Andrew Britton - The Invisible

He asked that someday, whether it was five years from now or twenty, they might come to understand. He knew he had no right to ask such things; it had been many years since he’d set foot in a mosque, and his faith—even under the guidance of his devout uncle—had been tepid at best. Given the magnitude of the task he was facing, though, he felt sure that God would understand. Taking one last look at the empty sky, he turned and went inside, then closed the door behind him.

ORAEFI

As he stared across the room in disbelief, Ryan Kealey fought to push down a surge of rising emotions. He was doing his best to keep them in check, but it just wasn’t working. Shock, anger, relief, and confusion were all hitting him hard, but the anger was steadily winning out. It was immediately obvious that he had been kept in the dark for a reason other than the one he had settled upon a few months earlier. After much internal debate, he’d decided that the woman he was currently staring at had left him simply because she needed some time and space to herself. It was the only thing that made sense, because their relationship could not have been better. With her sudden reappearance in this particular place, though, it was all too clear how wrong he had been.

“You knew?” he finally asked. It was a struggle to keep his voice under control. He had about a million questions to ask, but for the most part, he was still trying to figure out exactly what was happening here. “You knew where she was the whole time?”

“It was her decision to keep it from you,” Harper explained quietly, “and she came to me in the first place. I want to emphasize that.”

“When?” Kealey managed to ask. His gaze was locked on Naomi Kharmai. Her shoulders seemed tense, as though she could feel his attention, but he knew it was all in his mind. There was no way she could know the conversation had turned to her. She wouldn’t be able to hear them; the small fire didn’t do much to heat the large room, and the heating system was obviously in disrepair, as it was unusually noisy. “When did she contact you?”

“It was the first week of February. She was a wreck at the time, falling apart at the seams. If you could have seen her the day after she called, the first time I saw her, you’d know what I’m talking about. In other words, I didn’t have a choice. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ryan. There was no way I could have turned her down, not after what she’s done for us. Not after the sacrifices she’s made.”

Harper paused to gauge the younger man’s reaction. When Kealey remained silent, he shifted uneasily, then went on with the story.

“She didn’t want to come to Langley. Not at first, and not as a visitor, so we met at a coffee shop in Georgetown. It was a pretty short conversation, and she did most of the talking. Basically, she wanted to come back into the fold, but she didn’t want to go back to London, and she didn’t want to return to the CTC. She wanted something else, and I made it happen.”

“What did she want?”

“To be completely honest, I didn’t even hesitate,” said Harper, pushing on. It was as if he hadn’t heard the question. “She was already more than qualified, and you know what I’m talking about, because you’ve seen it yourself. For one thing, she has a gift when it comes to languages. It’s amazing, really. She just soaks them up like—”

“John, what are you trying to say?” Kealey asked, making an effort to control his rising temper. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been told about this earlier. “What did she want from you?”

“Training,” the other man answered simply. “She wanted training.”

Kealey wasn’t sure how to respond to that. As he tried to interpret the cryptic remark, Harper stood and collected his coat.

“I’ll let her explain the rest. As for what we discussed earlier, you’re already booked on a flight tomorrow evening. It’s not binding, of course, but I always travel hopefully. Take some time to think it over, but I need your decision by noon. That’s when the last bus leaves for Keflavík. And Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go too hard on her. She could use your support.”

Harper had paused on the way out the door to murmur a few words in her ear, but five minutes had passed since then, and Naomi still hadn’t moved. She hadn’t even glanced over her shoulder. From where he was sitting, Kealey couldn’t see her face, so he had no way of knowing what she was thinking. He could read her body language, though, and her tense, constant movements were saying a lot. She seemed to be pushing a glass back and forth in a deliberate way, as though turning something over in her mind, or deciding how best to approach their unexpected reunion.

Unexpected on his end, Kealey corrected himself. She must have known this was coming for quite some time. He desperately wanted to jump up and walk over, but he knew it was better to let her make the first move. They hadn’t seen each other in half a year, after all, and there was no point in pushing things now. It was a lot to take in. Her sudden reappearance had hit him hard, and he was still trying to figure out how to react. Unfortunately, he had run out of time to think it through. Without warning, she had climbed off her stool and started across the worn carpet. A few seconds later she slipped into the seat that Harper had just vacated, folded her arms across her chest, and fixed him with a steady stare. Her mouth was set in a straight, tight line. There was nothing apologetic about the way she was looking at him; in fact, it was just the opposite. It was almost as if she were upset with him, which didn’t make sense at all.

“Naomi,” he said slowly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what to say. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I haven’t seen you in months, and now you just . . .”

“I know. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. It just kind of happened that way.”

“How have you been?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut and looked away. It was a trite, obvious question, but it was the way he had asked it that made all the difference. The concern in his voice could not have been more genuine, and judging by the small frown that had crossed her face, he’d taken her by surprise. She probably expected him to be angry, Kealey realized, and on some level, he was. For the moment, though, he was just relieved to see her again. She was still distracted, so he took a second to look her over. The white cashmere sweater she was wearing was one of her favorites, as familiar as her snug, worn jeans and clunky heels. Her shimmering black tresses drifted around her face and over her shoulders, her bangs sweeping from left to right across her forehead. It was a slight variation on her usual style, and it served to conceal most of the pale, crooked scar that bisected her right cheek. It was the only mark on her otherwise flawless caramel-colored skin, which only made it that much more noticeable.

Most of all, he was struck by her posture, which was hard to read. She looked aggressive and defensive all at once. Her arms remained folded across her chest, and her jaw was clenched tightly shut. It was almost as if she were daring him to question the choices she’d made since their last conversation—the choices she’d intentionally kept from him for months on end.

Kealey couldn’t tell how much was show and how much reflected an actual change in her personality, but he didn’t think that her recent training at “The Farm”—the Agency’s main training facility near Williamsburg, Virginia—could have changed her this much. It was more likely that the trials she had gone through the previous year were really to blame. It was strange to see her this way, stripped of her innocence and naiveté. Mostly, though, it was just good to see her again, to know that she hadn’t succumbed to her inner turmoil.