Andrew Britton - The Assassin

“Okay, Diane. Send her in.”

Andrews stood, adopted a sober expression, and straightened his tie as the door swung open. Getting to his feet, Harper took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself. This was going to be painful, to say the least.

It was perhaps ten minutes later that Naomi found herself in the cafeteria on the ground floor. She looked around in a daze, only dimly aware of the tacky plum-colored walls and industrial seating. A few employees breaking for an early lunch were scattered around the room, spaced well apart in the way people do when they have a choice in the matter.

With little else to do, she walked up to the counter and purchased a large cup of coffee, momentarily forgetting that she hated the stuff. A liberal amount of sugar and cream made it bearable, and she carried the lukewarm beverage back to a seat. She took a small sip and squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to lay her head on the table and let it all out.

She had known this could happen, of course, but nothing compared to the reality. Worst of all was the speed with which she had been dispatched. It had been so quick; the director had cut her loose in a matter of minutes, barely giving her time to wrap her mind around the idea that her career with the CIA was essentially over. His words had been rattling around in her head since the moment she’d stepped out of his office. I’m sorry, Naomi, but you’ve given me no choice… blatant disregard for authority… clear violation of standing orders… administrative leave pending further inquiries.

The words, as well as what they meant for her future, had left her numb, at least for the first few minutes. Now that the shock was starting to pass, reality was settling in. She would still be able to get a job — her academic credentials would see to that — but that wasn’t the point. She loved her work; it was that simple, and after everything she had done at the Agency, she knew that nothing else would ever be able to hold her interest. It was awful to know that she had reached the peak of her career at thirty-one years of age, and with that thought, it became too much. She put her head on her arms and did her best to hold back the tears.

A shadow crossed the table, and she looked up, startled. Jonathan Harper was standing there, holding a cup of coffee. There was a subdued expression on his face. “Mind if I join you?”

“No,” she said miserably, quickly wiping a hand across her eyes. It was beyond embarrassing to be seen this way, but she hadn’t expected him. She waved at the opposite seat. “Be my guest.”

He took the proffered chair and waited as she composed herself hurriedly. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine, sir. It’s just that…” She shrugged helplessly. “I’ve been here five years, and now it’s over. It’s just a little hard to believe.”

Harper nodded sympathetically. Even though she was doing her best to hide it, she was clearly devastated by her dismissal. He was tempted to remind her that she wasn’t supposed to have played the role she did, that she couldn’t blame anyone but herself for the mess she was in, but the last thing she needed at this point was a lecture. She’d be telling herself the same thing anyway.

“The funny thing,” she continued slowly, “is that I would probably do it again.” There was a strange wonderment in her voice, as though she could scarcely believe her own words. “Ryan couldn’t have done it by himself, after all, and I happen to think he’s right.”

“About Vanderveen?”

She nodded. “Sir, when it comes to that man, we can’t afford to wait for ironclad proof. By going forward with the meeting at the UN, the president is virtually daring him on. I’d be shocked if he didn’t make a play in New York, and the only way to stop it is to find him first.”

“I happen to agree,” Harper said quietly. “But you’re out of it, so I don’t suppose there’s much you can do, is there?”

It was a blunt, brutal thing to say, but she absorbed the words silently. “I suppose you’re right.”

“What will you do now?”

She tried to hide her sudden curiosity; it was almost as if he was measuring her up for something. “To be honest, I don’t really know. Maybe I’ll take some time off, see what turns up. It’s just not fair, though… We managed to track Ruhmann down, and the Agency isn’t going to do a damn thing about it.”

“What’s your point?”

She straightened and shot him a hard look. “My point is that I’m involved as well, sir. I was involved from the start. I want to finish this.”

“With Ryan.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “If anyone has earned-” She stopped herself. “That’s not the right word. If anyone deserves the chance to go after Vanderveen, it’s him.”

“So if he wanted your help, you would be willing to offer it.”

“Yes, but I’d want to know what I’m dealing with.” She hesitated again; she knew the two men were good friends, and there was a limit to what she could ask. “I’d need to know if he’s…”

“Stable enough? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Sir, I don’t-”

“Relax, Naomi. It’s a reasonable question, considering what you’ve given up for him.”

Harper fell silent. She stayed quiet, letting him think it through. Finally, he got to his feet abruptly.

“Come on, let’s take a walk.”

They made their way up to the ground floor and passed through the turnstiles, stepping out into a small courtyard. The open area was positioned between the OHB and the New Headquarters Building, the cement littered with black plastic picnic tables. The sun was out, and the air was agreeably warm. A few people had taken advantage of the weather to eat lunch outside, but most of the tables were free. Harper picked one apart from the others, which gave them a little privacy. Once they were seated, he leaned back and stared morosely into his coffee. His brow was furrowed, as if he was deciding where to begin, or whether to talk at all. Naomi remained silent, trying not to appear too anxious. She desperately wanted to hear what he had to say, but she knew he would only talk if he wanted to.

Finally, he said, “How much do you know? About what happened in Maine, I mean?”

“Only what you told me over the phone, sir.”

Harper nodded. “Well, I’ll try to fill in the blanks, but don’t get the wrong idea. I know this is the first time you’ve seen him in nearly a year, and I’m guessing you’ve made the natural assumption: that it all comes down to what happened that night. But that’s not the case. Ryan was on the edge of things a long time before he lost Katie Donovan. You have to remember, he’s served in some of the worst places on earth, and he’s seen a lot of terrible things.”

Naomi nodded slowly, remembering a story she’d heard the previous year. There had been a Muslim girl in Bosnia who’d fallen hard for the young Special Forces lieutenant. Kealey had gone out of his way to be kind to her, talking to her every day on patrol, accepting her little tokens of chocolate and flowers, much to the amusement of his fellow soldiers. Then tragedy struck. The Serbian militia found out she was talking to the Americans. The girl disappeared, and two days later, her badly beaten body was discovered on the bank of the Miljacka River by a passing army patrol.

There had been little chance of justice; in a city where dozens of innocent people died each day, a thirteen-year-old girl did not count for much in the larger scheme of things. Kealey had taken matters into his own hands, and three days after her death, her killer — a militia leader by the name of Stojanovic — was found dead in a safe house in Sarajevo, his throat cut from ear to ear. Kealey had nearly been court-martialed, but while rumors abounded, no proof could be found linking him to Stojanovic’s death. Naomi, for one, didn’t need proof; she had seen him in action, and she knew what he was capable of.