Code of Honor

Chapter Six

“Did you have any trouble getting here?” Graves asked his daughter. Jane took a few steps toward him and then hesitated when he made no move to meet her. He buried the strange, unbidden impulse to pull her close. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged any of his children. Perhaps he never had. From the time they were young, his focus had been to train them. To prepare them. They’d all done very well and he was proud of them. Good soldiers, each of the three—loyal and firm in their beliefs. A commander’s responsibility wasn’t to praise his soldiers, but to harden them for battle. The reward came in doing one’s duty. That was praise enough.

“No, sir. No problems.” Jane’s slate-blue eyes, a shade grayer than her sister’s, held his. “I took public transportation—buses and trains for the most part. Untraceable. It took me a while to get here, but I didn’t want to risk a call.”

Graves walked to his desk and sat behind it. Jane turned to face him at parade rest. He nodded approvingly when she finished her report. “Smart tactical maneuver.”

“Sir.” Jane focused on a spot to the left of Graves’s shoulder, respectfully allowing him the superior position even though she was standing. “I left when I didn’t hear from the lieutenant at the appointed time. Our orders were to protect our positions from any threat of exposure.”

“Your orders were correct.”

Jane’s left eyelid twitched, the only sign she’d given of uncertainty. “If I may ask, what is the lieutenant’s status?”

A fist tightened in Graves’s innards. A gnawing sensation, like acid etching its way through steel, eroded his midsection. He ignored the burning pain as he had been doing since the failed operation in DC. “Our last communication confirmed receipt of the contagion. Beyond that, we’ve had no contact.”

“Do you think she’s been apprehended?” A flicker of frank concern raced across Jane’s face before she schooled her expression to neutrality again. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

He’d have to speak to her about those small breaks in discipline. A good interrogator would latch onto physical tells like leeches on bare skin.

“We have to make that assumption,” Graves said.

“With respect, sir, are there plans to extract her? I’d like to volunteer.”

“Not at this time,” Graves said flatly. And possibly never. He could not risk further compromise for the sake of one soldier, even a highly valuable one. Jennifer would not betray them, of that he was certain. He trained all his soldiers well, but he had trained his children even better. They weren’t raised to simply follow orders. They were instilled with the same dedication to the mission as he held. They burned with the same fervor. They believed as he did, that personal sacrifice was a small price to pay for success. He’d raised them to excel, to follow career paths that would place them in positions where they could be used to further the cause when the time was right.

Never had he expected such an opportunity as had been presented to him when a man named Hooker had approached him with a request for an unusual weapon. A WMD developed not by the Pentagon or DOD, but by the capitalist industrial complex. Graves didn’t know Hooker’s backer, although he had men working to find out, but the plan reeked of political ambition. For the time being, Graves was willing to lend the manpower and weapons of his militia in support. They had lost a battle in DC, and they would not lose the next one.

“Can we get word to her?”

“By the terms of the Patriot Act,” Graves said, nearly choking on the hypocrisy of the term, “she can be held incommunicado indefinitely. With luck, she’ll find a way to get word to us.”

“And Robbie?”

“His position is still secure. He’s safe.”

“Good.” Jane straightened her shoulders. “I’m prepared for new orders, sir.”

Graves suspected Jennifer would be incarcerated until his mission was accomplished, which might take years. His middle child, only a year younger than Jane and very nearly her twin in appearance, had managed to position herself at the very heart of the enemy’s power—the White House. Her loss was a major strategic setback. Jane, the most cerebral of his children, had bypassed the military for a career in science and research. He’d pushed her toward experimental labs where she might gain access to high-level projects and lethal bio-agents. She had surpassed his hopes as well, advancing rapidly at Eugen Corp until she was assigned to a Level 4 lab. Now that the attempts to infect Powell and high-ranking members of the government with a virulent contagion had failed, and Jane’s cover was almost certainly compromised, she was no longer of value in covert operations. But she was still one of his finest marksmen.

“I need snipers.”

She smiled. “It will be good to carry a weapon larger than a test tube again.”

“Put your time in on the range, prove you are fit for field duty, and I’ll give you command of C Company.”

She straightened to attention and saluted briskly. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He rose and saluted. “It’s good to have you back, Captain.”

*

The gym was nearly deserted. Most of the city had taken an extended holiday, and the streets teemed with people carrying shopping bags, darting in and out of stores, rushing to Metro platforms, and generally enjoying the air of post-holiday celebration. Cam opened the combination lock on the locker she and Blair kept at the gym a few blocks from Dupont Circle. Unlike Blair’s favorite gym in New York City, this one was more a modern health club. All the lights worked, the floors were clean industrial tiles—as opposed to scuffed and pockmarked concrete, cracked and dinged from years of heavy weights clanging on it—and the locker rooms, men’s and women’s, were brightly lit, clean, and equipped with functional private showers. While enjoying the amenities, Cam missed the smell of old leather and rubber. She missed the grunts and curses of men pushing their bodies to lift more, punch harder, move faster. She even missed the appreciative stares Blair drew as she worked out in the ring, swift and lethal.

The DC gym had about equal numbers of men and women, and for the most part the emphasis was on fitness, not fighting. But the owners had partitioned off a part of the huge space for a sparring ring. In a city filled with federal agents, the move had been a wise one. While every agency had its own gyms, many agents preferred to get away from work when they relaxed, and a workout was very often a major form of relaxation.

As Cam followed Blair to the ring, watching the muscles ripple in her bare shoulders and her thighs bunch with each determined stride, she considered that a workout might also be a form of seduction.

Blair slowed, looked back over her shoulder, and said, “Spar first. Play later.”

“You should stop reading my mind.”

Blair grinned. “I don’t think so. But you’d better keep your mind on your guard. I’m not feeling friendly.”

Cam laughed. “Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

*

Loren watched Skylar finish her breakfast in a nonchalant, unhurried fashion, while trying to work out the angles—what would be in it for Skylar to come out of the dark like this if she actually were Loren’s handler. Or, looking at the other side of the coin, who Skylar might be working for if her goal was to expose Loren as an undercover agent. Logic and Loren’s experience told her the second was a much more likely scenario—Skylar was lying. Maybe one of the middlemen Loren used to procure arms had gotten suspicious and run a background trace. Her cover was good, but if anyone searched far enough back, they’d discover she didn’t have much of a history before she went into the army. At least, no history that anyone could find. She had a family, though—parents and a younger brother. Her only demand when she’d accepted the offer of a nameless man who had appeared at her tent in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night offering her the opportunity to serve her country in a way, as he put it, “that would be far more significant than anything you might do if you stayed in the regular forces,” had been that her family would be untouchable. He had assured her that was possible if she was willing to leave her past behind—all of it. He’d given her a week to decide, and she hadn’t slept for most of it, wondering if there was some way to tell them what was happening without putting them at risk. The best she’d been able to do was ask them to trust her and to tell them she’d be in touch again when she could. She’d Skyped with her mother, and she could see her mother’s brilliant mathematical mind analyzing what she wasn’t saying, the way she always had. Her mother had looked at her for a long time in silence and finally said, “You’ve always made us proud. I know that will never change. Be careful. We’ll talk to you soon.”

Loren had talked to her father next, and he’d had that slightly befuddled look he got when he was concentrating on a new project and part of his mind was elsewhere, but at the very end, when she’d said good night, his focus had grown steady and clear. He’d smiled at her and said, “Good night is a good phrase. I never did like good-bye. I love you.”

A deep background check might tag her past as questionable, but she would rather she be vulnerable than them. Maybe Skylar was the bait someone had sent to try to convince her that she was actually talking to her handler. Then again, Skylar had her burn-phone number, and no one except her handler had that. She bought the phones herself and sent the number by text to a drop-box number after rerouting it around the world half a dozen times. Someone might possibly have killed her handler and taken her phone, but the chances of that… She ran the probabilities in her mind nearly as fast as her mother would have and came up with a pretty small number.

“Make a decision yet?” Skylar asked.

“I guess you forgot to add mind reader to your list of accomplishments.”

“Not really.” Skylar wiped her mouth on a paper napkin, balled it up, and slid it into her pocket. She tugged another paper napkin from the holder and methodically cleaned each utensil she’d used as well as the rim of the cup. Her movements were practiced and, unless someone was watching her very carefully, not at all obvious.

“Okay, that’s impressive.”

Skylar laughed shortly. “Never can be too careful.”

“I know.”

Leaning back, Skylar shrugged. “There’s not much else I can do to convince you. And, really, if you were an easy sell, I’d be worried. But we don’t have a lot of time. Things are heating up, and I’m not sure we have a great picture of exactly where all the pieces are going to fall. We need to get out in front of this.”

“There’s nothing going on with the Renegades that hasn’t been going on for the last couple of years. So you’re here because of the militia.”

Skylar’s left eyebrow rose an eighth of an inch. “Well, I see you’ve made a decision.”

She had, and it wasn’t because of any conclusion she’d come to through logic or analysis. Her gut told her Skylar was on the level, and her gut had kept her alive this long. If she was wrong, then she could hope that she’d figure it out before Skylar reported back to whoever had hired her. If she took Skylar out and made it look like an accident, she’d buy time before someone else came looking. She’d just have to keep Skylar close. “So? What’s going on with the militia?”

“That’s what we want to find out. Right now, all we’re hearing is a lot of chatter on the Internet and reports of high-level deals from various informants—details murky.” Skylar leaned forward. “We need to compare notes.”

Loren scanned the diner. No one was paying much attention to them, but she was never happy about staying in one place for too long. If they bumped into someone she knew, she wasn’t sure how she’d explain her early-morning breakfast with the babe who’d showed up out of nowhere the night before. She pulled her wallet from her back pocket and laid a twenty on the table. “Let’s go somewhere else to talk.”

“Where do you suggest?”

“My place.”

*

Cam landed hard on her back and tucked her chin to prevent her skull from slamming into the thin canvas mat. Blair dropped beside her and trapped her right arm in a figure-four hold before flipping her onto her stomach. The pressure in her shoulder increased as Blair ratcheted her arm higher between her shoulder blades. Cam tapped the mat and the pressure disappeared. She rolled over and Blair knelt on the mat, her hands relaxed on her thighs.

“Nice move,” Cam said.

“Your attention was wavering.” Blair grinned.

“No, it wasn’t. You were just a little faster that time.”

“I’ve been wanting to try that move.” Blair shrugged. “Had enough?”

They’d been at it for forty-five minutes. Cam’s T-shirt was soaked with sweat. Blair’s hair lay in dark golden strands along her neck, her face glowed, and her eyes gleamed bright and clear. “If you’re satisfied, I could do with a shower and a late breakfast.”

“Shower here or at home?” Blair asked.

Cam pushed herself up to a sitting position and flipped the wet hair off her forehead. She eyed Blair slowly. “I think home would be safer.”

Blair laughed and rose gracefully to her feet. “Something you have in mind?”

“Yeah. A move I’ve been wanting to try.”