to think she won’t have to do it that often anyway.”

“I don’t plan on it,” replied Francine.

“Good. That’s a good place to start, Francine. I’m giving you your existing cases back. Zeta’s been doing a good job on those, too, but she feels like you should be the agent of record. You’ll want her to brief you when she turns them over.”

Francine seemed about to say something — probably I know that, thought Billy — but she bit her lip. Then she asked, “who’s going to be your new second?”

“I don’t know yet,” Billy told her. “I’m still reviewing personnel files, and I’m also considering bringing in someone from another section.”

“Maybe it could be —” but then Francine cut herself off again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re both going to have to unlearn some habits. And there’s no need to hesitate before asking questions or offering suggestions. You’re a good agent, Francine. You’ve earned the right to do both.”

That elicited a small smile.

“I’ll expect you back in here bright and early Monday morning. That gives you a few days to process. You should use them that way.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Was there anything else?”

“No,” he told her. “Just get some rest, too, while you’re at it.”

Her steps weren’t as quick or jaunty as usual as she left, but the set of her shoulders and back were. They hadn’t been when she’d walked in, so that was good. It was going to take time for all of them to recalibrate, but he had no doubt everyone would — and it looked like the changes would be for the better.

Sighing, he turned back to the personnel files on his desk. He actually had an idea about where to put Francine and Zeta, but he needed to talk to Lee and Amanda first. He glanced up at the clock. 9:40. They should be in by now.

Pushing to his feet, he headed toward the Q-Bureau.

---

This conversation wasn’t heading in the direction he’d expected. Douglas pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, sir, not at all. It’s run differently from our office, but it runs well.”

“We were aware of that,” came his supervisor’s answer. “The Agency’s closure rate speaks for itself. Now that this case is concluded, what can you tell us about how they run? Would anything be an operational improvement if we implemented it?”

He hesitated.

“Agent Trent?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “The Americans…are much more relationship oriented. Almost surprisingly so.”

“Are you saying they’re unprofessional?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “Rather the reverse. But they…” how could he explain this? “They mix the personal and professional. Billy Melrose in particular. When Agent Desmond began behaving erratically after a personal loss, he didn’t allow it. Ended up suspending her. But all that time, he was also trying to help her. There were also other agents who did the same thing, even though they seemed well aware that they could risk their own professional status at times.” He paused. “I initially found it far too chaotic for an intelligence agency.”

“Your tone suggests your attitude has changed.”

“Yes. That agent was a critical contributor to the case we just closed. We could not have succeeded without her.”

“I see,” said his supervisor. “You are referring, of course, to Francine Desmond. And to her friendship with Lee and Amanda Stetson. The four of you have spent quite a bit of time together recently.”

His free hand fell heavily to the desk. MI6 knew about her, of course; he’d seen the dossiers prior to accepting the exchange assignment. But he hadn’t known that there was apparently an active source in place, one that was in a position to be aware of his day-to-day activities. “You’ve been monitoring me?”

“Come now, Agent Trent. Did you really think you wouldn’t be monitored and assessed?”

“No,” he admitted, recovering some of his aplomb. “That would be standard procedure. I just wasn’t aware that MI6 was able to do so in such specific detail.”

“Of course we can. We also have already learned about your familial connection to Lee Stetson.”

His breath caught. “You’ve been monitoring him? Why?”

“That’s not your concern. However, the Service is quite concerned that you apparently elected not to share that information as soon as you learned of it.”

“I did…not believe there was any requirement to disclose,” he managed. Above him, one of the office’s fluorescent lights had begun to buzz softly. “It’s distant, and neither he nor I were aware of it until I learned a…personal detail…about him. Which happened inadvertently. We might not otherwise have realized it.”

“His middle name, the one you share, is in the dossier you were given to review.”

Douglas sat up straight. “I remember seeing that, but at the time the implication of him also being half-British didn’t connect. With respect, sir, how is the Service able to learn so much about my interactions with this Agency?”

There was a pause.

“Sir?”

At the other end of the phone line, his supervisor sighed. “Truth be told, Trent, I didn’t know if that was related to how you figured it out. Now that you have confirmed it, you still need to explain why you didn’t disclose it as soon as you found out.”

“As I said,” he replied, noting that his free hand had curled into a fist, “I didn’t believe it was required. If I had known about the requirement, I naturally would have alerted you immediately.”

“I’m sure you would have. You are aware that your reticence about how you learned about the connection is also noticeable?”

“Of course I am,” he said, peeved. This was supposed to be an after-action report. He hadn’t expected an interrogation. “But it was also a personal matter. The Hamilton family is…” he trailed off. “Not always well-adjusted to Her Majesty’s social goals.”

“You just indicated that operatives within this Agency have a tendency to mix the personal and the professional,” the supervisor pointed out. “It appears as though you might have developed the tendency yourself.”

Douglas focused on the office’s beige walls, forcing himself to take two breaths before answering. “Organizational culture does tend to spread. The Service should know that.”

There was another pause. Douglas began to break it, but remembered at the last minute his own interrogation training: a strategic pause could sometimes entice the subject to disclose more than they meant. Pressing his free hand down on the desk surface, he waited it out.

“At our request,” the supervisor finally said, “William Melrose has provided us with a written evaluation of your work, Agent Trent.”

That was hardly surprising.

“He speaks extremely well of you. We asked him to specifically evaluate evidence pointing to leadership capabilities.”

That wasn’t surprising either. “Yes?”

“Melrose seems to think you’re capable of becoming a leader, but he did note some items that would preclude your performance in a leadership role at this point.”

“I understand,” he replied noncommittally.

“Your reaction?”

Douglas shook his head. “I would need to know specifics before I could respond or rebut.”

There was another pause in the conversation.

“Melrose believes you could acquire more of the necessary skills if you remained with the Agency for a longer period. It would also be…advantageous to the Service to have an agent who had developed strong connections in Washington.”

He had to think about that one for a moment. “Are you requesting that I stay deployed here?”

“Not requesting,” said the supervisor. “Making the opportunity available. Pointing out its advantages. Of course, the major disadvantage is that you would remain away from England for a longer period.”

Now his hands were beginning to shake. “That is…something all agents expect from time to time.”

“Shall I take that as indicative of interest?”

“I am…” he trailed off again. “Not uninterested. But I would need time to come to a decision.”

“How much time?”

“A few days, at the very least. Perhaps over the weekend.”

There was another pause, but it was shorter this time. “We could allow that.”

“Thank you. Was there anything else?”

“Not at this time, Agent Trent. We’ll end the call here. Do remember that you need to call out-of-sequence on Monday during our office hours.”

“Of course,” he answered as he signed off. He lowered the phone into the cradle carefully, not wanting to cause a clatter, but aware that he wasn’t quite as steady as usual. This hadn’t gone the way he’d expected at all.

As soon as Scarecrow had explained the bottom line, Billy breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, though, once he realized who needed to be included in the final briefing. His stomach had complained loudly when he’d scheduled this meeting for the morning.

Amanda, Francine, and Lee came into the conference room together. Unusually, they sat down with Lee and Amanda on either side of Francine, instead of Lee and Amanda sitting next to each other. Billy began to say something light about that, but reconsidered before any words came out: the arrangement had to be deliberate. A second after that, he understood the reasons why and nodded his approval. Optics mattered.

Douglas Trent came in a few minutes later and he, too, stopped short. Then, after a glance at Billy, he seated himself on the other side of the conference table from the trio. “That’s all of us,” he said.

“Not quite,” answered Billy. Speaking of optics…

The door opened one last time to admit Dr. Smyth.

At least, thought Billy, he’s not fashionably late. Though he certainly had pushed it to the limit: the clock was just now reaching 8:30.

“Let’s make it snappy, children,” the Agency Director started out. “I have a meeting on Pennsylvania Avenue in an hour.”

Trent frowned slightly. “This may take more time than that.”

“Then you’d best start right away,” replied Smyth. “And get to the important parts first. Why is a non-American agent in this room?”

“Because I ordered him to help,” replied Billy, careful of his tone. “You yourself approved the exchange program, Smyth.” So you know full well he has clearance, he thought but didn’t say. Based on the director’s expression, he had guessed the unspoken sentiment anyway. There’d been a time that might have worried Billy, but not anymore. He was through with all the shenanigans that had been going on around here.

“So I did,” Smyth acknowledged with a soft snort. “Continue.”

“Trent, you’re the systems expert,” said Billy. “We’ll start at the end so that Dr. Smyth can have all the time he needs.” At that, the director frowned. Billy ignored it. “What was the final result of the operation?”

The British agent’s eyes flicked around the room once before he turned back to address Billy. “Once I explained the parameters, Miss Desmond was able to program a systems routine that prevented the executable from being processed. The Ansar al-Safa group was unsuccessful in its attempt to alter the Aegis system’s operations.” He paused.

“In layman’s terms,” added Lee, “Ansar al-Safa was trying to send false targeting data to a missile system. We weren’t able to stop the bad data from being put in, but we stopped it from getting to the missile launch system.” He paused. “I’m thinking the two different versions of the data should be enough for Legal to start a criminal case, and for us to open a permanent file on stopping these guys.”

“It will,” said Billy.

“You were headed that direction anyway,” retorted Smyth. “Without Miss Desmond’s involvement. Why was it necessary to bring her in? She is on suspension.”

“She’s familiar with the programming,” replied Trent. “I’m more familiar with the structure than I am with the content. It also would be better if an American agent got that far into the weeds of the files anyway. I can’t betray any details I don’t know.”

Smyth’s frown deepened, but he gestured for them to continue.

“We were able to trace the operator’s location through several different relays,” continued Trent, “and, rather to our surprise, it turned out to be right behind the Agency. They had circled back after we chased them off, and were operating from the van. This way, they were able to make it look as though the incorrect data was coming from someone at this location.” He paused. “It’s an effective tactic. It might have worked if all our entrances weren’t secured.”

Lee’s lips thinned.

“Something to say, Scarecrow?” asked Billy.

“No,” he answered, though there was a wary tone in his voice. “Not right now.”

“Don’t withhold anything on my account,” said Smyth.

“I’m not,” answered Lee. “I just…have a few questions. But we can get into those after the summary.” His expression changed. “None of my concerns are about Francine’s role in this operation. She did as well as she always does.”

“I’ll make that decision,” said Smyth.

“No, sir,” said Billy. “I’ll make that decision. I’m the Director of Field Operations and agent assignments are my responsibility. I’ll take ownership of allowing her back in even though she was on suspension. It was the right thing to do.”

“We’ll see about that.”

It was all Billy could do not to roll his eyes. “Keep going, Trent. Was there anything else?”

“No, sir. That’s what I know about the current status of the operation.”

Now Lee did speak up. “Zeta and Scotty are tracking down where the van went after it left the second time. They’ve already pulled our security camera footage, and they’re working on getting more from the other businesses on this block. They’ll keep moving along the trail once they know which direction to go next.”

“I see,” answered Smyth. “And how long do you expect that to take?”

“As long as it takes.” The skin around Lee’s eyes tightened slightly. “Sir. But I don’t expect them to be later than today or maybe tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t aware you were giving the orders now,” said Smyth. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone.

“Lee is the agent of record,” clarified Billy. “Since he understands what Aegis does, and since Francine’s on suspension.” He wasn’t yet ready to mention that the assignment had also been a test.

“Francine is the only one who understands what the program was trying to do,” said Lee. “I needed her.”

“And what was it trying to do?”

Francine’s voice trembled slightly, but she met Smyth’s eyes without hesitation. “It was a part of the targeting system. The added code was meant to change the target coordinates before they were transmitted out.” She paused. “Lee, what were your questions about?”

“The SYS_DIAG routine you wrote,” he answered. “I still don’t understand why it kept blanking our screens.”

“That’s normal for most computer diagnostics,” said Trent quietly. “And it isn’t related to the altered targeting data.”

“Which is why I said I’d ask my questions later.” Lee turned toward Smyth. “Sir, according to Francine and Amanda, the program alterations were subtle. We might not have even recognized they were there if we hadn’t already been in the system trying to stop them. There’s a good chance that we otherwise would have had no idea that there were targeting problems until a missile went off course.”

“Saved by the bell?” asked Smyth. “At the very last minute?”

“Something like that,” said Billy, not entirely succeeding at keeping the pride out of his tone. Lee’s analysis had perfectly framed this operation amidst the larger intelligence picture.

“I see.” Smyth made a bit of a show out of checking the time. “And I also need to be going. Melrose, you and I will be discussing Desmond later.”

“I’ll look forward to it. But I would like to keep her here at least until we’ve finished mopping up.”

“I’ll allow it.” Smyth glared at him as he spoke the words. “This time. But you are not reinstated for anything else, Desmond.”

Francine looked as though she wanted to speak, but Amanda laid a hand on her forearm. She closed her eyes, sighed, and nodded. Good, thought Billy. That one small reminder had been all it took for her to think about her timing. And that, too, boded well for what he had in mind.

---

The tension in the room had lessened considerably with Smyth’s departure, but Stetson’s continuing unease suggested things might not be going as well as Douglas had hoped. That didn’t make sense. Hadn’t the entire operation been a success?

“So what, exactly, did the program do?” Melrose was asking now. “You said it was part of the targeting function, right?”

“Right,” answered Desmond. “From what I can tell, it translates the coordinates the user enters into instructions for the missile launchers. The introduced code was short and simple: it scrambled some of the numbers before writing the instructions for the missile launcher. The targeting data it received would have been different from the data that was entered.”

“How far off course would the missile have gone?”

Desmond took a breath. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t much. Maybe a few thousandths of a degree of longitude or latitude.”

“That could easily be several hundred feet,” remarked Stetson. “It’s enough.”

Douglas thought about that for a moment. “That may have been intentional. If the group were hedging against the possibility of a human being re-checking the coordinates, they would have wanted them to look right at first glance.”

Stetson was nodding. “Yeah, that’s what I would have done.”

Melrose shook his head. “You almost sound like you admire them.”

A chuckle went around the room, sending the director’s eyebrows up. “What?”

“It’s the same thing Lee was complaining about while we were actually working the breach attempt,” replied Amanda.

“Respect for design isn’t necessarily admiration of purpose,” Douglas answered, and the chuckles faded. “The point is that our opponents aren’t amateurs. They’re quite sophisticated, which means they’re likely equally determined.”

Melrose sighed. “Which means they’re likely to try something else.”

“I would assume so.”

“Any ideas what?”

“I can look at their response to Miss Desmond’s SYS_DIAG routine and make some guesses,” answered Douglas. “But I’ll be the first to admit that’s all they would be. Guesses.”

Melrose nodded. “Speaking of that routine, what was the deal with the — what did you call it, Scarecrow — screens blanking?”

“Probably nothing,” said Stetson. “I just…I was counting seconds in my head, and there was a progression. Five seconds, then eight, then thirteen.” As he said the words, he fiddled with something in his pocket.

Amanda caught his meaning immediately. “Those numbers are in the Fibonacci sequence.”

“Yeah,” he answered. “But I suspect it’s a coincidence.”

Desmond frowned. “No, that’s not right. The flickers should have been randomly spaced.”

“Three data points isn’t enough to establish a pattern,” Douglas reminded her.

“No, but I want to check it again.” She stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She was back in less than five, and the look on her face silenced all small talk. Her shoulders drooped and she sat down heavily.

“Well?” asked Melrose.

“We didn’t completely isolate the directory,” she reported quietly. “We stopped the program from running, and we locked them out enough to keep them from counteracting that. But they weren’t completely locked out of the system.” She took another breath. “It looks like they were trying to get copies of the diagnostics themselves. And it might have worked.”

“So they’re going to analyze those to plan their next try,” he concluded. “We just moved the possibility of a next time from ‘likely’ to ‘almost certain.’ Didn’t we?”

All three of the American agents nodded. Douglas joined them, his mouth going dry. “Unfortunately, this level of sophistication suggests they won’t use the same methodology the next time.”

“Agreed,” said Stetson.

Desmond was looking down at her hands. “I should have realized it couldn’t have been that easy. I’ll pull the data again and go back through it with a fine-tooth comb. We might be able to get some clues by seeing what diagnostic data they were able to retrieve.”

“Francine,” said Amanda gently. “Things were moving quickly. You didn’t have time to double-check yourself then.” She paused. “And we didn’t really understand just how deceptive they could be, either, until just now. Take it easy on yourself.”

“If you’d like,” said Douglas quietly. “I can help you with the data analysis. Structure could tell us as much as content.”

Desmond nodded, though she didn’t meet his eyes.

“You can’t always out-think an enemy on your feet,” he continued, still looking at her. “I agree with Mrs. St — with Amanda. I see no failure here.”

Desmond’s lips quirked. “I hear you, Trent. But it’s going to take me a little while to get over it.” She looked at Melrose. “That is, if I’ll be allowed to work on it at all.”

“Amanda and Trent are right,” said Melrose. “You didn’t make any mistakes. In fact, we couldn’t have done it without you. Which I intend to make sure Smyth knows in great and explicit detail. Right before I tell him I’m reinstating you.”

That earned him a small smile. Douglas was careful to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t help but notice that the tension in the room had eased even more. Melrose really did know how to get through to his people. As for Desmond? She’d handled this more than professionally. Maybe it really was time for him to learn more about her.

---

She was still subdued and clearly upset, but Amanda was cheered to see the return of the seasoned professional she’d gotten to know over the past several years. Francine still had a long journey of grief ahead of her, but it was clear she had gotten started down the road instead of remaining lost in the throes of it.

As the briefing broke up, she could hear Douglas and Francine discussing the best times and places to get started on their work. She would have followed with an offer of additional help, except Mr. Melrose had given Lee and her both significant looks before tapping on the table.

They stayed.

“That was excellent work,” Mr. Melrose began. “Especially you, Scarecrow.”

“Thank you,” answered Lee, though Amanda could see tension in his expression. “But that’s not why you kept us here.”

Mr. Melrose sighed. “No. Unfortunately, it isn’t.” He looked away briefly. “Kelford sent me his final evaluation report yesterday. I read it, but I didn’t want to interrupt the operation, especially since it was going so well. I…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, Stetson. I have to pull you out of the field for good.”

“Why?” asked Amanda. “There are other agents who mostly work in the office.”

“Yes, but they’re still liable to be called out to the field anytime we need the manpower. Sunlight, I can let you stay if you want. But we can’t keep an agent who’s actually unable to do field work. Not in this section, anyway.”

Lee’s fists clenched. “So what now? Do I get medical’ed out or something? Didn’t Kelford tell you that I’ll probably be able to walk and run again once I’ve finished rehab?”

“He did. And there’s nothing wrong with your head, so there’s no need to medical you out. You just can’t have field status. Not unless you re-qualify.”

“Then I’ll re-qualify,” he growled. “If I have anything to say about it. Do I get any say in where I go while I do that?”

“Yes, actually,” said Mr. Melrose. “That’s why I asked the both of you to stay. About six weeks ago, the Agency decided it needed full-time liaisons with other intelligence groups around the world.” He paused. “When I first saw you in the hospital, I sent a recommendation in, and they responded a couple days ago. There’s an opening in London. Primarily liaising with MI6, but you’d also be making contact with other European agencies.”

“In London?” echoed Amanda. Panic began skittering across her skin. This couldn’t be happening. First Joe, now Lee leaving her to go overseas?

“That’s part of why I haven’t told you about any of this until now. Sunlight, I’ve found a place for you there as well. Not in the same section, so you won’t be working together anymore.” He paused. “Officially.”

Amanda forced herself to take a breath. This isn’t the same as what happened with Joe, she told herself. And neither are you. “And unofficially?”

“We’d like to send you into the U.S. Embassy,” explained Mr. Melrose. “As a cultural attaché, helping people with passports and visas, that sort of thing. You have the skills.”

“Secretarial work?” She frowned. Yes, that was how the Agency had initially brought her in, but she was a trained agent now!

“Hear me out. You’d need to do some of that for the job, but you’d also be responsible for verifying intelligence Lee receives through his liaison contacts.” Mr. Melrose paused. “It’s official in the sense that it’d be part of your job description. But it would be a classified part. Only you and Lee, and maybe a couple of others, would know what you discussed.”

Lee’s expression was still stormy. “We don’t like taking work home with us.”

“You have in the past. And Amanda’s cover position would intentionally be part-time. You’d get at least one day a week where she could ‘visit’ you at the office.”

Amanda shook her head. “No, sir. That wouldn’t work. It’d be too unusual or suspicious, and it could affect Lee’s credibility if it looks like I’m not capable of being away from him while he’s at work.”

“Then maybe you could help us figure something out. Something that looked more normal.”

Lee was watching her. She turned to him. “What are you thinking, Sweetheart?”

“I think,” he replied, and she could hear the controlled anger in his tone, “that if they’re bound and determined to take me out of the field permanently, this is a good way to do it. Even though I’d be able to come back in a year or two.” He turned to Mr. Melrose. “How long is this assignment?”

“Five years.”

“No,” said Lee immediately. “I’ll be out of rehab way before then.”

“Scarecrow, you’re not staying in the Field section. I thought I made that clear.”

“You also,” he snapped, “said I’d have some say in the matter.”

“Some say. Not the final word.” He paused. “And I don’t know if any other alternative assignments would necessarily keep you together.”

“Then I’d quit,” said Amanda. “And five years? Even if we took Jamie with us…” she shook her head. “That’s a long time for him to be out of the country. For us, too, but it’d affect him a lot more. I’d have to talk it over with his father, and Jamie’s already had to go through one of his parents being away for long periods of time, plus he’s a teenager which is about the worst time for things to change anyway. He’s already been having problems since Mother and Phillip d —” her voice caught, and she had to take another breath. “Since then. There have been a lot of changes in not that much time. I don’t want to pull the rug out from underneath him again.”

“Both positions come with an increase in pay,” said Mr. Melrose. “You’d be able to afford to come back once or twice a year.”

“That’s not enough.”

Lee laid his hand over hers, but his question was directed to their supervisor. “Billy, what other options are there?”

“Right now? Not a whole lot. But I’m sure we could find something.” He met Lee’s eyes. “You don’t have to be medical’ed out, but you could be if you wanted it. You have enough time in.”

He shook his head. Amanda agreed. Lee wasn’t the kind of person who could simply take medical retirement and be done.

“Will you at least consider this one?” asked Mr. Melrose. “Go home. Talk to Jamie and to — what’s your ex-husband’s name again? Joe? Talk to him, too. I don’t have to have an answer right now. It’ll wait until tomorrow.”

Amanda looked at Lee again. He looked back at her.

“Take the rest of the day off if you want, so you can think about it.”

“I think,” she said, “we’ll take you up on that.”

“Yeah,” said Lee. “But don’t hold out a lot of hope, Billy. This whole thing is pretty damned —” he visibly cut himself off. “It’s ridiculous. I can go on some sort of detached duty for a year without needing to leave the States.”

“Just think about it,” said Mr. Melrose. “And let me know in the morning.”

Amanda turned to look over her shoulder before merging the minivan onto I-95 at full speed. Her touch on the controls was light and confident, even though she was demanding performance not usually associated with these types of vehicles.

When Francine flipped the computer logs to the next page, the edge of her flashlight’s beam caught something beneath the steering wheel.

“So you did have the Agency modify this thing,” she observed. That would explain why Amanda was willing to push it so hard. Ordinarily, minivans weren’t built for hard, fast driving. That was why the Agency didn’t use them.

“Not in any visible way — oh. Those are hand controls. Lee’s been practicing with them.” A note of pride crept into the other woman’s voice. “He even drove us all the way in to the Agency this morning.”

“Huh,” said Francine. “I never thought he’d be the type who’s willing to use those.”

“His alternative is not driving at all.” Amanda signaled and merged to the left lane. Francine could just barely make out the speedometer hovering around eighty. “Did you have any questions after seeing the logs?”

“Not about them. But would you run through the operation again?”

Amanda complied, using short sentences to explain. “Douglas and Lee are estimating the breach attempt will start at 9:00.”

Francine nodded. “And once we confirm the trace, I’ll have you run that diagnostic program I came up with. It should isolate the directory before the executable finishes running. That should prevent any operational changes.”

“Right,” confirmed Amanda. “The SYS_DIAG routine, forcing the system to pause and run another check of itself. Will you have enough time to create it?”

Francine glanced at the dashboard clock. “I think so. But we’re going to cut it pretty close.”

“Which is why I’m this far over the speed limit. What other questions do you have?”

“When will we know the breach has started? I know we’ll see the AEGIS_OPS user log in, but what will be the flag they’re actually starting to do something they aren’t supposed to?”

“As soon as we see it trying to modify any files,” Amanda answered. “Just changing directories isn’t technically a breach, although it’s evidence of something about to go down. We’ll want to watch very carefully.”

“At what point do we actually intervene? Especially since — didn’t you say we think this Ansar al-Safa group knows we’re on to them?”

“That’s why we’ll be running the actual operation out at Aberdeen. Mr. Melrose and Lee are setting up a secure phone line while we’re on the way.” Decelerating slightly, Amanda took the exit toward Maryland 22 and turned right. “The gates should be just ahead. You should go on and get your ID out.”

“Where’s yours?”

“Front pocket of my purse. Thanks,” Amanda continued as Francine tugged it out for her.

She brought the minivan to a stop at the sentry gate, rolling down her car window as quickly as she could. “Stetson and Desmond, from the Agency. Someone should have called ahead. Where are we going?”

The sentry checked a clipboard. “Central Communications. Straight ahead about half a mile. Gray building on the right.”

Francine checked the dashboard clock again. “Half a mile? It’s already 8:50.”

“We’ll make it, Francine,” said Amanda as she took their IDs back.

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the sentry. “You’re cleared straight through. Nobody should get in your way.”

“Good. And thank you.” Amanda accelerated so fast a tire squeaked. “We won’t need to set up any special equipment, so that’s one thing off the list. Are you ready? Do you have all the files?”

“Yes,” confirmed Francine. She’d be able to hit the ground at a flat run once they got where they were going, and she knew what she needed to do once they were inside. Thank you, Jonathan, she whispered silently to anyone who might be listening.

---

Lee’s hand closed around the string of beads in his pocket, but he refrained from shaking his head. Nobody would listen if he tried to explain why he had them, and even fewer would understand. He wasn’t entirely sure he understood it himself. He’d meant to throw the things out, hadn’t he?

A clatter over the speakerphone drew his attention back to the middle of the computer room. Trent, who was already seated at a terminal, sat up straight. “Is that you, Sunlight?”

“Affirmative,” answered Amanda. “And Princess. Are you set up?”

“Affirmative,” answered Douglas Trent, signaling Lee to call up his own terminal. They were seated on opposite ends of the table with the speakerphone between them.

“Cutting it kind of close,” observed Lee.

“We got here as quickly as we could,” said Francine crisply. “Timers set. Breach attempt expected in three minutes.”

“Login expected in three minutes,” corrected Trent. “They’ll probably not start the attempt right away.”

“The login is the breach,” countered Francine. “Since they’re not authorized to be in this system. Two minutes, thirty seconds. Scarecrow, you with us?”

“I’m online,” he answered. “Although I’m still not sure what I’m watching for.”

“You’re watching for references to Aegis,” said Trent, softly enough to keep the phone from picking it up. “And monitoring my work, since you’re the American agent in charge.”

Lee nodded. “Do you have a code name?” The entire point of having Francine and Amanda at Aberdeen was operational security; use of actual names would compromise that.

A faint smile appeared. “An official one? No. But within the Service I’m sometimes called Merlin.”

“A wizard, huh?” Just like Paul Barnes had been, although the two men didn’t seem to be anything alike.

“More in the Arthurian sense than in the magical sense,” replied the MI6 agent. “Advisor and expert. Tutor and guide. Not the one in charge.”

Lee laughed briefly.

“Ninety seconds,” called Francine.

“All right,” said Trent in a normal tone of voice. “My terminal’s synced up with yours, Miss…” he caught himself. “Princess. Are you seeing any lag time on your end?”

“Negative.” There was a soft murmur, as though she’d turned aside to say something to Amanda. “Sunlight also reports ready.”

Lee’s terminal screen blinked off and then back on. When it did, he saw the difference immediately. “There they go. Trying to log in.”

“Should I stop them?” asked Francine.

“No,” said Lee and Trent together. Then Lee continued. “Wait for them to make a move. Sunlight, can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” said Amanda clearly. “Just let me know what you need.”

“Stand by.” He glanced at Trent. “All right. This is your show.”

“Thank you.” Trent tapped a command into his terminal. “Merlin here. Miss Princess, did you see that?”

“Sure did,” replied Francine. “Doesn’t look like AEGIS_OPS noticed though.”

“They’re not expecting a simple trace command,” replied Trent. “Ah hah…” He trailed off. Lee saw a series of commands appear on his own terminal, with words suggesting changing directories and listing files. And was that a search request?

“That’s strange,” said Amanda over the phone line. “Why didn’t they already know the name of the file from before?”

“If it’s the same operator,” said Francine. “Looks like it isn’t.”

“Confirmed,” said Trent. “I’m getting a lock on their location now and — blast it — masked.” He frowned at the screen. “It’s coming back as Aberdeen Proving Ground itself, which can’t be right.”

“They very well might be there,” Lee reminded him.

“Would they be that obvious?”

“Probably not, but we won’t rule it out,” replied Lee as he reached for a pencil and made a shorthand note. The beads fell out of his pocket, clacking softly on the floor.

Trent glanced at them, then up at him, and then turned back to his terminal. “I’m running a deeper location trace.”

“Don’t take your eye off the ball,” said Lee, bending down to retrieve the beads. “What’s the operator doing now?”

“He’s identified the file and — Princess? Did you see that?”

“Affirmative,” answered Francine. “Scarecrow, they’re downloading the file to an off-site location. That’d be consistent with making a backup copy in case something doesn’t work.” She whistled softly. “They’re meticulous. And cautious.”

“Seems like they’d want to be,” observed Amanda.

“Yes,” said Trent. “In case of contingencies. Very professional.”

“Can you both just stop admiring them?” asked Lee. “What are they doing now?”

Francine’s voice was all business now. “They’ve finished the download and — yes, there it is — you got that, Merlin?”

“Yes, I see it.” Trent nodded and glanced at Lee. “They’ve just deleted the file from the mainframe, which means they’re likely to try and upload a new version now.” He turned back toward the terminal. “Yes, there it is now. The new file’s just a hair larger than the old one.”

“So they inserted code,” said Francine.

“That seems most likely. We’ll need to do an analysis to find out what. But not right now, Stet — ah, Scarecrow,” he continued. “We haven’t the time. It can be done afterward.”

Lee nodded. “Got it. And I’ve seen enough. Go ahead and —” how was he supposed to phrase this order? “— do whatever it is you’re planning to do to kick them out.”

“With pleasure.” There was an almost feral tone in Francine’s voice now. “Merlin, your trace marker —”

“Affirmative,” interrupted Trent. “They’re trying to mask that too.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. Sunlight, start running that diagnostic program I talked to you about.”

The words SYS_DIAG flashed on Lee’s terminal screen.

“Beautiful,” said Trent. “And it looks like a completely routine self-diagnostic.”

“It is completely routine,” retorted Francine. “At least as far as they’re concerned. You think they’ll even see it cut the directory off from the rest of the operational files?”

“Hopefully not.”

Without any warning, Lee’s terminal went blank.

For a moment nobody spoke.

“What the — Merlin?” he asked. “Should we be seeing that?”

“No.” The MI6 agent had paled. “Princess?”

“Yeah, it’s happening here too.” Francine sounded stunned.

Lee began counting seconds in his head.

At five, their terminals flicked back on. At first glance, Lee couldn’t see any differences.

Trent cursed softly, giving him a clue. “Is that supposed to be running again?”

“No,” said Amanda. Her voice, too, betrayed tension. “And neither of us sent that command.”

Screens blanked again. This time, they stayed out for eight seconds before blinking back on.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Lee.

“The diagnostic is running a second time,” said Francine before Trent could reply. “Merlin, are we sure that’s not just the system resetting itself? Like a reboot?”

“It’s possible.” But Trent didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We should double-check.” To do that, they exchanged more technical sentences that Lee didn’t completely understand, but the sudden release of tension in Trent’s shoulders after a couple of minutes’ discussion told him what he needed to know.

“So it’s nothing to worry about,” he ventured.

“No.” Trent shook his head. “I just didn’t realize that routine included a full system reset. We should see it do that one more time —” even as he made the statement, their screens blinked off. This time, Lee counted thirteen seconds before they blinked back on.

There was an audible whoosh of breath over the phone line. “Good,” said Francine. “Directory’s still isolated. Whatever they’re trying, it’s not going to get through to the missile targeting systems. And the operator has logged out now.”

“Confirmed,” said Trent, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I still have my trace though.” His eyebrows pulled together briefly. “Yes, there it is. Definitely not at Aberdeen, though somewhere in the Capital region. We’ll have to turn this telemetry over to the Signals chaps.”

Lee frowned. “Doesn’t that mean the Ansar al-Safa operative will have time to relocate?”

“They’ve already had sufficient time,” said Trent. “But it gives us another data point we can use to chase them down with old-fashioned detective work.”

“All right. Stand down, then,” said Lee. “Good work. I’ll give Lancer an update. Sunlight, Princess, come on home.”

There was a pause over the line, then another murmur of voices too low to make out.

“Princess?” asked Lee. “Sunlight? Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” said Amanda, but there was an odd tone in her voice. “We’re both fine.” She dropped her volume again, but this time Lee was able to clearly make it out. “Just take some deep breaths, Francine. We can wait a few minutes.”

Lee exchanged a glance with Trent.

“We can wait and debrief in the morning if you need to,” he told them. “Lancer might want that anyway.”

“Okay.” Francine’s voice wavered slightly, but didn’t quite lose its usual edge. “All right. We’ll come back now.”

“Adrenaline spike?” asked Trent softly.

Lee shook his head. “She’s usually pretty steady through those.”

There was another exchange of murmurs too soft to completely understand, but Lee caught a single word: Jonathan.

“Yeah,” said Amanda quietly. “You did.”

“Of course,” said Trent. “I’ll just shut the terminals down and meet you all in the conference room. After I freshen up myself.”

“We could all use it,” said Lee as he nodded in dismissal. “Princess? Sunlight? I’m going to take the line down. Give me a shout if you decide to wait until morning after all.” He paused. “I’ll need a ride if you do.”

“I’ll call from the car, as soon as I know,” said Amanda as they signed off.

Now that he was alone, Lee let himself close his eyes and take a deep breath, releasing the tension he’d felt. His left hand slipped back into his pocket almost of its own accord, worrying the string of beads he’d put back in there. Keeping his breaths deliberately even, he leaned into the moment, identifying each piece on the string by touch: T-shaped charm. Thirteen ovals. Circular charm.

Then Lee’s eyes opened again.

Thirteen ovals.

Five. Eight. Thirteen.

Lee’s breath caught, but then he shook his head.

“No,” he told the empty room. “It’s probably just a coincidence.” There’d been no twenty-one, after all; nor had there been any lead-up to the five.

Silence was the only reply.

“Coincidence,” he repeated. “That’s all.”

There was a quiet cheer when Amanda backed through the conference room door, balancing a box of take-out sandwiches on top of the files she’d pulled and nudging the door shut with her hip.

“I didn’t have a chance to get everyone’s order,” she began, “so I just got a variety —”

“Madam Sunlight.” It was Douglas. “Whatever you brought, I assure you it’s welcome. We were on the verge of drawing straws to decide who should be eaten first.”

The room came to a standstill. Someone’s sandwich wrapper crinkled loudly.

“What?” he asked. “Surely you don’t believe that nonsense about us English having no sense of humor.”

“No, but we weren’t sure about you,” Lee said, giving Douglas a sharp look as he began unwrapping his sandwich again. “You know. Service drone. And you’ve always been —” his tone turned lofty — “proper.”

Chuckles filled the room as Amanda pushed the box across the table. “There should be napkins in there. And chips, which — you call them crisps, right?”

“We do,” confirmed Douglas as he opened a bag of them. “Are those the additional log files we needed?”

“Yes.” She put them in the middle of the table, keeping them away from where they might become stained with food. “Just like you asked. Five years’ worth.”

Across the room, Frank Duffy groaned. “You mean we have to go through five years of data? In the next two and a half hours?”

“We needn’t go through line by line,” said Douglas. “Madam — er, Mrs. Sunlight, shall I re-start the briefing now that you’re here?”

She took a roast beef from the box of sandwiches and found a seat. “No. I already have the general idea. I’ll ask questions if I need to catch up.”

“Very well, then.” He used a remote to change the diagram displayed on the room’s screen. “The reason we can use a lighter touch, and a faster one, is because we only need to find where the Fibonacci sequence of logins began. When was the first attempt at a breach? We should also identify the first successful one if they’re separate.” He spread the files across the table. “Many hands will make light work.”

“Now you’re sounding like Smyth,” complained Lee around a mouthful of ham-on-rye.

“Perish the thought. All we need to do is identify the starting point. That will give us scope, as well as a picture of what damage might already have been done.”

“Will it?” asked Amanda. “Because I found that a while back.”

For the second time in five minutes, the room came to a standstill. She felt her face warm.

“I mean,” she started, “I think I found it. Thirty-four months ago. The first success was twenty-eight months ago.”

She shifted files around until she found the one she was looking for and she opened it up. “If you look at each individual page, there’s a visible pattern based on the length of the usernames. Skim down the right margin and you’ll see — it’s like a wave, except it’s regular. Not natural. At the beach, waves aren’t regular, because they come in and crash over each other and the wind and the water always do something different. They can explain that through math too, but that gets a lot more complicated than I can understand. Except this isn’t that complicated. All you have to do is look at the shape —” she pointed — “and then at where it changes. It gets off-track here. See? There’s this little jog to the left that shouldn’t be there, but it is, and that’s what got me wondering.”

Douglas leaned forward, studying the page. “I don’t see any difference.”

“That beat,” she clarified. “Where it jogs to the left. That’s the first attempt. And then here, where it does it again —” she pointed.

“Yes. Of course. The spacing.” He tapped the margin lightly. “That second ‘jog’ is where they first succeed.” His eyes scanned where she was indicating. “It’s Fibonacci again.”

Lee’s mouth was a grim slash. “And they’ve had access for over two years.”

“Not to mention it only took six months to crack the code,” said Duffy, his tone somewhere between awe and dread. “I wonder if our Crypto guys could have done it that fast.”

“Six months isn’t quick,” replied Douglas. “Not in computer terms. They could have set it up to try every minute, or even every thirty seconds.” He met Lee’s eyes. “That it took so long speaks well of your security setup.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.”

“Indeed.”

“So what next?” asked Lee. “The clock’s ticking.”

“We’ll need a list of all the files the —” Douglas broke off. “What are we supposed to be calling this group of saboteurs, anyway?”

“None of our known groups have reached out to claim responsibility,” Lee pointed out. “I suppose we could just call this one the Ansar group.”

Amanda thought about that for a moment. “Or we could call them Ansār al-Ṣafā. That actually means something in Arabic — supporters of purity. Though an Arabic speaker might hear that and think of something else. There was a group called the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā once. They were philosophers and —”

“We don’t need a history lesson,” interrupted Lee. “Not right now. Just pick one.”

“Ansar al-Safa, then,” she answered after a pause.

“Got it.” He turned away from her toward Douglas. “What do we look for now?”

“Now,” he said. “We have enough information to start formulating our strategy.”

---

He’d never envisioned the Agency’s computer room as a place for an op, but Lee figured there was a first time for everything.

The mainframes were too large to move, of course, but some of the furniture had been shoved against the wall to create room for a pair of whiteboards. Douglas had tacked his diagram of the database up on an adjacent wall, presumably with some sort of backing. Or, at least, Lee hoped so. If there was no backing, the maintenance crew were going to have a horrendous time repairing all the push-pin holes.

Thankfully, someone else had scrounged up a few box fans and put them in strategic corners. Otherwise, the room would have been absolutely stifling. Billy was already mopping sweat from his forehead.

“All right,” he began. “I assume everyone in here’s been read into the case.”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“Good,” he said, gesturing to Trent. “What’s our game plan?”

The MI6 agent, who had already shed his coat and loosened his tie, stepped forward with a pointer.

“This,” he said, indicating the diagram, “represents the database structure at Aberdeen Proving Ground, as viewed through an external login. It doesn’t show the contents of the files, but rather how the file structure is organized — which directories call which executables, and what a normal session would look like.”

He circled a cluster of entries with the pointer. “These logins don’t follow the usual pattern. The users went straight to the ordnance directory, replaced an executable, and logged out.”

“Hold on,” said Duffy from the back. “What’s an executable?”

“A program,” Trent answered, “rather than just storing data. This particular executable retrieves targeting data and feeds it to a system outside the database, likely one that controls the missile’s actual flight.”

“A different physical location?” asked Billy.

“Potentially, but not absolutely. The destination could be housed in the mainframe in the next room over. Or it could be a thousand miles away. Unless we can trace the signal, there’s no way to tell which.”

Lee felt himself frowning. “Haven’t we already been tracing signals?”

“For the logins, yes. We know which terminals accessed the system, or rather, which terminals announced they were accessing the system.” He glanced around. “It’s not difficult for a user to mask their origin. When they do, the database can’t determine where they actually are.”

“Great,” muttered Duffy. “And we lost Lance Dorn two years ago.”

Trent paused. “Is that someone we could recall if needs be?”

“No,” said Billy shortly. “Keep going.”

Duffy was right, thought Lee. This would have been right up Dorn’s alley. But now wasn’t the time to explain that it was that very skill that had gotten him killed. He made a mental note to have someone confirm the other field agents’ locations were being tracked.

Which led him to another thought. Where was Zeta, anyway? The work she and Francine had done was part of this case.

Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the briefing. Amanda was speaking from her position at one of the tables. “What about the outgoing traffic? You said you can’t tell where the receiving system is, but can you tell anything at all about it?”

“We can’t tell the exact location,” said Trent. “But we can estimate the distance based on the traffic bursts. Most systems send information in small packets, waiting for a return echo before sending the next one. In this case, the echoes come in almost immediately after each burst. That suggests the receiving system is somewhere close by.” He took a breath. “Unfortunately, there’s no way for us to tell whether that destination is routing it onward, or where.”

Lee shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. We need to shut this down before this gets to its first stop. How do we do that?”

Trent tapped a different part of the diagram. “The best option is a two-part action. First, we monitor the gateway lines and determine which circuit the traffic is leaving on. Second, we restore the original executable and watch what happens at the next login. Whoever did this is likely to check their work before taking their next actions.”

“Wait.” It was Amanda. “If we try to stop them we might not be able to find them. Why not — I don’t know — is there a way to attach a signal to one of the information packets so we can trace it as it goes out? And then stop the ones after it, so that Ansar al-Safa just doesn’t get all of the data?”

“We can’t trace its route,” said Trent. “But we can monitor to see where the data appears next. Assuming we’re monitoring the correct lines.”

“And the chances of that?” asked Billy.

“It depends on the number of circuits leaving Aberdeen.” Trent gave Billy a look. “Which I’m not authorized to request from your military.”

There was a long pause before Billy reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, and took out a key card. His tone as he held it up in front of his eyes was almost conversational. “This is my authorization to request a list of all the lines. I can do that, but I don’t know how to monitor what’s going on with them. But if I gave it to you, I could be brought up on charges.”

“Give it to someone else, then,” said Trent. “Someone who is cleared. Are the Stetsons?”

“No,” answered Billy. “This one’s above even senior agent level. But if I understand correctly, we need to stop this tonight if we’re going to stop it at all.”

Trent’s voice was quiet. “Very likely.”

“And if we don’t?” Billy sighed, closing his hand around the card and then handing it over. “Then who knows what could happen. But whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

Trent took the card, considered it, and then handed it to Lee. “Stetson, you’re the Agency lead. You should run the actual system operations. I’ll keep my questions as minimal as I can. Anything I can do to help protect Mr. Melrose’s career.”

Lee closed his hand around the card protectively, grateful for the English agent’s restraint. “Anything any of us can do.”

---

All of their careers could easily be on the line. Amanda was sure she wasn’t the only one who was thinking it, but she was proud nobody had backed down as a result of it. Instead, Douglas and Lee had simply begun to hand out assignments before sitting down at a terminal together. She was a little too far away to hear what they were saying, but their stances indicated no tension.

Mr. Melrose apparently felt the same way, because he’d looked around, nodded once, and left to go back to his office, muttering something about plausible deniability.

When the phone in the computer room rang, she answered simply because she was closest.

“Oh, thank God. It’s you Sunlight. Shout it from the highest steeple.”

“Let it out to all the people,” she replied, giving the countersign. “Zeta? Is that you?”

Heads began to raise in response to the agent’s name. Amanda hit the speakerphone button.

“Yes. Not secure. But send someone out to the back loading dock. Armed. Hurry.”

“What’s out there? What kind of arms do they need?” Lee half-rose out of his seat, pointing at Duffy and Douglas. Then, with a grimace, he settled back down.

“Not sure. But don’t wait. Service pieces should be fine.”

“Do you have yours?”

“Affirmative.”

“Zeta, what’s out there?” Sending agents into an unknown situation with no information at all was dangerous.

There was a shift on the other end of the line. Scotty’s voice spilled out of the speaker. “Al-Safa Media Group just pulled a satellite van around the back of the building. And — blast it — they made us when we followed.”

Duffy and Douglas exited at a flat run, letting the door slam behind them.

With a muttered curse, Lee hit the speakerphone button.

“Scotty,” asked Amanda, “where’d Zeta go?”

“She said something about getting a head count, but she told me to stay on the line with you. Is someone coming out?”

Amanda started to confirm, but then remembered this wasn’t a secure line. “Can you see Zeta?”

“N-no.” His voice cracked. “Is it safe for me to stay here?”

She dropped her voice into a soothing register. “Stay with me, Scotty. Can you see the loading dock or the van?”

“The van. It’s blocking the dock. I’m on the pay phone at the corner.”

“All right,” she replied. “Just keep telling me what you see.”

There was the sharp sound of a gunshot over the line.

“Shit!” yelled Scotty. “They’re shooting!”

“Get down on the ground! As low as you can without letting go of the phone.” Across the room, Lee nodded. More gunshots echoed over the speaker.

“Okay. There’s someone coming around to the front of the van and getting inside.” Then Scotty’s voice when up an octave. “They’re trying to get away! And they’re gonna come right past me to do it —”

“Stay down, Scotty!” Amanda’s heart was racing. “Don’t move!” Chances were good that the Al-Safa operatives would be too focused to notice him. “Try to get the license plate number if you can.”

“I got it. D.C. 317-284. They’re turning up 30th toward O. I won’t be able to see them once they get there.”

“That’s all right.” She made the effort to keep her voice steady. “Don’t try. You’re doing fine, Scotty. Can you see any of the agents?”

“Yeah. Nancy — she’s heading back toward me. The British guy — I can’t remember his name — he and the other agent are looking around.”

“That’s good. Just put Zeta back on the line as soon as she gets there.” Her pulse, loud in her ears, began to slow. “You’re all right. We’re all right.”

“Yeah.” Scotty’s voice had dropped back into something resembling its normal register. “Just — that was close. Nan —”

There was a brief clatter and then Zeta’s voice came back onto the line. “Scene secured. We’re going to do some recon and come in.”

“Make it fast,” said Amanda. They needed information as soon as they could get it.

---

“Unfortunately, there’s not much more information to be gathered,” reported Douglas. Even though he’d loosened his tie, it still felt tight around his neck. He tried to pull it a little farther out from his collar.

Amanda quietly reached over, undid it completely, and folded it neatly into a small package before handing it back.

“You were the only one still wearing one anyway,” she murmured.

“Thank you,” he told her as he slipped it into his pocket. His gratitude was quite sincere. There was a certain comfort in the very simplicity of the action.

Scotty Parker still wasn’t cleared into the computer room, so they’d adjourned back to the conference room. The lad stood in one corner, gulping water too quickly.

As if on cue, Stetson entered and zeroed in on the same thing. “Take it easy on that stuff, Parker. No need to make yourself sick.”

“With water?” asked Scotty.

Stetson glanced over at Douglas, who shrugged. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“How can too much water be a problem?”

“Not too much,” clarified Stetson as he made his way to a chair. “Too fast. You could trap an air bubble or something.”

Zeta’s hair was damp and still dripping slightly as she came in. She’d had makeup on earlier, but it had come off during whatever effort she made to cool herself off. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“No thanks needed,” said Amanda. “We all needed ten minutes to regroup.”

Melrose came into the room. He brought a tray full of coffee cups with him, taking one for himself before handing the tray off to the next person. “All right. Sitrep. We traced the license plate, but it wasn’t anything useful.”

Douglas held up the report the Signals group had given him. “This is preliminary, but it seems the attempt was to set up a satellite link. They were attempting to disrupt the Agency’s own computer activity this time.”

“Why?” asked Melrose.

He took a breath. “The most logical possibility is that they were going to attempt to stop us from stopping them.”

Stetson was frowning. “Meaning they knew we were on to them. Even before they made Zeta and Scotty.”

“That seems most likely.”

“What do we do to keep them from trying it again?” asked Amanda.

“We don’t,” said Douglas. “But since we now know there will be an attempt, we can make some tweaks to our own strategy. My most significant recommendation is that we send someone over to Aberdeen itself. It’d be one less thread they might snip.”

“I don’t know that we can spare anyone,” muttered Melrose.

“I don’t know that we dare not do so,” responded Douglas. “Sir. And it mustn’t be me. There’s no reason to give a foreign agent that level of access. Can Mr. Duffy do it?”

From the back of the room, Duffy himself shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to do. But I can escort Trent, if that makes any difference.”

“No,” said Billy. “That won’t fly.”

Stetson cleared his throat. “There’s someone else we could use.”

Melrose met his gaze for a moment before shaking his head again. “Absolutely not, Scarecrow.”

“Billy! She’s already half into the case anyway, and we all know she’s an absolute whiz with those computers. Plus she’s not working on anything else at the moment.”

“Because she’s on suspension,” snapped Melrose.

Douglas looked from one to the other. “Are you suggesting Miss Desmond?”

“Yeah,” said Stetson without looking at him. “Unless — can you do it, Zeta?”

The junior agent shook her head, sending a few water droplets into the air.

“Well, I certainly can’t. Neither can you, and you know it. And Amanda’s good with the computer, but not like Francine.” Stetson offered his wife a tight smile, but she didn’t appear to have taken offense at the statement. “Face it, Billy. Francine’s our best option.”

“Smyth will have my hide. It’ll be justified, too.”

“I can go with her,” said Amanda suddenly. “I know enough about what’s going on that I can back her up at the same time. Plus she can be under my supervision since we’re at the same clearance level except that I’m not on suspension.”

Douglas thought for a moment before offering his recommendation. “It does seem the most elegant option. Mrs. Stetson’s knowledge of Arabic could also be handy, and for that to work most effectively, we would want her as close to the sources as possible.”

Melrose looked around the table once, and then again. Then he sighed, the acrid smell of antacids strong on his breath.

“All right, damn it. My career’s already in the sling anyway. Might as well go all in.” He leveled a finger at Amanda. “But she rides with you, Amanda, and you drive. Got it? She also leaves her weapon at home.”

“We can’t take those on base at Aberdeen anyway,” replied Amanda as she stood. “I’ll leave mine in the safe upstairs.”

“Good thinking.”

Stetson spoke up. “What about —”

“If she doesn’t make it back here tonight, I’ll get you home, Scarecrow. Don’t worry about that.”

Douglas couldn’t help but wonder at all the unspoken exchanges that had happened during this conversation. While Melrose’s leadership style wasn’t one that might be considered appropriate at MI6, it certainly seemed to be effective. And worth learning more about.

Once this particular crisis was over, anyway.

“Miss Desmond,” the young woman said. “You must believe me. Jonathan and I were not —” she broke off, clearly struggling for a word. “Amanți.”

Francine’s Romanian was basic at best, but she recognized the word. “You made it look that way, though.”

“It was…how do you say it…” She paused, grimacing. “O acoperire. A cover. Something meant to create the illusion for those who watched. So yes, we did make it appear as though something might be improper. But you must understand. In private, all Jonathan did was speak of you. He loved you. Why is he not here with you now?”

“He —” Without warning, Francine’s voice caught. She had to take a breath to recover her aplomb. “That’s why I’m trying to retrace his steps.”

“I don’t understand. Did he not return to this country?”

She looked away, pretending to study the pigeons on the sidewalk in front of them. Adriana Varga, until recently a low-level clerk in the Romanian Ministry for Foreign Trade, had stumbled into something she hadn’t meant to find — a cache of information too large, and too significant, to ignore. The U.S. consul in Bucharest hadn’t hesitated to arrange a way to get her to Paris on an “errand,” where she met Jonathan Stone.

A hand settled gently over hers. “He did not return. Did he?”

Francine took another deep breath. “No.”

The girl put her hand over Francine’s. “I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man. He did not deserve to be disappeared.”

Disappeared. The word hit hard, especially as she realized it probably wasn’t the right one. The truth was likely much more final.

“Yes,” said Francine, and her voice wavered. She blinked several times. Keep it together, Desmond. “Which is why anything you can tell me will be useful.”

“There is not much to tell. After we met in Paris, I returned to Bucharest for a time. But made it clear I was seeking something, a way to get out, to —” she cut herself off again. “Distracție. So that it would not look strange if I were out of doors at night. I went out and came back several times. Enough for the Miliția to grow…careless.”

“Careless?”

“To stop watching so close. All they saw was a young girl dazzled by a man, wishing for what she could not have.” She paused. “Who took an unauthorized trip near the Yugoslav border and foolishly fell from a railway bridge. The Miliția called it an accident.”

“Was it?”

“Nearly. It certainly was not my plan. But it was a chance. So I took it.”

Adriana had hidden for nearly a week before riding beneath train carriages and inside boxcars until she reached Belgrade. From there, she’d traveled under an assumed name until her “reunion” with Jonathan in Paris, knowing the DGSE would have someone watching along the route in case something went wrong. She’d still been plainly nervous by the time she stepped out onto the crowded platform at Gare de Lyon, where Jonathan had met her with a kiss, a hug, and a slip of paper that he’d pressed into her hand. It had contained directions to the U.S. embassy, along with a date and time.

“Did you…” Francine trailed off. “Was there any further contact with Jonathan?”

“No. I had hoped to find him here in Washington, but those who debriefed me — they said I should wait at least six months. A year would be better. I wanted to thank him, and to thank you.”

“Who debriefed you, Adriana?”

“I…am not certain. There was more than one agent. Toți vorbeau engleză, dar sunau diferit. Accentul.” She stopped herself. “The…the accent.”

“American?”

“Yes. Not British.” Adriana nodded. “One of them asked whether Jonathan mentioned anyone watching him. I told them Jonathan said something about the station when last we met in Bucharest. That someone had been behind him. But he also said it was probably nothing.”

“Which station?”

She made a gesture suggesting the answer was obvious. “Gare de Lyon. Where he met me ten days later.”

---

“How many days?” asked Lee into the telephone handset. He was cradling it on his shoulder, scribbling notes while they talked.

“Ten. She was very specific about that.”

It was safe enough to roll his eyes since she wasn’t there to see it. “Why was he in Bucharest in the first place?”

“Trade attaché,” said Francine. “I can’t confirm, but sounds like a banking cover.”

“Oh, of course.” He let the sarcasm color his tone. “Did he make any other questionable trips?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “I’ll see if I can track that down.”

“Good. Call me back when you have more.”

“Lee.” Now she sounded hesitant. “What’s the temperature like?”

“Typical March. Breezy. Warm one day and cold the next.”

“Lee. That’s not what I meant.”

He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. That, of course, knocked his glasses askew, and he had to take a minute to reset them.

“Lee?”

“I’m fine, Francine. But…well, I put a feeler out. It got stomped. Hard.”

“Too hard?” Now there was a note of concern in her voice.

“No. Not for me, anyway.” If Billy was already openly acknowledging his disagreement, then he could be uncomfortably close to the fire — and if Francine got wind of that, she might very well do something that would make it worse. “And I think it’ll be fine in the end. It just needs some more time to die down. Let it breathe a bit.”

“It’s already been three weeks.” But he could hear it in her voice: she wasn’t going to push. Not right now.

They went over another couple of details before ending the phone call. Lee breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he hung up, but then saw Amanda’s skeptical look.

“I had to say something,” he began.

“I didn’t ask.”

Shaking his head, he pushed up and went to the shelves to retrieve the next set of computer access traces. “But you wanted to.”

“Lee.” Her tone had changed again.

“What?”

“Where are you?”

“What? I’m right here, with you. In the Q-Bureau. Stuck in a room full of paperwork.”

“You’re standing at the shelves.”

“Yes, and?”

“You’re standing at the shelves,” she repeated. “And your crutches are over by your desk.”

He looked down at his feet, which currently sported a dress shoe on the left and a surgical shoe on the right. Then he looked at his desk. His crutches were propped against the wall behind it. There was no way to deny what she had pointed out: he had just stood up and walked five feet.

“Monica said it was all right if I didn’t push it,” he said quietly.

“I know. And you weren’t. Were you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” he admitted as he picked up a sheaf of papers and returned to his desk. This time, he felt the odd pulling on his right calf and was very aware of his limp. “Maybe…maybe I am getting better.”

“Maybe the new crutches are helping.”

He gave her an exasperated look. Why couldn’t it be simple improvement? “I’ll ask her about it at tomorrow’s appointment. We should get back to the printouts.”

Amanda held his gaze just long enough to let him know she hadn’t missed the change of subject. “Francine won’t thank you for not giving her all the details.”

“She doesn’t need to know. If we all play our cards right, things will settle before she’s reinstated.”

“How many times have you gotten mad at her for keeping things to herself?” Amanda shook her head. “If I talk to her again, I’m not going to lie to her.”

“I never asked you to.” He clenched and released his hands. “Look, I’ll go talk to Billy and tell him what she called in. See what else I can find out while I’m doing that. Sooner or later someone will have to acknowledge she’s been working this case right alongside us.”

“Which would give you the leverage you needed to ask for her reinstatement. Again.”

“She never should have been relieved of duty,” he said. “Maybe suspended for a day or two, but that would have been it. Smyth is blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”

She opened her mouth, but then took a breath and shut it again without saying anything.

Lee hissed softly. “Go on and say it.”

“Say what?”

“Amanda. I saw through that game of yours two years ago.”

She lowered her gaze to the work in front of her. “Fine. I was going to tell you that if you go down there angry or with an agenda, things could get worse than they already are. Do you really want to risk that? Especially if she does eventually find out how bad things got?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” But she kept her tone mild.

“Damn it,” he started, but then he was the one who shut his mouth before any more words came out. “All right. I’ll give it until 4:15 or 4:30. Things should be a little more under control then. Most people will be thinking about knocking off for the day. I’ll just present it as a routine update, and I won’t slip in a question about Francine unless I have a chance. Fair?”

Her answering smile was small. But it was sincere.

---

Scotty’s smile was broad and unrestrained. “You were right! It is the same van!”

In the driver’s seat of the car they’d parked, Nancy was already scribbling notes. “Same plate? Same dent in the rear quarter panel?”

“Yup. That’s why I said you were right. That’s the third time in two hours they’ve gone past.” He paused. “Does this mean they have a hideout nearby? A secret lair or something?”

She chuckled ruefully. Ever since she’d explained what IFF actually did — complete with a trip to the bull pen, which was no longer off-limits to him — he’d been imagining spy-fiction scenarios.

“It could also just mean they’re nervous and keeping an eye on something. They could very well be staking us out.”

At that, Scotty sobered. “Yeah, it is kind of strange that we’ve just been sitting here in this alley for all that time.”

“Which is why I asked for an old junker out of the motor pool. With any luck, it’ll be dismissed as abandoned and nobody will look long enough to see we’re here.” She flipped a page. “How long was it between the last two times they passed?”

“Twenty-two minutes.”

She turned to look at him. “Were you timing or something?”

“No. But — well, it’s kind of a filmmaker thing. Especially if you run cameras or do editing. You get used to knowing exactly how long something takes. Twenty-two minutes? That’s the length of a half-hour documentary since you gotta account for commercials. So I’m sensitive to that.”

“Huh.” That was both interesting and useful. Internal clocks that accurate were rare.

“Before that it was forty-four minutes between drive-bys.”

“So they changed their frequency.” She made another note.

“Yeah. Isn’t it interesting they cut it exactly in half?”

“It is,” she said slowly, turning things over in her mind. “I wonder if they’re using twenty-two-minute intervals and we just missed a pass.” Traffic had been waxing and waning this afternoon, and the bus routes were running. If the van had been on the other side of a bus or a tractor-trailer, they might have missed it. “Let’s give it one more cycle and see if they come by again.”

“If they do, are we going to follow them?”

He sounded almost excited, which made her smile. “No. But we’ll definitely move ourselves. Change one variable, see if something else changes in response.”

“Well, there’s also the light. It’s going on the golden hour now.”

“The what?”

He blushed. “The golden hour. About an hour after sunrise, and an hour before sunset. It’s when the light is absolutely gorgeous and —” he cut himself off. “It would also make it harder to see into a vehicle.”

“Or easier to hide behind glare,” she murmured.

“Yeah. That too.”

They waited in silence until Scotty spoke up again. “That’s it. Twenty-two minutes.”

There were no cars nearby.

Nancy cranked the engine of the old sedan they were using. It wasn’t easy to judge the exact location of the front and rear bumpers. This thing’s as old as I am. How on earth would they have ever called it a coupe?

Beside her, Scotty took his video camera out.

“No,” she said quickly. “That’s too obvious.”

“We could —”

She pointed at his camera bag. “Get out that little film camera you’ve been carrying around. Does it have a zoom on it?”

“Yeah, it’s separate, but I can put it on. Just give me a moment.”

She eased around a corner. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“I’ll do that. But these 110s are terrible for getting angles.”

“We don’t need an artistic angle. We just need to be able to see what’s important.”

He gave her a sideways look. “That’s why we need a good angle.”

She tried to coast the car as much as possible, since it made a strange whooshing sound every time she put her foot on the accelerator. Doing so took more of her attention than was probably safe, though. “I’m going to make a two-block loop so we can look at both sides of the street.”

“You’re not worried about someone seeing us pass twice? This is a pretty unusual car.”

Unusual wasn’t quite the word Nancy would have used, but it would do. “I think we can take the chance if we only do it once.” She brought them through one stop sign, down the next block, and then signaled for a left turn on the light.

Scotty suddenly sat straight up. “Turn right.”

“What?”

“Turn right!”

“I’m in the wrong lane —”

“There aren’t any cars over there. I think I see the van!”

Biting her lip, she dragged on the steering wheel to turn the car to the right, scanning the block ahead once they were through the intersection. There were several vehicles parked on the street, but none of them were a white van.

“There!” Scotty already had the camera clicking.

“Where?” Nancy hit the brakes without thinking about it, only realizing what she’d done when the tires squealed briefly.

“Go,” Scotty told her. “I got it.”

“Got what?”

“The van. It’s backed up against a loading dock on the next block over. Go on up and make another right.”

“Scotty,” she said quietly. “That puts us right in front of the Agency. On the right side.”

His eyes were wide. “Yeah. It does. And it’s in the right place along the block, too.”

She guided the car past without stopping, turning left after two more blocks and pulling into a parking lot. “What did you get?”

“The van. That logo — I looked it up right before we left. It’s Al-Safa Media Group.”

Nancy felt something twist in her stomach. “Could they be making a delivery to your department?”

“No.” His skin had gone pale. “They wouldn’t be. I told Mr. Moretti what was going on. Not everything,” he added quickly. “But enough to explain why it might not be a good idea to use them for a little while. He agreed.”

“So they’d have no other reason to be at or near the Agency?”

“No.” His expression had gone grim. “None at all.”

---

There was no reason for this latest log-in. None at all.

It didn’t fit the pattern Amanda Stetson had identified. The user hadn’t gone through the usual steps of looking at a dozen directories inside the Army database before settling down in one. Instead, they had gone straight to a directory marked OPS, uploaded a new version of one of the executable files, and logged off.

Douglas wasn’t entirely sure what the file was, but executables generally had a limited scope of function. As he noted the file name, he hoped the Army had a clean backup copy available. Another expert could analyze the files for differences if there was time to find one. Douglas couldn’t read the machine code himself. What he could do, however, was raise the alarm.

Standing up, he noted the breach on his diagram and then turned to walk toward Melrose’s office. Two steps later, he stopped, frowned, and turned back toward the diagram.

“Trent?” It was Melrose. “Everything okay?”

“No, sir.”

That got Melrose’s attention.

“There’s been another breach. A different one. Outside the older pattern.”

“The older pattern?”

“The prior incursions followed Fibonacci intervals. That was how Mrs. Stetson was able to come up with the predictive algorithm I’ve been using.”

Melrose shot him a look.

“My apologies. They’re using a mathematical sequence. Mrs. Stetson found it and was able to use it to predict the next few incursions. Except this one —” he shook his head. “This one skipped ahead. It wasn’t due to occur until 2100. Um, nine o’clock this evening.”

“I know military time. Keep going.”

“Yes, sir. It wasn’t due to occur until 2100, but instead they signed in at 0800. Thirteen hours early.”

“Are we sure it’s the same operator?”

“Same login credentials,” Douglas replied. “Same access point. Same signature. And thirteen is a number in the sequence they use.”

“Just not in the right place. Instead, it was early.”

He nodded. “They also did something different this time. Replaced an executable — a file that actually runs an operation when called upon. Before, they only seemed to be looking around. It seems they may be moving from reconnaissance into action.”

Melrose frowned. “When would the next interval be due?”

From out of the corner of his eye, Douglas saw Lee Stetson get off the elevator and head in their direction. “Either at 1600 or 2100. And it’s 1620. I was just about to go to the Q-Bureau, Stetson, to let you know.”

“Good timing, then. What’s at 1600 or 2100?”

“The incursions,” explained Douglas. “No time to go back over everything. The operator accelerated the breach sequence. They’ve also altered something.”

Stetson peered at the diagram. “What’s in that OPS directory?”

“I don’t know exactly. But the name itself suggests —”

“Operational scheduling,” said Melrose. “Trigger files. You said the file they swapped was something that runs automatically?”

“Potentially.”

“You know what else would be in that sort of directory?” asked Stetson. “Surveillance actions. Activation sequences. Deployment routines.” He paused. “And…Aegis launches missiles. Bottom line, that’s what all those action files are for.”

“If something happened at 1600…” began Melrose.

“Pentagon would’ve been screaming by now,” said Stetson. “There’s nothing. It’ll be at 2100.”

“Set up a command room,” Melrose told Stetson. “Now. Pull in anyone you need.” He paused. “I’ll explain it to Smyth.”

Douglas turned to the other agent. “I’ll get you a list of the protocols —”

“No, Trent,” said Melrose. “You built this. You’re in the room.”

Stetson nodded.

“Even though I might not be cleared?” Douglas asked.

“You are now.”

Francine felt faintly ridiculous in the large-paned glasses, but the stylist at the eye salon had insisted they were the height of couture right now, particularly for women who wanted to look intelligent in addition to glamorous.

She’d taken the win. At least the woman hadn’t asked why she hadn’t brought a prescription with her. And the lenses’ tint — which was also supposedly fashionable — probably kept her eyes from giving too much away. The rest of the disguise had been easy enough to put together, including the counterfeit press pass. The novelty of an American reporter who actually spoke fluent French without accommodation would get her the rest of the way.

Now, she sat across from a senior attaché in the embassy, sipping on espresso while she concluded her interview. “So you’ve hired a consultant to harden your security in both the Paris headquarters and in your embassy here.”

“Yes,” said the attaché. “We actually hired an American company, as it was. But they are the same company used by your own embassy, so they certainly had a good recommendation. Not to mention having been vetted through your channels, which should reassure you.”

She offered a not-quite-insincere smile. “Was there a particular reason the French Diplomatic Corps chose to take this project now, Monsieur Vautrin? You could have done this last year, or you could have postponed it until next year.”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly. “It was the right time.”

“I see. And you’re certain you’re protected against — what did you call them again?”

“Cyber-attacks. Yes, Mademoiselle. We are quite sure. As for the timing, everything is cyclical, of course. It simply was our turn this year.”

“Of course.” Francine set her cup down so she could make notes on her pad. “And the firm’s name again?”

“Science Applications International. I believe you use the initials SAIC in English.”

She pretended to check her notes. “Was there evidence of any security intrusions prior to the contractor starting work on your system?”

Vautrin only went still for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. When he saw that Francine had noticed, his eyes became wary.

“An…anomaly,” he said. “Something that didn’t belong.”

She cocked her head. “A transmission of some type? Data corruption? Bad code?”

“Non. I do not know the full details, except that our experts said it was nothing of consequence.” He paused. “We simply prefer not to be careless.”

Francine underlined the word anomaly twice, made a note in shorthand about the timing, and then capped her pen. “Of course. That concludes my questions. Do you have any for me?”

“Non,” he said again as he rose and took her hand. “This was my pleasure, Mademoiselle Dettman. Do return anytime.”

“I might. Thank you again, Monsieur.”

Francine waited until she was a full block and two turns away from the French embassy before finding a pay phone and dialing a number from memory. “Not a clean line. Is Scarecrow there?”

“He’s in a meeting downstairs,” said Amanda from the other end. “I think it’s about you. Should I have him call you?”

“Please,” she replied. “I have something for his case — or is it your case too?”

“It is, but I can’t get away. Lee was pretty…” Amanda trailed off. “Agitated when he left, but that could’ve been because Dr. Kelford wanted to see him right away. Depending on how he is after that and the meeting with Mr. Melrose, I can probably talk him into taking a walk. Well, a figurative one.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Francine. “About me, huh?”

“Not a clean line,” reminded Amanda. “I’m not sure all the heat’s out of the kitchen, either.”

Francine’s pulse quickened, but she kept her voice even. “Understood. I’m headed for my usual location. I’ll wait for your call there.”

“Soon as we get a chance,” promised Amanda as she hung up.

She forced herself to take even breaths as she crossed to the curb and waved down a taxi. Work first. Worry later.

---

There was something off about his supervisor’s tone. Douglas wasn’t sure it was worth worrying about, so he continued with his verbal report. “After my explanation about the data architecture, Melrose agreed that he needed specialized help to harden the Agency’s systems. He’s asked me to assist with recruitment and selection, including soliciting my recommendations about any current agents who would be well-suited to the job.”

He could hear a soft clicking on the line that told him this call was being recorded, but he’d expected that. “Did you make any recommendations?”

“Yes, I did. Francine Desmond and Nancy Zusterakos. The latter’s sometimes called Agent Zeta.”

A brief burst of static sounded before his MI6 supervisor’s voice came back onto the line. “Didn’t you previously mention that Desmond had been put on leave?”

Douglas sighed. “Yes. But I’m assured by several reliable sources that her recent behavior isn’t her norm.”

“Which ones?”

“Several of the other agents. Including, but not limited to, Zusterakos and Melrose.”

There was a long pause.

“What specific information,” the supervisor asked carefully, “have you given the Americans?”

At that, he frowned. “As I understand it, the Americans are our allies. I didn’t withhold any information in my explanations about database architecture. The database in question was one of theirs, not one of ours.”

“They are our allies,” his supervisor confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean they need to know everything about our information security. I’ll remind you that GCHQ’s work is classified.”

“I know that.” Douglas tried not to sound peevish. “And I’ve no intention of giving the Americans specifics of our internal arrangements. But I didn’t realize the techniques themselves were also considered privileged information. All I’ve disclosed are techniques known to any competent systems specialist — civilian or otherwise. I would imagine their own security consultants would give them the same information.” Despite his attempts, he heard an edge in his tone and forced it away. “I apologize. My point is that I’ve disclosed nothing proprietary, nor do I intend to do so inadvertently.”

“Do not forget that this is a temporary assignment. You remain in service to Her Majesty. That must be your first loyalty.”

Now he was frankly irritated. This exchange position had been a competitive placement, not a favor. “Never for a moment.”

“Very well. Have you any other information to report?”

“Not at this time. I’ll report again as scheduled.”

“We’ll expect the call. In the meantime, do…” there was a hesitation. “Think twice before you make any more recommendations.”

After hanging up, he stared at the notepad and pencil in front of him. Ordinarily, he took notes during his check-ins and occasionally wrote down action items afterward. This time, the paper was blank.

Abruptly, he remembered the one item he’d forgotten: Lee Stetson was a distant relative.

No, he decided after another moment. That’s personal information the Service does not require. At least, not until after I’m back in London.

The thought felt vaguely unpatriotic. Recalling the strained tone of the call, he decided it was justified. There was no need to raise an alarm that might not be warranted.

Standing up, Douglas brushed himself off before retrieving the white-noise machine he’d set up in this small office. He wasn’t trusting the Americans implicitly, but at the same time, he hadn’t been wrong that they were allies. What, then, had so unsettled his supervisor? The fact that he had stopped criticizing Melrose outright? That he was willing to consider the possibility of having misjudged Desmond? Something else?

He adjusted his cuffs, smoothing his jacket sleeves. There wasn’t any way to find out for sure. Best not to dwell on it unless and until it came up again.

As he left the office, the paper on the desk remained blank.

---

The printing on the paper in front of him was so dense it might as well have been camouflage. There was no way he was pulling out a magnifier with an audience. At least, not this audience.

“I don’t have all day, Melrose.”

“And I never sign anything I haven’t read,” he countered with a level look at Dr. Smyth. “But you can come back later and pick it up, if you’d like.”

“Nothing doing. This is Code Vermilion.”

Billy took his glasses off. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“Of course not.”

“And why in the world would someone slap a Vermilion on a personnel file?”

“When 1600 Penn got hold of the situation, after hearing from some very unhappy ambassadors.” Smyth paused. “No arguments, Melrose. It just needs your John Hancock.”

“No.”

Smyth went still. “Are you refusing?”

“Until I’ve read it through for myself? Yes, I am.” He could feel the skin under his collar beginning to heat up, but he ignored it. “There is nothing that needs my signature that isn’t worth my time to read.”

“You’re telling me you go over every one of your division’s expense requests with a fine-tooth comb?”

“This is not an expense report.” He closed the file with a snap. “This is you trying to sanction one of my people for actions that, the last time I checked, were legal.”

“That appears to be a matter of opinion. It’s a done deal, Melrose. Sign.”

“No, sir. And I’ll be happy to explain the reasoning to your superiors if you need me to.” He paused. “You want to scooch Francine Desmond? You’ll do it without my cooperation, at least until I have a chance to review this.”

Billy had never seen Dr. Smyth’s face take on a flush before. “That’s orders from on high.”

“Orders to you. Not to me.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” retorted Smyth. “You want to go through and look for loopholes. Keep Desmond with the Agency.”

He took a deep breath and counted to three before responding. “Desmond is an asset to this Agency, and you know it. So do I.”

“She’s become too much of a liability.”

“To the Agency, or to you?”

Smyth’s face darkened another few shades. “That’s a rickety bed you’re building, Melrose. Be a shame if you had to lie in it anyway.”

Careful to keep his movements smooth and controlled, Billy came to his feet. “Is that a threat?”

The director responded with a sphynx-like smile, although the hand that held his cigarette trembled. “For want of a nail, the whole kingdom was lost.”

“Desmond has saved my life more than once. She’s pulled nearly every agent on this floor out of some sling or another.” He lowered his voice. “I will not sign off on her termination unless and until I have a chance to read the orders myself. Especially if it’s eyes-only above her level to begin with.” He paused. “What exactly isn’t she allowed to see on this, and why not?”

“Yours is not to reason why, Little Boy Bluenote. You’d do well not to improvise.”

Billy felt his fists clench. “This isn’t improvisation. This —” he indicated the paperwork “— is a cover-up and I will be damned if I play along. You want to terminate her? Then do it in the open. Call her in for a formal board. Don’t hide behind a Code Vermilion!”

“There is,” said Smyth, his voice like silk, “no reason to air dirty laundry.”

His hand hit the desk before he realized what he was doing. “There is every reason to give my agents due process!”

“Due process is for the courts.”

“Due process applies everywhere!” retorted Billy. He only belatedly realized he was shouting. “What the hell are you hiding, Smyth? Because you wouldn’t push this hard if you were on the level! You can’t just suspend procedure because it might be inconvenient. Not with my name on it!”

Smyth picked up the folder. “Very well. We’ll simply proceed without it. A few extra steps, but not at all insurmountable.” He paused. “Then we’ll see whose names end up appearing where, when it’s all over. You should be careful, Melrose. For all you know, there’s a Vermilion file about you too.”

A less-than-professional retort formed, hot and reckless. He managed to swallow it just in time. “You have no cause for anything worse than reassignment. For either of us.”

“That remains to be seen,” was Smyth’s exiting line.

Billy sank down into his desk chair, feeling the sweat gathering at his hairline and his hands beginning to shake. He took another three long breaths, reached for the antacids in his drawer, and did not allow himself to think until he’d swallowed them. He simply stared at the closed door for a long moment.

Then he reached for the phone.

No, he realized. Not yet. Smyth had overplayed his hand, but timing was everything. And this wasn’t the right time.

But, he promised himself as he withdrew his hand, that clock just started ticking.

He felt under his desk drawer until he found the key that had been taped there. Took it out. And then intentionally turned around in a way that he knew would block the not-so-hidden surveillance cameras.

Amanda kept most of her attention on the files in front of her. It was a routine follow-up task. Normal. Something she’d done several dozen times. But right now she was having a hard time keeping her focus.

Lee hadn’t so much as turned over a page in the fifteen minutes since Douglas had left the Q-Bureau.

Once again, she tried to refocus her attention. Now that Douglas had identified discrepancies in the Paris stills, re-checks were uncovering dozens more, and all of them needed to be documented.

She moved on to her sixth review. The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can talk.

Then a detail caught her eye, and her attention sharpened. “Oh. Wow.”

“What?”

“This photo description. It’s not correct at all.” She traced a finger across the caption at the bottom. “The Seine doesn’t go through there. It’s canals.”

“Well, flag it and move on.” Lee hadn’t even looked at her. “Just means this is bigger than we all thought.”

She considered her reply for a long moment. “I’ve already marked it for review. But we already knew this was bigger than we’d first thought.”

“Did we.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

Enough. Amanda laid her pencil down. “Didn’t we?”

He shook his head for perhaps the fifth time. “There’s a lot of things we haven’t figured out yet.”

“Such as?”

Lee picked his hands up, holding them out in front of him. “I didn’t know being left-handed ran in my mother’s family. I don’t…” he trailed off. “I can’t recall ever seeing either of my parents sit down and write anything. Which is ridiculous because I must have.”

“You were a child, Lee. And Douglas was born after your mother immigrated. He doesn’t know which hand she favored.”

He turned his over, holding the palms up. “Everyone who knew us both says I’m the spitting image of my father. But this…” he closed his eyes briefly. “I never did know if I’d inherited anything from Mum. I guess I still don’t, really. She might’ve been right-handed and just passed the gene along…” he trailed off. “Trent’s not left-handed.”

“No. But I’m sure there are other things you inherited from that side. There are ways you can get clearer answers.”

A brief flicker of panic crossed his face.

“Or not,” she continued quickly. “You can think about it more if you need to.”

“He didn’t seem all that rattled.”

Amanda pushed to her feet and crossed to his desk, putting her hands on his shoulders. “It’s not the same. You heard him. His parents are still alive. And he grew up knowing who his family was.”

“I did too.”

“Not with that kind of clarity.”

He pressed his palms down onto the desk. “But it’s something I wanted. So why am I so…I don’t know. Why’s this getting under my skin?”

She sighed softly. “You know why. And that matters. Lee,” she continued, and she slid her hands down his arms, drawing him into a backward hug. “It came as a shock. And you didn’t get to choose the time or the place.”

He leaned his head back, looking at her upside-down. “That makes me sound like a control freak.”

One of her hands smoothed hair back from his forehead. “Only in the best way.”

“Yeah.” He kissed the back of her other hand before leaning forward. “But now isn’t the time. Or the place.”

“If it’s bothering you, we should work through it.”

He took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and let it out. “I mean to. But later.”

“Then are you actually going to look at those papers?”

Lee turned back toward his desk with a sound of frustration. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’ve been in France — Lyon. Marseille. Even Bordeaux, once. But I can count the number of times I’ve actually been to Paris on one hand.”

“I’ve never been at all. But the Agency has good maps. That’s how I caught that bit about the canals.”

He shook his head. “Not the same. We need someone who knows the territory like the back of their hand and can push things along quickly.”

Amanda sat back down in her chair slowly. “Francine would be perfect if she weren’t still on administrative leave. But we’ll do all right without her. And I can move quickly.”

“Yeah, but she knows French, so I won’t have to translate anything for her. She’s already in this anyway, ever since we found that clue in Jonathan’s letter. Why don’t I —” he was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Stetson.”

Lee listened for a second.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something, Doc. Can’t it wait? Well, why not? I know you have concerns. That’s why I’ve been checking in with you just about every day. Yes, I was planning to get down there later. No, I’m good. Look, I just don’t have —” he cut himself off. “Fine. But you get ten minutes. That’s it.”

He hung up the phone harder than he really needed to, but not so hard that Amanda thought she needed to call him out over it. She just hoped he’d be able to keep his temper in Kelford’s office.

---

Lee felt his temper fraying as he examined the new crutches Dr. Kelford had just handed him. “I’m not going to be on crutches forever.”

“No,” the doctor agreed. “And it’s good to see you starting to put weight on your foot, even just a little bit by resting it on the ground. That’s progress. But you’re still a ways from getting off crutches yet, and you’ve been doing some damage to your hands.”

Lee’s head shot up. “What are you talking about?” His hands and wrists had been stiff. He’d dropped a few things. That didn’t mean there was anything wrong!

“It’s early compressive neuropathy,” said Kelford. “You’re putting too much pressure on the nerves in your armpits when you use the crutches. These —” he indicated the new ones — “don’t do that.”

“But these are for people who won’t be getting off crutches.”

“In the United States. In Europe, they’re standard. Better ergonomics.”

“Ergo — no, I don’t need special treatment. Nothing’s wrong with me!”

“No, not yet, and I’d like to keep you that way. These won’t wreck your nerves. I’ll make you a deal,” Kelford continued, seeing the look on Lee’s face. “Try them for a week and see how it goes. I had to special-order these thanks to your height, so it’ll be a hassle to send them back.”

Lee felt his lips thin as he tested the forearm crutches. They did feel lighter. Steadier. Even without his heel on the floor.

“You should have asked me first,” he finally grumbled.

“You would have shut it down. One week. Seven days. If you still hate them, I’ll give you the old ones back.”

“Then we’ll swap these back next week.” He turned and made for the bull pen. This could have waited. There’d been no reason to call him down to the infirmary in the middle of the day. The only bright spot was that it had gotten him a little closer to Billy’s office.

---

Douglas finished pinning a diagram up behind his desk and stepped back from it. Nothing was missing, but the pins weren’t evenly spaced, and that irritated him more than he cared to admit. They would hold, though. Adjusting them would look like fussing or fidgeting. Correction: adjusting them would be fidgeting or fussing. Which was not the impression he wanted to project.

When, he asked himself, had he started caring what the American agents thought of him, anyway? This was a simple exchange assignment. A few more weeks. That was all.

Lee was a Hamilton. A Hamilton, of all things, although it was obvious his American cousin — Amanda had clarified them as first cousins, once removed — didn’t understand what that actually meant. And I don’t want to be the one who tells him.

“Redecorating, Trent?”

He jumped, but managed to suppress the physical reaction just in time.

“Because we have a budget for that, you know.”

Welcoming the distraction, Douglas turned to see Billy Melrose perusing the diagram.

“Just thinking on paper,” he explained. “Diagramming the architecture to see what it looks like visually.”

“I thought computers were just about zeroes and ones.”

“Not entirely. The zeroes and ones are used as the language, but language is more than just words. It’s also syntax, and structure. That’s what this is. It might even be called a grammar exercise, similar to diagramming sentences.”

“Diagramming sentences? Made of numbers?”

“In principle, yes.” Douglas felt himself warming to the topic. “A sentence can contain all the correct words and still say nothing coherent if they’re arranged incorrectly. Even worse, it might end up saying something entirely different from what you intended to say.” He tapped two intersecting lines with a finger. “Individual bits are like words. Their position matters as much as their purpose. Subject, verb, object. Cause, effect, consequence. Rearrange the structure, and you change the meaning entirely.”

He glanced over at Melrose, who was nodding.

“The critical difference,” he explained, “is that computers are far more rigid than humans. There are no context clues, no inferred meanings. They execute the structural instructions. That’s it.”

“In other words,” said Melrose, “just understanding the code isn’t enough. You have to understand the structure to get the full meaning.”

“Precisely.”

“Still looks like spaghetti thrown up against the wall to me. But what’s the sentence telling you?”

“Look here.” He pointed at several points in the diagram. “These are informational breaches — think of them as poked holes in a screen, if you will. And they’re almost perfectly symmetrical.”

“Which means someone did them on purpose.”

“Yes. But the pattern’s complex enough that you don’t necessarily see it until they’ve already poked dozens of holes. Perhaps even hundreds.” He paused. “Mr. Melrose, we believe this may have been going on for more than a year. Maybe even two or three. The complexity was the reason it wasn’t detected.”

Stepping up to the diagram, Melrose ran one dark hand over it. “You know what this looks like to me, Trent? It looks like one of those topo maps from the USGS.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry. Sometimes I forget you didn’t grow up here. The U.S. Geological Survey puts out these extremely detailed terrain maps. You almost can’t read them with just grade-school map skills. You have to learn the maps’ own language to really understand what they’re saying.”

Douglas hadn’t thought about it that way. “That’s an…incredibly astute analogy.” He took a step back, wanting to see the whole rather than the pieces. “This might very well be a map of the database’s architecture.”

“And the breach locations?”

“Chosen for maximum information gathering.”

Melrose gave him a level look. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I believe so,” replied Douglas slowly. “If you’re suggesting the breaches were meant as reconnaissance.”

“They’re mapping the database.”

“Yes.”

“Like mapping terrain before an airstrike.”

Douglas hadn’t even heard Stetson come in to the bull pen, using a different pair of crutches than he had before. The new ones were far more familiar.

Melrose noticed the change, too. “Nice new hardware, Scarecrow.”

Stetson barely reacted to that. “Billy,” he said. “I need a word in private.”

“Is it about this case?”

Douglas found himself holding his breath.

“Yes. But not about this part of it. And it won’t take long.”

“Some other reason Trent can’t be a part of it, then?”

“It’s…” Stetson trailed off. “It’s about internal resources.” His eyes met Douglas’. “Nothing related to this.”

He exhaled, hard, probably a little louder than he’d meant to.

“All right. We’ll be back in a minute, Trent. Go grab some coffee.”

“You’ll probably want to make it a double,” Stetson added.

Douglas completely agreed.

---

There was no point in making a first offer, never mind doubling down. “I want Francine back.”

At that, Billy sighed. “Sit down, will you, Scarecrow?”

“It’s a yes-or-no question.”

“It wasn’t a question at all. And I said sit down.”

Lee complied.

“I can’t bring her back.”

“Come on, Billy. Trent already told you we got good intel from her.”

“He didn’t, actually. He just said you had a confidential informant.” Billy paused. “Why do you want her back so soon?”

“I need her. Nobody can work that computer better than she can.”

“Trent can.”

“Look, she overreacted a bit, but when it came down to it, she did her job. And we got a critical clue because of it.”

“She also got us into some very hot political water.” Billy held up a hand before Lee could protest. “Lee, I want her back too. And I’m doing what I can. But when I’ve got Smyth in here telling me to reassign or terminate her…” he trailed off. “I’ve already taken it higher up. With no guarantees that’ll work. So far the only thing that’s guaranteed is that, once he sees my name on that request, he’ll be back up here with that blasted cigarette and plenty of nasty things to say.” Billy paused. “I can handle that. Done it before. I just want to make sure Francine keeps her job. Or at least can go straight into another one.”

Lee blinked. “It’s that serious?”

“It’s that serious, and I breached confidentiality even telling you that. It stays in here.”

“I know that. But since when does one incident spell the end of an agent’s career?”

“Since the wrong people got the wrong impressions and took offense. And it wasn’t just one incident. You know that. There was also the termination last year —”

“Which Smyth rescinded without prejudice!”

“That time!” Billy reached up to loosen his tie. “This time, it’s a lot harder to argue the way it looks. Which, to someone on the outside, is not good at all.”

“Since when has that mattered?”

“Since Smyth took over this Agency!” Billy exploded. “Damn it, Scarecrow, you know that! You were just about the first person in this section who got crosswise of him!”

“And I got reinstated both times!” Lee shot back. “Smyth knows where the bread is buttered.”

“My God, you sound just like him!” Billy clenched and unclenched his fists.

Lee, fuming, looked out the window toward the bull pen. Trent was going over another part of his visual diagram.

“Bottom line,” Billy finally said, “I can’t reinstate her yet. I don’t know if I’ll get to bring her back to the Washington office at all. It is not up to me. It never was.”

Lee inhaled through his nose and blew out through his mouth before answering. “You’re supposed to be the Director of Field Section.”

“That’s not guaranteed to continue either.”

Another deep, measured breath. “Can I bring her in unofficially?”

“No.” But Billy met his eyes. “Officially. And that’s all I have to say on it.”

He felt his hands tightening around the chair’s arms, but the action didn’t bring the same twinge it had this morning. Maybe that was why he pushed up a little too hard. The room tilted around him. He had to grab the edge of Billy’s desk to keep from going down, cutting off the curse just in time.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Lee decided it probably wasn’t the wisest idea to ask Billy exactly what he was agreeing about.

Author’s Notes:

• Forearm crutches are also known as Lofstrand, Canadian, or elbow crutches. They are more commonly used in Europe and Canada than they are in the United States.
• The U.S. Geological Survey actually publishes formal training materials for using and reading their 1:24,000-scale topographic maps, which were switched to an abridged online version in 2009.

Amanda wrung out the washcloth and pretended not to notice that Lee was pretending not to watch her. She shook her head ruefully. This wasn’t the time or the place for pride.

“It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s about being able to take care of myself. What if you’re out on a case somewhere?”

She should have known.

“It looks like these last few scabs are getting ready to fall off,” she told him instead. “Monica said that would be a good sign. You’ll probably be able to start wearing the stump sock the next time you visit her.”

“Amanda. You’re not answering the question.”

“I didn’t hear one being asked.”

He closed his eyes. “Damn it.”

“Still not a question.” She brought the washcloth back up.

He surged forward to take it from her. “Let me do it.”

“Lee.”

“The whole point of you cleaning it was that I wasn’t keeping the edges clean enough. You just said yourself that they’ve sealed up. This is where I need to take it back over.”

Deciding not to try and snatch the washcloth back, she picked up the bottle of peppermint oil, poured a capful into one hand, and then used the other to scoop lotion from the jar next to the oil. “Maybe I like being able to take care of my husband sometimes.”

“Oh, come on.” He took a deep breath, perhaps in response to the smell as she combined the peppermint oil and lotion. “I don’t need you to baby me.”

“Good. Because I’m not.” Tapping his other leg, she signaled for him to bring that foot up into her lap as well. “This is about me trying to help you feel better.” Since he was clearly intent on cleaning the incision himself, she started with his good foot, gently massaging the lotion into the arch.

Lee leaned back and closed his eyes. “That feels nice.”

“And that is the point,” she told him. “Sweetheart, I know you can clean the incision now. But it’s…” she trailed off, trying to find words as she kept working over his skin. “It helps me feel closer to you,” she admitted, almost annoyed at having to say it out loud.

Now his eyebrows went up. “Cleaning my feet makes you feel closer to me?”

She laughed. “I’m not ready to give up an excuse for peppermint. And if you’re going to finish with the incision, you should finish. Maybe then I’ll let you use the peppermint oil on that foot.”

He scowled.

She ignored it. “And maybe on mine.”

“On yours?” he asked, but the tension on his face began to ease. “And what exactly did you have in mind, Mrs. Stetson?”

“Wouldn’t you like to kn —”

Footsteps thundered down the stairway. “Mom? Have you seen my history book?”

Lee shook his head. “It’s right where you left it, Jamie. On the kitchen table with the rest of your things. Haven’t we already had this discussion?”

Jamie appeared at the bottom of the steps, giving them a look only a thirteen-year-old could manage. “What, about taking my books upstairs? Why should I, if I don’t need them to do my homework?”

“You’re the one who just asked about a schoolbook,” Amanda pointed out.

“Yeah. Because I wanted to look something up. Nikki’s on the phone and keeps telling me the Silk Road was just about trade. Maybe it was, but I think the Mongols knew it was about ideas too. Because otherwise why did they have stuff like that whole mail system?”

“You’re both right,” said Lee. “But go get your book and prove it to your girl.”

“My girl?” Jamie scoffed as he headed into the kitchen, returning quickly with the book. “She’s not my girl. She’s just a girl.”

“Uh-huh. Upstairs.”

Jamie mumbled something on the way, but it was too low for either one of them to catch it. Lee grinned after him.

“Finish your incision,” said Amanda, although she was smiling too. Tonight wasn’t a completely lost cause after all. She’d been missing their closeness. “There’s no point skipping steps since you’d just have to go back and redo the whole thing.”

“Really? Since when haven’t I skipped steps?”

“Since you married me,” she answered. “You just said it to Jamie. Foreplay can be verbal. It also,” she continued, “requires patience.”

“Foreplay? Is that what this is?”

Now Amanda was laughing. “Isn’t it?”

---

“Isn’t it time to move on from those stills?” Zeta set a cup of coffee beside Douglas’ elbow. “I thought we’d already figured out as much as we could.”

“Good morning to you as well, my dear.”

She blushed. “Good morning, sir. Those are the stills I had Scotty pull off his B-roll for me.”

“They are.” He indicated the report that was also on his desk. “And you’ve done a fantastic analysis of their content and context. I’m looking for patterns. I’m also not interested in hearing you call me ‘sir’ again. I’m not that old.”

Douglas noted her belated double take, and her decision to cover it with a sip of her own coffee, with quiet approval. He’d been right in his recommendations to Melrose. She was sharp. Observant. Sensible enough not to immediately blurt something out when she realized it. Still a bit green, yes, but that was quickly fading.

“What kind of patterns are you looking for?” she asked now, after she finished the sip.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “To be honest, I’m impressed that you spotted Stone at all in these shots. It takes a sharp eye to do that.”

She flushed again, but held steady. “Thank you. I had help.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Miss Zeta. There’ll come a time when it’s needed.” He turned back to the pictures and indicated the drafting compass he was holding. “Right now, I’m looking at the light and the angles. Trying to see if there’s any pattern to the time of day when he appears.”

“But the photos are time-stamped.”

“It never hurts to double-check.” He pointed at one picture, taken in the 16th arrondissement. “This one is time-stamped for 13:23. But you’ll notice the next one is for 13:25, even though the light comes from a completely different direction.”

“They’re on different days,” she countered. “He’s wearing different clothing.”

“There wouldn’t be a…” Douglas rested one leg of the compass on the picture and measured the angle using the other. “…a four-degree difference in the angle across two consecutive days. I should be reading a fraction of a degree at best.” He tapped the compass against his desk. “These are two slightly different camera angles. Not enough to be noticed on a first look, but clear when checked.”

She nodded slowly. “That would make sense, especially since this is B-roll and not security footage. They wouldn’t have been worrying about perfect continuity. As long as it looked close enough, that would have been fine.”

He regarded her for a moment. “I didn’t know you were so familiar with film production values.”

Her color rose again, but nowhere near where it had been before. “Like I said, I had help. But that’s how production usually works.”

“On the contrary.” He pulled the third picture taken from a similar location and with a similar time stamp. It, too, had a slightly different angle to the shadows. “We’ve confirmed that these were definitely taken on three different days, based on Mr. Stone’s clothing. They were also taken from three different locations.” He laid the tool down. “Or were they?”

She frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“That’s where I’m not sure,” he told her. “Mr. Stone wasn’t a professional operative. He wouldn’t have been running rehearsals. Yet that’s what these repeated trips appear to be. Three days. Three sites. Same hour. With a slight adjustment in angle each time.” He paused. “How long was he in Paris?”

“Francine said he’d been there for two weeks.”

He shook his head. “The sunlight angles would barely change in so short a period.”

“So he was being watched pretty much from the moment he got there?” she asked.

“Yes. That conclusion fits this evidence. What I don’t understand is why — or why it would come through on this ‘B-roll,’ as you’ve called it. Was it taken by an IFF cameraman?”

She took another sip of her coffee. “I’m not sure. Scotty — ah, Mr. Parker — says that sometimes they’ll hire foreign nationals to do some of their work. It creates a job, and goodwill, and things like that.” Then her features sharpened. “Wait a minute. If it wasn’t our cameraman, the contractor would have kept his own copy. And if he was using this as an opportunity for surveillance…”

“Yes.” He thought about that for a long moment. “We should bring this to the Stetsons.”

She nodded. “And I’ll go find Sco — Mr. Parker and ask who took this footage. I’ll head to the Q-Bureau afterward. That way I can brief all of you at once.”

No, he thought as she walked away. She wouldn’t remain green for long at all.

---

Lee had hoped for a chance to sit down with a newspaper after this morning’s physical therapy appointment — which, for a change, had gone quite well. But it wasn’t long at all before he heard a knock on the Q-Bureau’s door.

“Yeah,” he called. “Come on in.”

The door opened to admit Douglas Trent, who was holding a large folder. “I’ve something you should see.”

In the past, he might have had his feet up on the desk. Today, they stayed underneath it. The left one took his weight as he leaned forward. “Now?”

Trent frowned. “Is now a bad time?”

“No, I just…” he shook his head. So much for continuing his pleasant morning. “What have you got?”

Trent stepped to his desk and laid out the stills from the B-roll, explaining the significance of the differing sunlight angles. “Miss Zeta is checking with the film unit to see whether an IFF cameraman took this footage, but we suspect not. She’ll likely be here momentarily.”

At that, Lee chuckled. “Not if Scotty has anything to say about it.” But then he sobered. “You think Stone was under surveillance the entire time he was in Paris.”

“Or close to,” confirmed Trent. “Likely much longer than anyone suspected.”

“I don’t know if anyone suspected anything at all.” He opened a desk drawer, looking for a magnifier. “She’s got sharp eyes if she noticed Jonathan from this much of a distance.”

“She does. I’ve told Melrose I see a lot of potential there.”

“I’ll second that, next time I see him.” Lee moved the magnifier slightly to the right of Jonathan’s figure, but it slid away from his fingers, skidding across the desk pad. Trent caught it before it hit the floor. “Damn it. Thanks.”

“Quite all right. What are you looking for?”

“What does Stone have with him?” He compared two shots. “He’s not carrying a briefcase, which is unusual. And he’s guarding the right side of his coat. Something’s in there.” Lee paused. “This might not have been a one-trip assignment.”

The door opened abruptly, admitting Zeta and Amanda. Amanda spoke first. “Zeta and I have news about the case.”

“Yes,” said the younger agent, though she sounded nervous. “Scotty checked the requisition logs. We did get that B-roll from a civilian contractor. And there’s more.” She paused, biting her lip.

Lee and Trent looked at her in unison.

“Go on,” said Lee.

“The contractor was working for a company called Ansar Productions. Based out of London, but they have an office in Paris and right here in D.C.” She stopped and took another breath. “And the address — we’d seen it before. It’s the same as the one we found on the card in Jonathan’s apartment. For Ansar Cleaners.”

“All right,” said Lee. “We need to check that out.” Then it hit him, hard and without warning. “Except…I can’t.”

There was a brief, awkward pause.

He kept his eyes on the file in front of him, willing himself to stay calm. “And Amanda probably shouldn’t either. Both of us are known intelligence agents.”

He didn’t look at his wife, but he didn’t have to. He could feel her gaze on him.

Trent folded his arms. “If there’s any connection at all to London, I could also be identifiable.”

Zeta nodded.

“But don’t go alone,” said Amanda. “Take Scotty. That’s part of my news. Since he’s pretty much already on it anyway, I got clearance to read him into the case. You’ll want to do that before you go. Make sure he knows the stakes.”

“I will. I’ll go down right now.”

“Good idea,” said Lee as he turned back toward Amanda and Trent, only to see that the British agent was distracted by something on his desk. He groaned inwardly when he saw what it was: the discharge paperwork from this morning. “You mind? That’s kind of personal.”

“Your middle name is Hamilton.” There was an odd tone in the other man’s voice.

“Family name.” He reached for the folder, intending to put it away.

“It’s my middle name, too. Or one of them anyway. Douglas Geoffrey Hamilton Trent.”

“Interesting coincidence.”

“And it’s also a family name.”

The skin on the back of Lee’s neck tightened. “So? It’s not that unusual.”

“Perhaps, but…” Trent trailed off. “My grandfather had a close relative who emigrated to America. His youngest sister, I believe.” His eyes flicked up. “And don’t I understand that you’re half-British yourself? Possibly even a dual citizen?”

“My mother was from England. But she died when I was little. I was born here.” But then he paused. Even with the documentation he and Amanda had found last year, information about his parents was still scant. He blew his breath out, trying to remember the family tree she’d drawn. “Hamilton was her maiden name, though, and I know she was the youngest of four. What about it?”

“It’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think? We never did hear that much about my great-aunt Jennie.”

Lee went utterly still.

“My mother’s name was Jennifer,” he said slowly. “But everyone called her Jennie.”

Trent’s voice was quiet. “Her eldest brother’s name was Arthur. Yes?”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause. The stills lay forgotten.

“That was my grandfather’s name.”

Their eyes met. And Lee’s calm completely evaporated.

---

Nancy met Scotty downstairs, noticing that Mr. Trent was still in the Q-Bureau. She wondered why, but then shook her head. She might not want to know.

She also wasn’t sure she wanted to know exactly what the “More” stood for in Georgetown Mail and More. She and Scotty stood on the sidewalk while she double-checked the address. Yes. This was correct: 1741 36th Street Northwest, Suite A.

The business occupied the first floor, its plate-glass windows open to the street. A narrow side door, painted the same tired brick red as the trim, was marked Entrance to Offices Above. No business names were listed beside it; there didn’t appear to be room for any.

Scotty’s eyes darted around, though the rest of him remained still. “Are we going to go in?”

Nancy considered that. They were here to observe, not engage — but the business was open to the public.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s make it quick.”

Inside, there was no line.

“Look for A-302,” she murmured to Scotty before approaching the counter. The proprietor, an older Asian woman, looked bored but rose to assist.

“What’s your pricing like?” Nancy asked.

The woman slid a laminated card across the counter. “Month. Three month. Six month. Year.”

“Those are the only options? I only need about six weeks.”

“Six weeks is three month.”

Nancy exhaled softly and studied the prices. Scotty was just visible in her peripheral vision, doing a credible job of looking curious as he examined the wall of mailboxes.

“All right,” she said. “We’re going to be receiving a few packages — maybe about the size of a shoebox. What’s the smallest size you’d recommend?”

“Large,” the woman replied. “Small too small. Best for envelopes only. Medium maybe, but very tight. Large better.” She tapped a picture of one of the larger brass doors.

Scotty’s hands twitched, but he otherwise looked appropriately bored as he shifted his attention to another wall of boxes. Then he blinked, uncurling one hand.

Based on the laminated card Nancy was holding, A-302 was an extra-large box.

“You know what?” she said. “That’s a little more than I want to pay. Let me check into some of the other options around here.”

“We cheapest. Plus twenty-four-hour access. But you check. I be here when you get back.”

Outside, she kept her steps brisk until they were completely around the corner.

“All right, then. It’s a mail drop.”

“Not just that.”

She glanced over at him.

“I got a good look at the bulletin board,” Scotty said. “One of the companies up there — Al Safa Media Group? We use them as a contractor sometimes. Their card lists this same address. I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t actually seen it.”

Nancy nodded.

“Which is pretty normal,” he added quickly. “Lots of businesses that run out of warehouses or people’s basements use places like that. But…” He hesitated. “It’s a big coincidence.”

He shifted his weight. “And if it’s spelled the way I remember, ‘al-safa’ means ‘clarity.’ Or ‘purity.’ Something like that.”

“You speak Arabic?”

“No.” He shook his head. “One of the gaffers mentioned it once. Said that’s where the name came from.”

“Al Safa,” she said slowly. “Ansar.”

His eyes widened. “You think that’s important?”

“I think we should talk to Sunlight about it.”

“You should, you mean.” He shifted the camera bag higher on his shoulder. “I still have some more of those establishing shots I need to get. Can we meet back up later and you tell me what she says?”

“Yeah,” she told him. “What establishing shots are you supposed to be getting this afternoon?”

“Just stuff around this area, and maybe a little toward Foggy Bottom. For set pieces, you know?”

“If you happen to see anything,” she said, “could you work that in to what you get?”

“Sure. But what am I looking for?”

“Anything out of place. Or repetitive. Someone watching the street instead of working. Delivery trucks that come back more than once. Patterns.” Then she met his eyes. “But if you can’t get the shot without being obvious about it, don’t try. Just note the time, place, and description.”

“You think there’s danger?”

She actually laughed. “I’m an agent. I always think there’s danger.”

Author’s Note:

• Lee is not a dual citizen. Automatic British citizenship by inheritance could only be passed through the father prior to 1983.

Douglas heard the giveaway pattern of someone on crutches — thump, pause, thump — and knew who it was before Lee Stetson arrived in the bull pen. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for Stetson to stop at his desk. He’d assumed they would meet to compare notes later today, up in the Q-Bureau.

Stetson was breathing heavily, which explained why he came straight to the point. “Got something you need to see.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He rummaged in the basket he wore whenever he was on the crutches, extracting a single sheet of paper. “Make a copy of it and bring me back the original.”

It appeared to be the last page of a personal letter, signed simply as Jonathan. “Where did this come from?”

“Confidential source.”

“Is that so?”

Stetson met his gaze, level-eyed, and said nothing.

“You understand, of course, that news of the scuffle at Dulles has already come through on this morning’s wires.” There had been no names, but it hadn’t been hard to identify at least two of the individuals involved.

Stetson didn’t move.

He looked down at the paper again. “The code underneath the signature. It looks like just random pen spatter, but those are dots and dashes.”

“Yeah. You know Morse?”

“No, but I’m sure the chaps in Signals can transcribe it.” When he folded the paper, Douglas was careful to use the creases that were already present. “Unless that would compromise Miss Des…your source.”

“I’d prefer it if you only showed them the code.”

“I see.” He wondered if the American agent realized how much he’d already said. “And if this isn’t a source others might find…” he searched for a good word. “Appropriate?”

The level-eyed stare came back. “I’m the Agency lead here. And it’s as solid as they come.”

He thought about that for a long moment. While he hadn’t worked with the Stetsons as extensively as others in the Agency, their reputations spoke for them: they were unconventional, constantly crossing boundaries, and created problems almost as often as they solved them. Their close rate, however, spoke for itself.

“All right.” He partially unfolded the page and then refolded it so that only the code showed. “I’ll run the copy. Then I’ll return the original and take the copy to Signals. Will you be in the Q-Bureau?”

“I should be.” His expression relaxed slightly. “And I appreciate it.”

“May I also assume this is not exactly standard operating procedure?”

The lines on Stetson’s face hardened again. “You may.”

Douglas nodded. That was exactly as he’d thought.

---

“…and I never would have thought something like that would have happened! I mean, I know plainclothes officers carry handcuffs, but they also don’t usually patrol on crutches. Or in wheelchairs. Do they?”

“No, not usually,” answered Nancy, trying to sound bored. Or at least disinterested. She kept her eyes focused on the supply room counter. It had just been bad luck that she’d run into Scotty when she had come down for surveillance equipment. Hadn’t it? Maybe he had been stalking her, the same way the man at the airport had been stalking Francine.

She shook her head hard. You’re getting paranoid, Zeta. Noticing details doesn’t mean someone has malicious intent.

Scotty didn’t seem to notice. “I mean, I guess plainclothes officers might use something like that as a cover since it’d make them look like less of a threat. But wouldn’t it also draw attention to them, which is something I think they don’t want? Plus, it might even slow things down, having to keep up with all that extra stuff alongside the other things you’re already carrying.” He stopped suddenly, peering at her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, trying to keep it from sounding curt. Where was Leatherneck, anyway? She didn’t have all day.

There was a long pause as Scotty considered her. “I guess it is kind of annoying to have to wait while Mr. Nelson gets me those extra dollies. You know, the ones with the heavy-duty weight ratings. I don’t know why Mr. Moretti wants to use all those old cameras all of a sudden, especially since a Super 8 would work better — but that’s not something you find all that interesting, is it?”

Nancy blinked. “It’s fine.”

“Just like you’re ‘fine’?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. It was a late night.”

“Okay.” Then he cocked his head. “You weren’t at the airport, were you? It wasn’t in the newspaper, but the internal wires say two of the plainclothes officers were women.”

She was not going to let her discomfort show. Absolutely not. “How do you know things happened at the airport?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was in the news today, and wow, did Mrs. Marston sound upset while she was on the phone about it. Apparently Mr. Melrose or Dr. Smyth or someone told her to get all the newspapers she could, different ones I mean, about the story. She kept going on about how it wasn’t her job, that was for the junior agents, but when I offered to help she turned me down. And, ah…” he colored slightly. “I saw the wire report about the crutches on her desk.”

“I see,” she said, hoping it came across as non-committal.

“Oh, well, sorry. Maybe I’m mixing things up. Say, Mr. Nelson must have had to go into the warehouse pretty far if he’s taking this long. But it’s interesting that your late night happened at the same time as that incident at the airport and —”

“You know,” she pointed out, “we really shouldn’t be speculating.”

He blinked, his expression briefly showing guilt and self-doubt. “Right. Cameras.”

“And you’re going to be worn out by the end of the day, having to haul all this stuff around,” said Leatherneck. He was pushing a flat cart piled high with equipment. “Honestly, some of it’s more than one person ought to be handling. You might want to call back up to the film unit to have them send someone else down.”

“There’s no one else to send,” said Scotty. “But I’ll be all right if I can borrow that cart. I should be, anyway. Or, at least, I hope to be.” He paused. “I’ll bring it back just as soon as I’ve gotten everything upstairs.”

Leatherneck pointed at him. “One hour.”

Scotty looked even more uncertain. “It might take me a little longer than that. Can I have two?”

“No more than that.” Leatherneck gave him a sharp look. “One hundred twenty minutes. I’ll have to come lookin’ for you at one-twenty-one. You got that?”

“Then I’ll just…” Scotty trailed off. “If that’s what you can allow, then that’s what I can use. Two hours. Not a minute more.”

“Good.” Leatherneck turned toward Nancy. “And what can I do for you, Miss Zeta?”

She held up the battery pack she had brought with her. “The wire’s working, but this thing keeps malfunctioning and fritzing out. We’ve tried moving it around and rewiring a couple times, but nothing works.”

“Again? You guys go through those things like they’re on sale or something.” He waved his hand. “No, I know, I know. And they are persnickety. Let me just go see what else I got for you.”

“Thanks.” Then, for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she turned back to Scotty. “Look, if you can wait long enough on my floor to let me drop that off —”

He paled. “No. No way. I’m not supposed to be on your floor. You heard the way Miss Desmond yelled that day!”

She could have smacked herself. “I’m sorry. If you can just go up to the film unit, I can come up there in a few minutes to help you unload. That might make things faster for you.”

The color rushed back into Scotty’s face. “Really? You have time for that? I mean, I can probably do it all in two hours, but it might not be right, so if you can help that would mean a lot.”

“I can help,” she told him. “And if you see any copies of those papers, we can find out where they’re going.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “I thought — well, never mind.”

Nancy almost smiled. “Whatever you thought’s likely all right. Besides, it helps to have some eyes and ears around, you know? I’m sure you already have your own sources.”

“If I did —” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Then he went back to his normal tone. “Not really. I just…”

“I get it.”

“Watching you’s never been hard for me anyway.” Now the color in his face grew darker than normal. “Professionally, I mean. And I — let’s just say I’m used to not being noticed, and that’s kind of a good thing sometimes.”

It could be, she realized. It definitely could be, and likely in more ways than he realized.

---

Billy used his handkerchief to wipe his face. “There’s more here than I realize. I know that much. The bad part is, I don’t know what I don’t know.”

“I could offer you some reading material, if you’d like,” said Douglas Trent from his spot in an office chair.

“No.” He folded the handkerchief, stared at it for a long moment — when had it gotten so dingy? — and then shoved it back into his pocket. “I’m not sure I would understand it anyway. I mean, I can use the computers here, but they seem to speak a different language when I get too far into the weeds.”

“If you try to understand everything at once, their operations can seem opaque.” But when he would have protested, Trent held up a hand. “I know. Your time is limited. I’ll come to the point: the Agency has some cracks in its infrastructure.”

Billy sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I meant in your computer networks.” The MI6 agent indicated a sheaf of papers. “The details are here, but the bottom line is that there are ways the systems can be infiltrated. Even worse, it might not even be obvious when it happens. An operator could be inside the database for weeks without being detected, if they were careful what they did and how they did it.”

“I thought,” said Billy, “that was the problem with the military databases. And if that’s the case, you should take this to Scarecrow.”

“This isn’t about that case. It’s about the Agency itself. Our databases replicate their structure.” He extracted some papers from near the bottom of the stack. “I’ve brought you some recommendations. The most important is that we need an expert on site, and quickly, to make sure nothing’s already compromised.”

His stomach twisted. “Do you think something is?”

“I’ve identified no indications. But if they’re subtle, and someone who knows how we work extremely well…” he trailed off meaningfully.

Billy nodded in understanding, wondering if Trent even realized that he’d shifted to referring to the Agency as “we.” He made a mental note that, after this situation was resolved, he should reach out to his British counterpart to learn more about this man.

But that didn’t solve the immediate problem. “Do we have anyone already on staff who can train?”

“Interestingly enough, yes.” Trent handed over the last sheet of paper.

Billy felt his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. “I thought you didn’t think all that much of Desmond or Zusterakos.”

Trent sighed. “They’re…problematic. I’m not sure if they would do well on my side of the pond. But Miss Zusterakos has the right basic skill set, especially given that she did some computer programming work in graduate school. And Miss Desmond…” he trailed off. “I’m told that what I’ve seen isn’t the norm. By several people.”

“It isn’t.”

“And I…” Now Trent sounded almost hesitant. “I can’t imagine you’d have someone…incapable…as your second-in-command.”

“I wouldn’t. But I don’t know that she’d be ready to handle this level of detail. Francine’s a whiz on the terminals, but I’ve never seen her get into the…” he trailed off. “What do you call the guts, anyway? Programming? Code? Something else?”

“You’re close enough. I could support a recommendation to hire a contractor to come in and shore up the defenses. One who would train either Miss Desmond, Miss Zeta, or both while they did it.” He paused. “I’m sure your military database experts likely could recommend some vetted parties.”

“You just said their databases are compromised too.”

“There’s evidence that they have some defenses in place. And as I considered the historical patterns, I could see more and more of those defenses coming online. They’re moving in the direction this Agency should.” Trent took a sudden sharp breath. “Or, the same direction I would recommend for this Agency.”

“Relax, Trent. I don’t stand on ceremony in this section.” Billy laid the paper down on his desk. “Does anyone else have the right qualifications?”

“Some might, but I doubt they’d be as strong as these two. Especially since they already function as partners, and from what I can tell, fairly well.”

“That they do.” Billy looked off into space for a long moment, thinking. “You’re here for, what, eight more weeks? The Aegis case remains your priority, but I’m going to put you on recruitment. Come up with some parameters for the contractor we’re looking for, something I can take up to the budget committee. And if you can put together some examples of the cracks — in a way that numbers crunchers can understand without also needing to be computer geeks — that’s even better. That’ll help me make my case.”

“I’ll do my best. Dr. Smyth doesn’t seem terribly easy to convince.”

“He isn’t,” said Billy, “and he’s a pain the behind more often than he ought to be. But here’s the thing: once he is convinced, he’ll back you all the way. I’ve seen him go to bat for my people a dozen times, Scarecrow and Sunlight included. Desmond, too.” He leaned forward. “So that’s your job. Get me what I need to convince him. Can you get it done in a week?”

“I can.” Sensing the dismissal, Trent stood up. “I’ll get started right away.”

Nobody ever knocked on the Q-Bureau door if they could help it; they just came in. So when she heard the rapping noise, Amanda’s head came up sharply. “Who is it?”

“Zeta.”

She frowned. “The door’s unlocked.”

“Thank you,” said the younger agent as she came through the door. She paused in the middle of the office, standing awkwardly. “Um.”

“Zeta, this is just like the bull pen. What’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I’m looking for Francine.”

Amanda felt her frown deepen. “She’s on leave.”

“I know that. But —” she waved a hand. “Is it all right if I — ?”

She’s terrified, Amanda realized. “Yes. Please do. Do you need some water or coffee?”

“No, ma’am —”

Amanda tilted her head, lowering her voice into a more soothing register. “Zeta. Since when have you called me that? It’s Amanda, or Sunlight. Now, tell me what’s going on?”

“I, ah, I have something that Francine needs to see.” Zeta was still fidgeting. “And I thought I’d find her at her apartment, but she’s not there, and she’s not here either, but down in the bull pen it’s as though something happened. Nobody will tell me what, though, even though I’m her partner. That’s not normal at all.”

The Q-Bureau door opened again, this time to admit Lee, who made his way toward his desk.

“That puts it mildly,” said Amanda. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing at all. The only person who was even willing to talk to me about was Mr. Tr — er, Douglas.” She stopped, clenched her hands, and then relaxed them. “I thought I saw Dr. Smyth leaving just as I was coming in, but I’m not completely sure. If it was, that’s not good, is it? Especially this early in the morning, after —” she broke off again. “I just really need to talk to Francine, and I thought one of you might know how I can get in touch with her.”

Lee’s crutches clattered as he made his way over to his desk, and he sat down behind it with a deeper-than-usual sigh. “Your usual methods didn’t work?”

“Mr. Stetson — Scarecrow — I —”

“Don’t start,” he told her, and while his tone was firm it wasn’t harsh. “There’s no way Francine Desmond is sitting around doing nothing with all this time, and she has to have a lieutenant here. The rest of it’s just logic.” He leaned forward. “What have you been doing for her?”

Zeta’s head came up. “Is it that obvious?”

Lee glanced over at Amanda, who nodded.

“Yes,” he told Zeta. “But as long as Billy can maintain plausible deniability, it’s all right. Which,” he continued, looking back at Amanda, “is apparently the problem. I was down in Kelford’s office, and you know how they are about gossip. Apparently someone reported something to Smyth, which is why he was up there. From what it seemed like afterward, His Highness got chewed up pretty hard and decided to spread the joy around.”

“That would’ve been quite the temper tantrum,” observed Amanda. “But it’s not the real reason you’re here, is it, Zeta?”

She dropped her gaze. “No, ma — no, Sunlight.”

“What’s going on?” She kept her voice quiet, the way she might if she were trying to coax Jamie. “We already told you we know you’re working with Francine, so that’s not it.”

“Except it is.” Now the words came out in a rush. “Okay, okay. I went and saw her yesterday, and then Scotty and I — Francine told me not to go in alone, and that it probably shouldn’t be another agent — we went over to Jonathan’s apartment last night and it’s a mess. Except not the kind that police would leave from a search. I think someone went in there after the police left, because there were signs the police tape had been broken and re-done. Someone not us, I mean. The mess was — it was just wrong, and whoever did it left something behind.” She held up a plastic bag with a card in it. “This didn’t belong there. It was set up to look like it was left behind by accident but that wasn’t done quite right either. I didn’t break chain of custody. Or at least I don’t think so. Scotty took pictures —”

“We don’t need to worry about that just yet,” said Amanda as she stood up and took the card, reading the business name out loud. “Ansar Cleaners. That’s from an Arabic word, ansār. It means ‘helpers,’ or ‘those who give aid.’” She looked at Lee. “And with the word ‘cleaners’…”

His eyes widened fractionally as he nodded right along with her. “It wasn’t an oversight. It’s a warning.”

“A warning?” Zeta’s voice had gone up a note. “Then we really need to find Francine, don’t we?”

“We do.” Lee picked up the handset on his phone but then swore softly as it slipped out of his fingers. “Damn it.” He held on to it the second time, using his other hand to punch buttons. “Yeah, Beaman. Good. I’m glad it’s you. Listen, about that pen register you have on Desmond’s phone — don’t deny it, it’s SOP — do you have one on her car phone, too?” He glanced up at Amanda, catching her eye and nodding. “Listen, Zeta and Sunlight are headed your way now, all right? Yeah, it is. Yeah, that too. Thanks.” The receiver rocked a little as he put it into the cradle, and he shook his hand out afterward. “She’s been on and off her phone for the last couple of hours.”

“Did he get traces?” asked Amanda.

“Numbers only.” Then he gave her another significant look, and she knew that he was thinking exactly what she was. “But at least one of them’s international. To France.”

France. Where Jonathan had been. Except Francine wouldn’t be that reckless, thought Amanda. But then she saw the look on Zeta’s face.

Right now? She just might be.

They scrambled toward the door. There was no time to waste.

---

She and Sunlight hit the Dulles Airport doors at a dead run. It felt vaguely strange to Nancy to be running ahead of Scarecrow. He’d urged them to go ahead without him rather than waste time waiting. You two go. I’ll start at the ticket desk.

They skidded to a stop just past the Z gates, where Sunlight was rapidly scanning status screens. “There it is,” she said after a moment. “Air France 12 to Charles de Gaulle.” Boarding was in ten minutes, with takeoff scheduled for half an hour after that, although some of the other flights were already showing delays. “Gate A15. She’ll probably be there now.”

Ignoring the shuttles and trains, they ran to the concourse. Nancy was impressed. She had known, intellectually, that Sunlight had passed all of the same physical fitness tests as the other agents. She just hadn’t ever seemed to be the physical type. Now, as she pushed herself to keep up, she was rapidly revising her assessment. Perhaps that’s part of her effectiveness. She’s tougher than she looks.

Gate A15 was about halfway down the concourse, and already had a crowd of people outside it. Since other passengers were also hurrying to make sure they made the flight on time, their rushed arrival almost went unnoticed. Almost. There was a flash of blonde hair and a sudden burst of movement off to Nancy’s left.

“Francine!” yelled Sunlight. “Don’t!”

Francine either ignored them or didn’t hear them. With a quick hand signal, Sunlight motioned for Nancy to stay where she was while she circled around to the right. “Francine!” she called again.

Nancy’s partner looked left, then right, and then, finally, her shoulders drooped. It took a minute to wade through the crowd to her side, and by the time she got there, Sunlight and Francine were already arguing.

“— what Smyth said!” Francine was almost in tears. “He acted like Jonathan didn’t even matter especially given he hadn’t finished the mission!”

“You know that’s how he has to see it,” said Sunlight gently. “You know that, Francine.”

“No I don’t!”

Sunlight sighed, glancing over at her. “Zeta, will you go up to the stand and ask them to make sure Francine’s checked bags have already been taken off the flight? Lee should’ve gotten the word to Air France by now, but chances are good they were loaded before we got here.”

She nodded quickly, turning to make her way toward the counter, but there was something, off to the right, which didn’t quite look normal. Biting her lip, Nancy was careful not to look in that direction, but she slowed her progress so she could try and assess things. What had she seen?

There. Every time she took a step, the man in the leather coat was mirroring it. Yet, at the same time, he was oriented to look directly at Sunlight and Francine, even though he held a newspaper in his hands. It was open, but his grip on it was too tight to be normal.

She’d just have to trust that Scarecrow’s visit to the ticket counter would be enough to get Francine’s bags off the flight.

Raising an arm to check her watch, Nancy stopped, counted three, and then changed direction before starting to walk again. Her path would now take her in front of the man with the leather coat. As she got closer, she could see that the newspaper wasn’t written in English. That’s Arabic, she realized, although she couldn’t read it.

Just as she came closest to the suspicious man, she stumbled and went down on one knee. “Oh! Darn it. That stupid shoelace just won’t stay tied!” It wasn’t until the words were already out that she realized she had overacted. The man immediately focused on her, giving her a hard look before turning and melting into the crowd behind him.

She swore softly under her breath, and then climbed back to her feet to follow him. Fortunately, the leather coat was distinctive enough to spot quickly. Unfortunately, the man was working his way even closer to Sunlight and Francine, not even bothering to try and look casual. That wasn’t good, especially since neither Sunlight nor Francine were looking her direction. They were still arguing.

Then she saw an attendant pushing a wheelchair toward the gate, and she stopped just as she reached the main passageway. “Scarecrow!”

“Zeta?” Motioning to the attendant to stop the wheelchair, he got back up onto his crutches. “Where are Amanda and Francine?”

She was too winded for long explanations, so she just pointed. “The man in the leather coat.”

His curse wasn’t under his breath. “Get to the other side of him, right now!”

Nancy complied, noting that Scarecrow wasn’t being subtle about his approach. The crutches would have prevented it anyway.

“Amanda!” he called above the noise of the crowd.

Sunlight looked up, searching for a moment, and then locked on to him — and, a second later, to the stalker as well. A quick motion brought her gun into her hand, though she didn’t raise it yet. The stalker saw it, turned, then saw Scarecrow, both crutches in one hand, reaching for his service weapon. He turned again, and this time it was Nancy who yanked her pistol out of her purse.

There was time for a single breath. Then the stalker made his decision, launching himself toward Scarecrow.

He never saw Francine coming. Her karate chop landed hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Nancy hadn’t seen Francine, either, but she wasted no time scrambling over to help handcuff the stalker. Two men in security uniforms also appeared.

Sunlight showed her ID. “Federal agents. This man was stalking her.”

“Is he a fugitive or something?” asked one of the uniforms.

Sunlight sighed. “No. Just suspicious behavior.”

“I didn’t do anything!” the stalker suddenly shouted. “I was just walking!”

“Directly toward them,” Nancy added, indicating Sunlight and Francine. “And he only started moving after he’d seen me identify him.”

“There was a break in the crowd! I was hoping to get a better place in line for the flight.”

“All right,” said the other uniform, coming over and pulling the stalker to his feet. “Then you’ll need to go straight over there. Would you un-cuff him, please?”

Nancy was startled. “What?”

Francine looked like she wanted to spit fire, but she complied, her movements jerky.

She knew she should, but Nancy couldn’t keep herself quiet. “You’re just letting him go?”

It was Scarecrow who answered, with a sour look on his face. “No immediate threat now. No probable cause to continue detention.” Then he met the stalker’s eyes with a flat, angry expression. “As long as he walks away right now and doesn’t come back.”

The stalker looked them up and down. “I should press charges. But I won’t because I have a plane to catch.” Then he strode off toward the gate stand, where the first few passengers were already being cleared onto the jet bridge for boarding.

The rest of the crowd gave all of them a wide berth, even after they holstered their weapons and Scarecrow sat back down in the wheelchair.

“That wasn’t wise,” remarked one of the security officers. “Drawing down in here. You’re lucky it didn’t cause a panic.”

“Lucky,” repeated Francine bitterly.

“I thought so. We’ll just stay here until he’s on the plane.” There was no mistaking the intent behind the security officer’s look.

Nancy stepped just far enough away to pick up the Arabic-language newspaper that the stalker had dropped, bringing it to Sunlight. Sunlight glanced over it, then shook her head. “It’s just today’s Al Arabiya. Nothing special. A prop.”

“He made me so quickly,” Nancy commented. “Do you think —”

Scarecrow made a sudden sharp gesture. She clammed up and the group stood there silently until the stalker was on the jet bridge and the security officers had left.

Francine whirled on them, seething. “What in all hell are the three of you doing here?”

“I told you,” said Sunlight. “Stopping you before you got too far.”

“I’m on leave! And a trip to Paris to do some shopping is just what I need to get my mind off of things!”

“Don’t,” said Scarecrow. “Please. It’s bad enough we had to let that scumbag go before we could even question him.”

She began to argue back, but something in Scarecrow’s expression must have gotten through to her, because she stopped mid-beat. Instead, Francine sighed. “I have bags on that plane.”

“No, you don’t,” said Scarecrow. “I got the confirmation. They’ll be waiting at baggage claim.”

“Come on, Francine,” said Sunlight. “We should go before security decides they want to question us for a follow-up report. Once they realize nobody here’s on their way to France…” she trailed off with a meaningful look.

Fresh tears appeared in Francine’s eyes. “But there are answers there. I just know it.”

“There are answers here, too,” said Sunlight, and not without sympathy. “And we’ll find them. I promise.”

Scarecrow had already waved the wheelchair attendant back over. “Come on, Francine,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Blinking rapidly, Francine complied. Sunlight tipped the attendant and took over Scarecrow’s wheelchair. Looking down, Nancy saw she was still holding the newspaper. She balled it up and threw it in a trash bin on the way out.

---

Francine held her bags tightly as she followed Amanda, still arguing, while Amanda herself brought out cups of coffee. “You could’ve done all this after I got back from Paris.”

“You know better than that,” said Lee from where he’d settled on her apartment couch. “Would you sit down? You’re starting to make me dizzy. And those bags aren’t going anywhere you don’t want them to go.”

“I can’t.” The bags dropped in a heap as she flung a hand in his direction. “Damn it, Lee, I can’t just sit around and do nothing while everything gets swept under the rug with ‘no further action’! Jonathan deserves —” her voice hitched. “Jonathan deserved better than that.”

Lee glanced over at Zeta, who was standing hipshot against one wall. “It doesn’t look like anything’s getting swept under the rug. Zeta’s here on her own time.”

“All right. And, Nancy, I do appreciate it.” Francine paused. “In fact, I was going to ask why you’d come back here at all.”

At that, the junior agent folded her arms, lips thinning. “Are we really going to have that argument again?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good,” said Zeta. “Because it’d waste all our time.”

“As long as I’m on leave, I’ve got nothing but time to waste.”

“Francine,” said Amanda. Her tone was as sharp as Lee had ever heard it. “You know better than that. What were you trying to accomplish, anyway? Didn’t you stop and think about what you were doing before going to the airport? It’s hardly a surprise that someone was there watching you, you know, even if we didn’t get to question him. They’ve probably been doing that all along. Whenever I’m sure one of the boys — er, ah,” and now it was her voice that caught. “Whenever Jamie’s contemplating doing something stupid, that’s what I do. I watch him a little closer. He knows, too, which is why he doesn’t try much. So it usually becomes a waiting game, trying to see what happens first: him losing interest, or me losing patience. Based on what you’re telling me about Dr. Smyth, I think we’re closer to the ‘losing patience’ than we are to the ‘losing interest.’ And that goes back to my first question: what were you trying to do?”

Francine had finally stopped pacing; now she stood, swaying, on the border between the hallway and the living room. “I just wanted answers. And the letter —” now her face crumpled. “He sent it to me from Paris.”

“What letter?” asked Lee.

She began moving again, but this time, it was with purpose: she went over to the bags she’d dropped. Rooting around in the smaller one, she drew out a battered envelope. “This one. He sent it from Paris. It didn’t get here until last week, but —” and then her voice failed completely.

Zeta was there almost immediately, guiding her toward the couch where Lee sat. “Come on, Francine. Sit down. What’s in the letter?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Why not?” There was no pressure in the question. This wasn’t the nervous, flighty young agent Lee had first met, or even the terrified junior agent he’d seen in the Q-Bureau. With Francine, Zeta was confident, and she was beginning to come into her own.

“I, ah…” Francine trailed off. “I couldn’t. Not yet.”

Kneeling on the floor in front of her, Zeta tugged the envelope out of Francine’s hands. “Can we do that now?”

At that, Francine lost it completely, folding forward at the waist. Lee pulled her back up against him, cradling her head against his shoulder as she wept. Zeta eased back onto her heels, but stayed where she was. Amanda sank into a nearby chair and stayed still. Lee just held Francine, letting her cry it out at her own pace. He wondered how much — if any — crying she’d let herself do before. It probably hadn’t been much.

Gradually, the tears and sobbing died down into sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” Francine whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

“I’d have been more worried if you hadn’t,” said Lee.

She pushed herself up and held out a hand. Zeta gave her the envelope without argument. Then, after a deep breath, Francine slit it open and took out the folded papers inside. Her expression was mournful as she scanned their contents, but gave no indication what they might actually be. Lee made a point of not looking over her shoulder.

Then, her face pulled into a distinct frown, not of grief, but of confusion.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Here.” Francine handed him the last page of the letter. “Under where he signed.”

There was a series of slashes, dots, and dashes. It took him a minute to realize what he was looking at. “My God. That’s Morse code.”

“Yeah. But it doesn’t make any sense. Just a nonsense word.”

Lee’s memory of Morse code was rusty, so it took him a second to parse the message. When he did, he felt the blood drain out of his face as he looked up. “No, it’s not. Amanda, it’s that Arabic word we just saw — ansār. With a series of numbers and letters behind it. They don’t spell anything out, but this format…” He shook his head. “It looks just like the machine keys in the data Trent and I have been reviewing.”