Leverage, page 6
“Good, because this was not something I wanted to deal with. I do hope it was worth it. This could have been very damaging and embarrassing for the White House.”
What a baby. They’d covered everything up, and outside of his immediate circle, Halcyon, and the intelligence folk who’d had eyes on it—which was only Derek and me—nobody knew about the chemical weapon test and who was involved. It wasn’t going to cost him shit. Oh…right, yeah, except for the resignation of his vice president. The fact he was more concerned about a second term than the other thing made me feel sick. Who cared about the Russian-compromised bastard standing behind him, undermining the country he was supposed to be leading, right?
I congratulated myself when, instead of vomiting on his shoes, I managed to say, “I’m very sorry you were embarrassed, Mr. President.”
He stared expectantly at me, and I knew he was waiting for me to amend my statement. He’d be waiting a long time; I wasn’t sorry I’d embarrassed him. His grip on my hand tightened to borderline uncomfortable. I squeezed back.
“You must love your job,” the president said.
Surely he knew I was with Halcyon. Though, on second thought, based on his demeanor, he probably didn’t. Maybe he just thought I had friends in high places. I did, though I wouldn’t call them friends exactly…
“I do, sir,” I said emphatically. “A great deal. And I’m very good at that job.” I raised my chin. “Of course, I’m also very committed to my government and the people of this country. Protecting them is my highest priority.” It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to leave it there, to not add on that part of my commitment was wanting them to know the truth about what was going on in the name of keeping them safe.
“I can see that.” His voice lowered again as his eyes narrowed. “Sometimes commitment can be mistaken for treachery. I’d hate to see you have an…issue because of your ideals, Dr. Martin.”
Thankfully a staffer bustled up and started babbling about time and press commitments because I was utterly stunned by what the leader of the United States had just said to me. Too stunned to respond. He’d threatened me and hadn’t even bothered to disguise it. What a dick. I was too disgusted and annoyed to be upset or afraid.
As if slipping on a mask of pleasantness, the president asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what exactly, sir?”
His eyes were cold, though his lips smiled warmly. “We’re going to have a photograph taken so we can show everyone that everything is just fine and business as usual and that my intelligence agencies are working hard to keep the country safe.”
His intelligence agencies. What a fucking idiot. My smile felt so tight my cheek muscles pulled. “Sounds wonderful, sir.” I had a feeling that sometime in the future I was going to regret this photograph, which felt a little like bribery.
The president looked me up and down and, apparently satisfied with my appearance, nodded and turned to face the center of the room, searching for something. “Peter! Where do you want us?”
A middle-aged man turned immediately and gestured to the far wall. “Just by the flag, Mr. President. Those patriotic colors are so flattering on you.”
I had to suppress my gag at the sycophancy, and also at having to stand so close to the man I despised with every cell in my body. And I’d despised him before the whole “government testing an illegal chemical weapon with Russia” incident. We posed side by side and thank fuck he didn’t shake my hand again or put his arm around my waist or something equally as nauseating. If he’d touched me again, I might have found myself under a football-tackle crush of Secret Service agents after I’d punched him. I made myself stand up straight and smile, because there was no way I was going to look like an idiot in photos that could be distributed countrywide.
Peter checked the back of the camera, nodding vigorously. “All done, sir. Excellent photographs.”
The photographer was dismissed and the president turned his attention back to me. “Now everyone will know you and I are on the same team, Dr. Martin. Don’t forget what you’re working for.”
As if I could. “Of course not, sir.”
“And have you learned a lesson from all of this?” he asked quietly.
“Yes I have, Mr. President.” I knew he wouldn’t ask what lesson I’d learned, and would assume I’d learned that I need to be a good girl, so I added, “I’ve learned I need a better security system so that thuggish gentlemen can’t break into my house to threaten me for doing my job, thereby starting a chain of events out of my control that I did my best to get under control.” I turned a bright smile on his rapidly reddening face. I’d probably just shot myself in the foot. Worth it.
He turned away, and ignored me. Doubly worth it. After a pointed look from Derek that drifted from me to the door, I realized with relief that I’d been excused from the briefing that was about to take place. For now at least. Given I was sure it was about me, I assumed I could be called back in to give an…other account of my movements and activities while I’d been AWOL.
Now I knew Derek was part of Halcyon Division, I felt somehow protected. But I still had no idea a, why I wasn’t in custody and b, why I still had this job. Accessing secure servers and extracting intelligence, then working with that intelligence offsite was cause for disciplinary action, even if I ignored the underlying Halcyon directive. But there’d been nothing. “Come back to work and we’ll act like it never happened” was the official line I’d been fed. It made less sense than the time I’d paired a tutu with combat boots, seamed stockings, a ripped Grateful Dead tee, and pink-striped hair. Derek had better be in an answering mood tomorrow for our meeting, because I needed to know what the hell was really going on.
I thanked everyone, genuflected to the president, then rushed out of the conference room and into the elevator back down to my floor where I shoved into the nearest ladies’ room. I almost collided with Nicole, one of my colleagues. She braced herself against the wall, letting me rush past. “Whoa, where’s the fire?”
“He shook my hand.” Shuddering, I pumped soap into both hands, lathering frantically as I bumped the faucet with my forearm.
“Okaaaay, you’re going to have to back up.” She turned the water on for me when my forearm flailing failed. “Who shook your hand?”
“The president. Do you have any Lysol? Like a whole can? Or failing that, I need you to please amputate my right hand. This is an emergency.”
“The president is here?” Disbelief made her voice squeak up. After a beat she mumbled, “Gross.”
“Yep. Upstairs.” I scrubbed my palm furiously with my nails. “And tell me about it.”
“Right, well, I’ll go get a bone saw,” Nicole deadpanned. She leaned against the wall as I washed my hands again. “What’d he want? Did you brief the president?” She sounded appropriately curious. People like us did not meet presidents.
“God no. He just wanted to talk to me about something I was working on before I was sick. Tell me I’d done a great job,” I lied, laughing to myself. I rolled my eyes and rinsed my hands, reassuring myself that I didn’t need to wash them again, despite the feeling of bugs crawling over my skin. “Not exactly the highlight of my first day back.”
“Lucky you,” Nicole said dryly. She studied me. “You feeling better? We were starting to worry about you, thought you’d suffered some complications or something. Sam was complaining about maybe having to take over some work for you, and that he didn’t have anyone to listen to him talk about his cat. FYI, I listened, and dispensed an appropriate amount of sympathy for an event that’s long passed and had an okay resolution.”
“Sounds like him. And sounds like you did some heroic deeds.” I yanked an excess of paper towel from the dispenser, dried my hands, and slam-dunked the balled-up towel into the waste. “And I am okay, thanks, it just hit me hard.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back. Derek’s always an asshole when you’re gone, but he was completely out of his head this time.” She smiled fondly. “Teacher’s pet.”
I made myself return her smile. If only she knew exactly why Derek had been such a bear with a sore head. “You know it.”
Nicole patted my shoulder and pushed out of the bathroom. I stared into the mirror. The bruising around my eyes had faded and the sickly yellow remnants were easily covered by makeup. I’d been “sick.” Right. And as for my boss’s attitude, it was less to do with missing me and more to do with the fact the Higher Ups had been riding his ass about my…transgression.
I wasn’t happy that he’d had to deal with the stress and fallout from my jaunt out of bounds, but that’s why he got paid the big bucks. We still hadn’t discussed the fact that he and I were doubly on the same side, and I wondered if he was technically my boss in the Halcyon ranks too. Knowing my recent luck, he probably fucking well was.
I didn’t see Derek for the rest of the day, and by the time I’d made my way out of the building and walked to my car, it was after five p.m. I’d promised Sophia I’d pick up dinner on the way home, and that I should be at my apartment around six. But now I knew that by the time I negotiated city traffic, I would be late. I unlocked the trunk of my car and pulled my phone from its secure, temperature-controlled lockbox bolted to the chassis. I powered it on and messaged Sophia to let her know I was on my way home, apologize for being late, and ask for her dinner order.
The tightening of my skin made me pause putting my phone into my handbag and on instinct, I scanned the parking lot. My gut feeling never lied. I was fairly close to the building, the lot was well-lit, and not to mention more secure than Alcatraz. You couldn’t even get beyond the fences without a pass and if you tried, the assault rifle guys would quickly dissuade you.
But something felt off.
Trying not to appear too obvious, I scanned my surroundings. There. At my four o’clock was someone I’d never expected to see again—the guy I’d first dubbed Swarthy Man, who’d told me his name was Mr. Smith. The man who’d led all my debriefings after I’d turned myself in. Fuck multiplied by three. I held my ground and we made eye contact. His face held the same controlled expression as it had through most of our previous time together.
My face felt as if someone had frozen it in a mix of disbelief and anger. There was no point pretending I hadn’t discovered him following me, because there really was no other reason for him to be in my vicinity. Well, screw him. I closed the distance between us and forced my face into something resembling hospitable. “We meet again, Mr. Smith.” That sounded a little bit Matrix-y.
“Indeed we do.” He held his hands clasped together in front of himself, his posture stiffly upright. “And how are you, Ms. Martin?” He’d shaved the black stubble from his cheeks, exposing more of his darkly tanned olive skin, but his eyes were the same coolly appraising blue they had been during our debriefs.
“Dr. Martin,” I corrected him, and not for the first time. I’d busted my ass for my PhD and I was damned if I’d let these assholes forget it, even if it made me feel like an idiot every time I reminded someone of my title. “And I’m very well, thank you.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.” It didn’t sound insincere, which surprised me.
“Why are you here?”
“I work here,” he responded instantly.
“Right.” I dragged the word out. “Then why have I never seen you here before in the five years I’ve been based at this location?”
“It’s a very big building, Dr. Martin.” Smith leaned in, while still keeping a perfectly polite personal-space bubble around me. His smile was conspiratorial. “But I have a feeling we’re going to see one another more frequently from now on. Have a pleasant evening and say hello to Ms. Flores for me.” He turned and walked away before I could think of a comeback.
By the time I’d thought of one, I’d decided it was for the best that he was gone. I probably would have punched him.
Chapter Four
A good result, don’t you think?
Sophia looked up as I juggled work and dinner bags through my apartment door. Her eyebrows shot up, her mouth falling open before she snapped it closed on a smile. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” She made a slow up-and-down inspection, and her heated gaze made me feel suddenly self-conscious.
I unloaded dinner onto the counter and ran a hand down my stomach, smoothing the fabric of my gray silk blouse. I’d just nervously checked that the collar lay flat when it twigged. I’d left for work that morning wearing gym gear for my at-work workout and carrying a plastic garment bag of crisp office clothes, and Sophia had never seen me dressed for the office.
In our time together, I’d been mostly dressed casually in sweatpants or jeans, tees and hoodies with boots or sneakers. Thirteen-year-old-tomboy chic. On our three dates I’d obviously dressed up, but definitely not in skirts and heels with a full face of take me seriously, men makeup. The unashamed desire in her eyes turned my self-consciousness to confidence. “Do I need to give you the secret code word so you know it’s really me?”
“I think a kiss will do.”
I slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her against me, and kissed her like I hadn’t seen her in a week, instead of just twelve hours. “Do I pass the test?” I asked once I’d pulled back, trying to rein in my flush of excitement.
“Yeah, you do.” Sophia exhaled loudly, apparently as affected by the kiss as I was. “God, you in a skirt suit and heels is hot as fuck. How did I not know this about you?”
I divested myself of handbag and gym bag. “Is this where I say I look hot as fuck in anything?”
“And out of anything,” she quipped.
“Smooth.” I hung my coat, then tugged her closer for a hug. “Hi,” I murmured. “How was your day?”
Sophia’s arms stole around me and she burrowed her face into my shoulder, muffling her words. “Productive. But I missed you. God you smell good,” she added absently. “How did I also not know your perfume is incredible?”
“I had to keep some secrets from you,” I teased, and immediately regretted my careless wording. I’d kept many secrets from her. Necessary ones, but secrets nonetheless. “I mean,” I fumbled, “you know what I mean.”
She pulled back, her expression softening. “Yes, I do.” Sophia stretched up to kiss me again. “Why don’t you go change out of those incredibly sexy work clothes and into something comfortable and still sexy, and I’ll set the table.”
“Deal.”
I changed into sweatpants and a hoodie and pulled my hair out of its ponytail, leaving it free, and came back to find Sophia rummaging around my kitchen. She’d made herself so at home in my home, and I loved it. We moved easily around each other, pouring drinks and setting out Turkish takeout. I’d imagined this, in an abstract way, while we’d been in Florida. It had been so easy being close quartered together and I’d wondered if it would be as easy back in the real world, while resigning myself to the fact that it would never happen. But it was happening and it was easy and I loved it.
Once we’d each dished up platefuls of food, I started the dinner conversation with, “So I met the president today.”
Sophia’s forkful froze midway to her mouth. “Are you serious? Wow. That’s…um…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she fumbled for words. Eventually she gave up, shook her head, and forked falafel and rice into her mouth.
I decided to help her out, and finished off her attempted sentence with, “Shitty and gross. I know.”
She covered her mouth as she chewed, then burst into laughter, loud and rich, full of genuine amusement. “I was trying to find the right words to express yay for meeting the leader of the country but no-fucking-thanks for it being that one. Are you okay?” she teased.
“I’ll live. But I did consider amputating my hand after he shook it.” I ate the forkful of food I’d been carefully compiling, savoring the tartness of my salad against the rich cig kofte.
Sophia’s eyes narrowed as she stared at my hand like it was radioactive. “I hope you washed that hand, or it’s not touching me.”
“I did,” I confirmed. “So many times. Scrubbed, in fact.”
“Good.” Her forehead furrowed, and remained furrowed through another mouthful of food. “Why exactly did you meet the president?”
There was no way I could tell her that he had basically made a personal visit to intimidate me. That he was incensed about someone blowing the lid off the Kunduz intelligence. “Work stuff,” I said airily, then busied myself tearing my flatbread into small pieces and adding a dollop of baba ghanoush to each portion.
If Sophia suspected that our sojourn in Florida was linked to the president’s visit, she didn’t let on. Despite the time we’d spent together, we were still in the getting-to-know-you phase, learning new things about each other every day. And though I would say confidently that I knew her, I couldn’t add very well. Yet. But I did know that she had very little guile, and I trusted myself enough to read her expressions. And trusted her to tell me what she thought or felt. Which she usually did.
That guilelessness was part of what made having to lie to her, or rather, distort the truth, so hard. I’d done it a fair bit in those early days. Early days… It felt like a lifetime ago, though it was only a month. Every time I’d told a mistruth, or an outright lie, I felt a stab of guilt and had to remind myself that not only was it necessary because of my job, but that I was protecting her. That which she did not know, could not harm her. But lying to Sophia always felt a bit like shooting Bambi’s mom. I ate my bread and had to force it down around the dry, tight lump in my throat.
