Chasing the White Lion by James Hannibal (best free e book reader .TXT) 📗

“I’m . . . sorry?”

“Two full days, Talia. Without a word. And then I come out this morning to find you laughing and joking with Gupta as if you’d been here the whole time.”

“I checked in with Dulles Station. I turned in my IDs, my cash. I followed protocol.”

“Yes. The cash. One hundred thousand dollars, earmarked for Zverev. All there. I found that detail particularly interesting.”

“Interesting?” Why should returning all the Agency’s money upset her boss?

“We’ll circle back around to the money. My point, Talia, is the Directorate—this Clandestine Service you claim to love—is more than procedure. We are a team.” The tightness in her features softened. “I’m your mentor, your friend. I would have thought you’d come to me the moment you set foot in the building.”

The stiff-necked division chief had never used the word mentor with Talia, let alone friend. But now that the offense had been laid before her, rare and raw, Talia couldn’t imagine it any other way. Maybe Tyler and Brennan were wrong about Jordan. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am.”

“I know. And I know I’m partly to blame. Listen, as a woman leading an intelligence division like REED, I must maintain a cold persona.” She raised an eyebrow. “I have to be the Ice Queen.”

“You heard us?”

“Yes, and I don’t mind. I play the Ice Queen to keep my edge, to stay ahead. You’ll have to do the same one day. But I’m not as calculating and heartless as I seem. The truth is, I was worried about you. I’m thrilled you made it home.” She gestured to a chair. “Please. Sit. Regale me with the tale of your daring escape.”

Talia did, hesitantly at first but with growing ease—until she came to the part where Oleg had betrayed her.

“Wait. Who knocked the gun away?”

“A . . . bystander. Someone trying to help. There were two in the bar.” It wasn’t a lie, but it sounded like one, even to Talia’s ears. The next part made it worse. “Their friend was waiting with a truck.”

“So, you’re in a bar full of Russian killers when two bystanders decide to fight them. And they’ve even got a buddy out in the parking lot keeping the truck warm?”

“Some guys don’t like smoky bars. The guy with the truck was very fit.” That part was true.

“And these men, they never asked for payment. I know this because”—Jordan shrugged—“if you recall, you turned in all that cash. Every red cent.”

The cash. Now she understood. She had been too honest for her own good. What was the alternative? Steal from the agency? Talia tried deflecting with humor. “Red cent. Russia. I see what you did there.”

“Mmm. And this third helper”—Jordan flopped a hand—“the one so cautious about breathing secondhand smoke. He captures Oleg outside the bar and holds him long enough for a pack of new Russians to drive up and shoot him?”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She hadn’t told Jordan about the shooting. “Uh . . . Correct.”

Jordan slapped a photo down between them. “This guy?” She pointed to a blurry form in the back of a Toyota HiLux. “Is he our health nut?”

There was Talia, in grainy glory, with Tyler and Finn holding Oleg up against the tailgate as a lifeless bullet sponge. The shot had come from an overhead traffic cam. Maybe they had run a red light. Maybe they had been speeding. Maybe both. Why hadn’t she expected there to be pictures? There were always pictures. This wasn’t a story shared between friends reunited. This was an interrogation. Jordan had played her. Like always.

Among the five in the truck, only Talia’s and Oleg’s faces were visible, and nowhere near recognizable with the blur. “No. Uh . . . The guy who caught Oleg is driving.” Talia coughed. Her throat had gone dry. “Where’d that photo come from?”

“Speed cam. You didn’t see it?”

“No.”

“Not great for a field operative.”

“I was getting shot at.” Talia tapped the picture. “Shouldn’t we be looking into the guys trying to kill me instead of the guys helping me?”

“You tell me. I see five targets in that truck, yet all the bullets wound up in poor Oleg.” Jordan slid the picture away. “Talia. Is it possible these men who helped you are also the ones who sold you out? Is it possible the whole charade was just a way to make you trust them?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“Have they attempted to contact you since that night in Volgograd?”

“No. No they haven’t.” That, at least, was true.

“Good.” Jordan walked around the desk to take Talia’s elbow and help her up. “Look. I’ve been running you ragged for six months. You missed some tricks in Volgograd, leading to a dangerous situation. You certainly missed the camera. You’re fatigued. Take some time off.”

“What?” Talia stepped back from the chair. “No, I’m fine.”

“This isn’t an offer. It’s an order. I don’t want to see your face for two weeks.” Jordan narrowed her eyes, studying her subordinate. “Better yet, three. Now get out of here. I have to prepare for a lunch with Senator Ramirez, the chair of the intelligence committee.” She walked Talia to the door. “We’ll keep on this. For my money, your good Samaritans and your attackers are more connected than you think. I’ll have Gupta and Sue Lin work on tracing both groups.”

“Without me?”

“I think we can handle it. The Directorate was, after all, the world’s premier intelligence division long before you arrived.”

By the time she finished the statement, Jordan had pushed Talia over the threshold. The door fell shut, and Talia heard her muted voice from the other side. “Don’t just stand there. Go home.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

STATE ROUTE 123

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

JORDANHADPLAYEDHER. Talia’s mind spun as her Civic clanked over the flattened hydraulic barriers of Langley’s southern gate. How foolish she’d been. No conversation with Jordan was ever just a conversation.

“Leave them wondering how much you know,” Jordan had told her moments before Talia walked into her first mock interrogation back