4. Kieran
4
Kieran
The witness fidgets as I drive us toward the safehouse. It seems like he can’t find a comfortable spot, shifting and stretching and folding like he’s sitting on thorns. He looks just as spooked as earlier, though a hint of annoyance now accompanies the glances he throws my way.
“What’s your name?” I ask, wishing to ease the awkwardness that has settled between us.
He crosses his arms and pouts. It’s kind of cute. “Don’t you already know that? Agent Stevenson .”
Heh. I stifle down a chuckle. He’s got bite, I’ll give him that. And I do know his name. Matthew Bauer. It was in the summary file that HQ gave me when Code Red Molniya came in. He’s a college student aged twenty-two, so two years younger than me. He’s lived with his aunt and her husband since the passing of his parents. His name used to be Matthew Clements before they took him in and had it changed. As for the way he looks… The picture on his file is definitely out of date. His hair is longer, lighter in color, and currently a mess. It’s hard to see the exact color of his eyes, but they are a soft shade of green. Frustrated, too. He has a delicate brow ridge and a regal nose, with a beauty mark just under his left nostril.
“Yeah, I do. But I thought I’d ask you anyway.”
“You are weird.” He huffs. I’m pretty sure he does it while rolling his eyes at me, too. It’s not my fault any of this happened, but I understand how stressed he must be. Hell, I would be too. He’s handling things relatively well in fact, so if pulling an attitude on me helps him distract himself, then I’m more than happy to oblige.
“You can call me Kieran,” I suggest, channeling professionalism and neutrality in my voice.
“Okay, Kieran . Tell me what the fuck is going on right now .”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. You’ll have to wait until they brief you.”
It’s standard procedure and there isn’t much I can do. The fact that he didn’t even know his relatives were involved with the CIA testifies to the sensitivity of the matter at hand. I’ve never met Christine or Gordon, but from what I was told, it seems both of them were Black Ops.
I steer the car toward a series of inconspicuous production buildings. The safehouse is in the middle one. I’ve never been to it. In fact, this is my first big case since I started working at the Agency, two years ago. Part of why is because I spent a bit of time at Witness Protection before that, shadowing marshals. I didn’t get to do much—it was mostly reports and briefings and occasionally being a meat shield for the witness on their trip from the car to the courtroom, but I have a feeling that my background might end up handy tonight.
Matthew groans. “Ugh. Fuck this. Can you at least tell me what this Red Molniya is?”
I chew my bottom lip. I guess I could tell him that much. I’ll keep things as vague as I can, but it will provide him with something to occupy his mind. Plus, I kind of need him to trust me if I want to stay on this case. I just recently moved up the ranks and started at the CIA’s new Internal Recon Intelligence Service (IRIS) Unit. It’s under direction by the FBI and as such, we can operate within the US in certain cases. Red Molniya happens to be that.
“It’s used when an agent fears for their life but has assets in their possession that need to be retrieved.”
This is mostly true. Each type of emergency has a different color codename, depending on what it pertains to. What I told him covers ‘Red’. I know all the remaining codes too, the information is in the manual I had to memorize before I joined the dispatch and response division of IRIS, but Molniya itself… Well, that one is technically above my paygrade. I wasn’t really supposed to even be assigned to it, but let’s just say that I was the closest available agent, and luck was on my side tonight.
Obviously, he doesn’t need to know that part.
Matthew presses his mouth into a hard line. “So, you are saying that Chrissy and Gordon knew they might not make it…”
Those types of questions are always the hardest to answer. “They most likely did. But they saved your life.”
He glances out the window for the first time as I bring the car to a stop at the underground parking lot and the pair of agents in suits stationed by the elevator head our way. Turning back to me, he takes out the small box from his pocket.
“Because of this,” he says in accusation. “And you won’t even tell me what it is.”
I run a hand through my wet hair. The adrenaline rush has almost drained from me, so I’m really starting to feel the cold. I’m pretty sure he is, too. We need to get changed.
“I don’t know what’s in the box, Matthew.” At his raised eyebrow, I shake my head. “It’s the truth. But I can tell you this: your aunt and her husband were involved in something big, because the entirety of the CIA is on high alert. So whatever this asset might be, it’s probably bigger than you can imagine.”
I open the door and slip out, jogging around the car to let him out. He gives me a look, then lets the two agents pat him down. Standing next to him in a sufficiently lit up space makes me realize how compact he is. 5’5” his file said. I knew that. But things were hot when I rescued him, and I had no time to take inventory of him properly. Fortunately, it looks like he doesn’t have any major injuries, just a few scratches and scrapes.
As soon as the agents finish their check, they radio upstairs and we are given the okay to proceed. Our destination is the third floor. Matthew and I board the elevator, and I press the corresponding button after scanning my badge. Pop music plays as the doors close and we begin to ascend.
“You are wrong, you know,” Matthew says, rubbing the underside of his wrist. I’m pretty sure it’s the one I was holding, as I can spy a trace of redness. “I have a wild imagination. You’ve no idea what kind of scenarios I’ve already gone over.”
I glance at him as he does the same. Our gazes clash, but he doesn’t look away. He faces me head on, a spark of challenge dancing in his green depths. They shimmer, reminding me of the ocean during a storm near my childhood home.
I decide to humor him. “Okay, Mr. Bauer, I concede. But now you have to tell me what those scenarios are.”
“Hah. And why should I do that?”
I lean my shoulder against the mirrored wall and angle my body his way. He slants his eyebrow further down. “You don’t expect me to take your word for it, do you? Every argument and statement require evidence.”
He blinks at me, a tiny smile playing at his lips. They are pink and still a little damp. “What is this, Agent Stevenson? A court hearing?”
“Kieran is fine, I told you.”
We reach our floor and step out. I lead him down the corridor to the office at its end. Wooden panels with black and white pictures cover the walls while evenly spaced chandeliers hang from the ceilings. The red carpet under our feet is old and worn, a testimony to the building’s age.
“Only if you call me Matt. It’s weird if I’m the only one using your first name. Besides, don’t FBI agents get off on that? I have intel that suggests it’s like a kink you develop when you work for the Agency. I mean, doesn’t being called Agent Stevenson get you weak in the knees? It just sounds so sexy.”
Just what did I get myself into? I can’t tell if Matt is blabbering because he is in shock or if this is just how he is.
Shaking my head, I knock on the door. “First. I’m CIA, IRIS Unit. Second, just where do you get your intel, Matt ?”
He grins triumphantly. “ The internet .”
I do let myself smile then, but only for a heartbeat. Then I throw him a warning glare and open the door.
“Agent Stevenson. Mr. Bauer. Please, sit down,” a Black man in a navy suit says, pointing at the two chairs in front of the ornate wooden desk he’s occupying. There is a strange familiarity about him, but I can’t quite place it. “I’m Carl Bucks, Deputy Director of Central Intelligence.”
Oh, yep. That’s where I know him from. I’ve only seen him in videos and pictures, never in person. The job I do just isn’t elite enough for someone of his status to have any direct dealings with me. Usually.
“Whoa. Aren’t you, like, super important?” Matt blurts out, rocking back and forth in his chair.
I think he’s definitely in shock. Enough time has passed for the adrenaline rush to drain off him, so now he’s struggling to process what happened. Overall, he’s holding up pretty well, but I can feel how close he is to losing it.
Carl Bucks laughs, preening a little. I know his type. He’s proud of how far he’s made it—don’t get me wrong, I would be too—but he also lets it get to his head a bit. It’s very obvious in his interviews and addresses if you know what to look for.
“This is a very sensitive matter we are dealing with, Mr. Bauer. Your aunt was one of our most decorated special agents,” the Deputy Director says by way of explanation in his hoarse voice. It’s quite high-pitched, which I never noticed before. They must edit the audio in his videos.
For the most part, Matt manages to hide his surprise. At least on his face. But his hands are squeezing the armrest of the chair in a vise. “I wasn’t aware she, or Gordon, worked for the CIA…” he trails off, his gaze growing distant. “But I guess it explains why they traveled so much and were barely home.”
Most people who work for the CIA are free to share that information with others. Not what they exactly do, of course, but you aren’t required to lie about your employment at the Agency. That, however, isn’t true for the Black Ops and special units. They follow different rules and lead very different lives than the rest of us. It’s where I want to end up too, but it really isn’t as easy as they make it out to be in the movies. Unless you are truly exceptional, which I’m not. Still, something tells me that after today, and if I play my cards right, I might have a hell of a better chance of landing my dream job than I did before.
The Deputy Director’s eyebrows slant down a bit too much. “I’m really sorry for what happened, Mr. Bauer. You have my condolences.”
“Yeah… thanks.”
“I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask you, if that’s okay,” Deputy Bucks says, clasping his hands on top of the desk.
“You phrase it as if I have a choice,” Matt bites back, bristling a little. Interesting. It seems like he’s not a fan of the Director.
Discreetly, I place my hand on Matt’s thigh and squeeze gently. He whips his head at me, mostly ruining my efforts to remain inconspicuous, but I forgive him. For this to work, I need his trust. I don’t know how I’ll get it exactly, but so far it seems like he feels sufficiently comfortable with me. Unlike with the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, even though, technically, he’s my superior and thus has more authority.
Deputy Bucks chuckles, but it’s one of those practiced laughs that’s a little too perfectly executed to be anything but fake. It also sounds like he might be smoking a bit too much.
I peek at Matt subtly. Judging by his frown, he didn’t fall for the fake laugh either.
“The CIA believes that your aunt and her husband were in possession of a very important asset. We would like to know where it is,” the Deputy Director demands.
Matt bunches his brows together as his green eyes turn suspicious. “What is this asset ?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential information, Mr. Bauer.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about then, Director Bucks.” He shrugs, crosses his legs and leans into the chair’s backrest.
It tips back. It’s not really made for leaning your entire weight on it, and even though Matt isn’t exactly big, neither is the chair exactly stable.
Before my brain has even issued the command, I reach out and grab the wobbly thing, preventing it from tilting further and falling. Matt’s eyes go wide. I can practically see the gears of his brain turning as he realizes what was about to happen.
“Be careful,” I mouth, schooling my expression into a neutral scowl. I’ve perfected that transition to such an extent it’s almost a reflex, which is the only reason why I manage to retain professionalism and not to burst out laughing.
Matt is a lot less smooth. His lips part in an exasperated sigh as he grabs the chair by its armrests and yanks it forward. The legs scrape the linoleum, which is just as dated as the rest of this building. I understand leaving the original exterior in order to blend in, but you’d think the interior would be modernized, considering the CIA uses the place.
“This is a matter of national security, Mr. Bauer. I suggest you coopera—”
“I will. As soon as you tell me what this is about. My family was attacked in the middle of the night. My aunt and uncle died, I was chased by armed men and your agent almost gave me a heart attack when he popped out of nowhere and kidnapped me—”
I fake a cough. “ Saved you .”
He throws me an evil glare, the left side of his upper lip twitching. It looks straight out of anime, causing me to fight off a snort.
“So, considering all of this, plus the shitty day I had prior to that, excuse me if I am a bit wary of trusting you,” he finishes with. An endearing pout accompanies his words, but the way he dramatically folds his arms is a bit too much.
Deputy Director Bucks drums his fingers on the desk, squinting his dark brown eyes in dissatisfaction. “I am more than happy to show you my CIA credentials.” He nods at me. “Or those of any of my agents.”
Matt’s frown shifts to a subtle smirk. I think he’s aiming to appear intimidating and confident, but his size coupled with how tired and freaked out he still looks undermine his efforts. Interestingly, that combination scratches some itch in me to help him. It’s just… he’s really been through a lot tonight, yet he’s still holding up like a champ. Most people in his shoes would’ve caved by now; the CIA’s Deputy Director is a rather formidable opponent to be up against just by title alone. He intimidates half the division, while the other half worship him like he is some god.
Yet Matt seems mostly fine in his presence. Therefore, Option Two: Matt is in shock, and this is his coping mechanism. That does seem plausible, yet there is also a third option that, for some inexplicable reason, rubs me as the most likely. The guy I saved tonight, who is probably the most important witness in the recent dealings of the CIA, enjoys pissing people off. On top of not possessing the ability to determine when that is a good idea or not.
“You’ll have to do better than this. You see, I was brought up not to trust people blindly, especially those in positions of power. It’s just how I am. And, no offense, but the CIA is, like, extra shady. Besides, my aunt entrusted me with the thin— asset for a reason.” Uh-huh. And that reason is none other than being in the right place at the right time. “Double agents and spies are a thing, and it is my responsibility to safeguard it until I am sure that you are… someone I can trust.” I lift my hand to my mouth and cover up another snort. He’s so full of shit, but his performance is impressively convincing.
The Deputy Director looks from him to me, rubbing his temples. The lines across his forehead deepen, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to run out of patience.
Yep. I feel you, dude. Our witness sure is a handful.
I flail my arms. “It’s your call, Deputy Director. I followed protocol and didn’t tell him anything he’s not supposed to know.” And because I don’t want to waste this golden opportunity Matt has created for me, I lean forward and add, “I heard the Agency has been looking for the asset for over twenty years. This might be our only chance. Besides, I’m pretty sure Christine Bauer made him a target tonight. Like it or not, he’s involved now and needs our protection, so I believe we can help each other.”
Deputy Director Bucks lets out a thoughtful hum and stands up. “Very well. Both of you, follow me.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Matt pipes up, his confused gaze bouncing between me and my superior. He pushes up from his chair, but pauses, gripping the top of the backrest. “What do you mean I am a target?”
“What Agent Stevenson means is that by handing you the asset, your aunt has unfortunately made you into a target for the people who attacked your house. Thus, it is in our mutual interest to cooperate with each other. But since you are not willing to do that, you leave me no choice.”
Matt stops dead in his tracks as we reach the door. “Oh, fuck no. Please don’t tell me you are going to torture me until I tell you what you want to know!”
I bump his shoulder with mine, stifling down a chuckle. “Shut up and walk.”
“You’ve watched too many movies, Mr. Bauer,” the Deputy Director says, gesturing us down the corridor toward the elevator. “The type of interrogation you are thinking of costs a lot of money and we’ve got a very tight budget.” He steps in, cocking a bushy eyebrow. “So, as requested, I will brief you on your aunt’s case. You will sign several NDA-s and then I will assign you a security detail. In exchange, you will tell me where the box is as well as agree to assist us in catching the people who came after your aunt.”
Okay, this is new. I can see where the Deputy is coming from, I suppose. We can use Matt as bait, seeing as he is now a target. If we play this right, he can lead the CIA straight to whoever this new enemy is.
Matt hesitates before he enters the elevator. I board it last. “Uh, so… You’ll answer my questions. And you will protect me. But, in exchange, you want me, a civilian , to help you in your obviously very dangerous operation by being bait for the bad guys?”
The elevator rocks and begins to move. It takes a few seconds until we arrive at the underground garage, where a black SUV is already waiting for us. As we head over to it, the driver walks out and opens the front passenger door.
“Essentially,” the Deputy Director confirms. He drums his fingers against the upper curve of the door. “Agent Stevenson, you are dismissed. Good job tonight, even if you shouldn’t have been the agent responding. I will have a word with management, so something like this doesn’t happen again. The special lines should only be manned by those with appropriate training and authorization. You can take the rest of the night off. Report in the morning to your supervisor for a debrief.”
I stare blankly at him, my jaw hanging. You gotta be kidding me! After the shitshow tonight was, he did not just tell me to fuck off!
I flash him a professional smile. “Director Bucks, all due respect, but I don’t need time off. As the one who extracted Mr. Bauer, I think I should stay on—”
“Agent Stevenson,” he cuts in, his eyes narrowing. “This is above your clearance level. How you handled things tonight is exemplary, and you will be commended accordingly. But, nevertheless, it was a mistake for you to be dispatched.”
Yes, maybe. Luck too, and a bit of preparation. Or a lot of it. I have been waiting for such an opportunity since I started at the Agency and I’m not about to let it slip just because the big boss wants me off the case.
“Still. I beli—”
“Agent Stevenson. You are dismissed,” he grinds out, his smiling facade dropping. “I suggest you go home and rest unless you are interested in a refresher on internal procedures and protocol.”
Clenching my hands into fists, I watch as the asshole gets in the SUV. Matt opens the backseat door, then pauses, turning around to look at me. I can’t really read his expression, but it’s obvious that something is going on through his head.
The question is—is that a good thing or a bad one?
“Director Bucks?” the small man says, still holding the door and still looking at me.
Bucks pops his head out the window. “Yes?”
“You said I’ll need a security detail. I assume they will be always accompanying me.”
“Yes. They will try to stay out of sight, but considering the danger your aunt inadvertently put you in, you will have security with you 24/7.”
Matt’s mouth twitches, fighting off a smile. “Right. Okay. In that case, they should be someone I feel comfortable with, correct?”
My stomach hums with anticipation. Fuck, this better be going where I think it is going.
“Yes… that would be preferable…”
Clapping his hands, Matt finally looks at the Deputy Director. “Then, I’d like Agent Stevenson to be appointed. He already saved me tonight, so I will feel more at ease if he’s my bodyguard.”
I’ll never forget the glare I get. But all I can do is shrug. It’s not like it’s my fault. Or my idea, as brilliant as it is. Matt has an ulterior motive in demanding I guard him, that much is clear, but I have no clue where to even start guessing what it might be.
“It’s called a security detail. And we have a lot of agents that are more suitable for this job than Agent Stevenson, Mr. Bauer. While he spent just over a year in Witness Protection before joining the Agency and has sufficient training on paper, his actual experience is very limited.”
Nodding his head slowly, Matt sizes me up as if he is border security inspecting merchandise with missing labels from a third world country. “Very limited implies he has some.”
“He does,” the Deputy Director half-grumbles, a little too slow to reel in his dissatisfaction.
Matt aims at me the most beaming, self-satisfied smirk I’ve ever seen and hooks a finger over his shoulder. “It’s settled then. I want Agent Kieran Stevenson to be my security detail.”