Chapter 22
DECLAN
“So,” Charlie says, sighing, “what are you going to do if we ever make it out of here?” Her voice finds me in the darkness.
After the lights went out and the door locked closed, she let out a small scream.
The complete darkness is unsettling. I’m doing box breaths to help.
I guess Charlie copes with nervous humor.
“It’s been ten minutes, Ross,” I remind her.
We’ve each found an uncomfortable and cold seat on the cement floor while we wait. We’re locked in until help comes.
“No, this is supposed to be a life-affirming moment. Like ‘I thought I’d never escape and now I will donate all my possessions to an orphanage’,” she tells me. Even though I can’t see her, I can picture her arms gesturing wildly.
“When I get out of here, I’m going back to work.
Then I’m going on a training ride. Same as I had planned earlier,” I tell her.
My bike, the trail. Where I can trust that the bike is fit, the tires full, the gears clean.
When I ride, the worries of work and life slip away.
I pedal away from them, faster and faster until I’m flying.
The thought of the open skyline puts me at ease in the dark, confined space.
“That’s right. You’re a cyclist,” she says, a sarcastic bite to the last word.
Cyclists have a reputation for being . . . less than generous. Perhaps her applying this stereotype to me is apt? I wince thinking of how rude I have been. In the darkness, when no one else can see us or hear us, I find the courage to say something that has been on my mind. “I’m sorry,” I tell her.
I can’t see her reaction, but I bet those perfect eyebrows are creeping closer together.
“For how I treated you on your first day, your first week. I’m sorry.”
I hear Charlie moving and then see the blue glow of her phone. “Hold on, I’m going to record this as a voice memo,” she jokes. I guess that’s her way of accepting my apology.
“Well, keep recording because –” I pause and take a deep breath before I eat more humble pie – “you’re doing a great job.
You have great instincts. For the job you were hired for and the other one you’re taking on.
You pay attention to details. And I heard what you organized in Kalispell. For that runner.”
Charlie turns off her phone and we’re in the darkness again. “That was a team effort,” she says, brushing off my compliment.
“No, that was all you,” I remind her.
The darkness makes the silence stretch out longer.
“I guess I never said thank you for saving my life,” Charlie admits.
“When the shooting happened, you protected me.” Her voice sounds smaller, even though she is still only a few feet away.
“I guess we’re even now. Besides, I know you were trying to protect Oliver and the company.
After you explained everything, I understand you were being cautious that first day.
” We’re silent again for a beat before she continues.
“And I appreciate your vote of confidence. I have always been the A player, the smartest in the room anywhere I went. Then I start at FIRE and I’m barely pulling a B minus. ”
Her analogy makes me chuckle.
Charlie sounds exasperated. “It doesn’t help that everyone is freakishly fit and cover-model beautiful.”
“See, you fit right in,” I tell her, knowing that if I had to compare Celine and Charlie, I know who would win for looks, personality, and more.
Hands down, Charlie is exactly my type. Bookish.
Those sexy librarian glasses. The backside with curves I want to get lost in.
At first, my walls were up; spies never trust someone who asks so many questions.
Her honesty, her positivity, her kindness.
She’s someone who goes out of her way to make someone’s day, rules be damned.
Helping that runner in Kalispell was the right thing to do.
I don’t elaborate and she doesn’t press any further.
I’m grateful, because if I had to tell her she is just as cover-model beautiful as other, less welcoming people in the office, I’m not sure I’d be able to face her again.
Maybe this all-encompassing darkness is loosening something in me, in both of us, but it hasn’t made me forget my pride. My own fear of rejection.
“I googled you too,” she admits.
“And what did you find?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.
“Nothing. Not one social media profile. No newspaper clippings. You really are a spy, huh?”
Her words amuse me. “That’s the easiest term to describe it.”
Charlie gasps and I can picture her overreaction. “Is Declan avidson even your real name?!”
At this, I laugh. “Yes, it is my real name. My parents were super strict when I was in high school about no social media. When I got to Annapolis, it seemed safer to not have an account to avoid infractions. Then I got used to not having a real account. I have a few burner ones I can use to look people up when needed.”
“So Annapolis to FIRE?” Charlie asks.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a story there. How do you go from a solid career in the military to endurance sports to being a spy?”
I hesitate. “It’s a long story.”
I hear Charlie moving in the darkness, shifting to find a comfortable position on an unforgiving floor. “We have time.”
I tell her about my rebellious streak as a kid. How my dad was in the army, went to West Point. Served all twenty years before retiring with a full pension. “The most defiant thing I could think to do would be to join the navy. Old rivalries die hard.” This earns me a small chuckle from Charlie.
Oliver is also retired navy. While FIRE isn’t affiliated with any one branch of the military (or any specific country), the navy trend is strong among the executive team.
“Four years at Annapolis in exchange for eight years active duty. Retired two years ago. I was lucky,” I continue, “to have great mentors and leaders.
Served with a tight unit and had a commanding officer I admired.
Was happy to follow him. My CO took a civilian job at a sports company.
“He called me up and said, ‘You gotta exit at the end of your current tour. Come work for me. It’s more than it seems.’ Sounded like every kid’s dream, right?
” I think back to when I got the call, knowing I had an option to get out of the navy or re-up my commitment.
I hadn’t even begun to think about life as a civilian.
Then a perfect opportunity fell at my feet.
“I took the job. I trusted him; he had never steered me wrong. I was deployed with him. I knew his family. And he was right. This is a great job. Both sides. And then . . .” I trail off.
Charlie figures out what I didn’t say. “And then you were both on that dock in Osaka, and only you came out of the water?”
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to talk about it anymore.
The guilt, the loss, the feeling that I could and should have known what was about to happen and prevented his death. We were on a mission in Japan. It went sideways. I thought we would always save the day, beat the odds, make it out alive together.
Nope.
I stop my train of thought. Ruminating on it is a wasted effort. Focus, Davidson.
I hear movement in front of me and then beside me. A pressure on my hand. It’s Charlie. She fumbled in the darkness to move next to me, to comfort me. Her touch is light and reassuring.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
We sit like that, her holding my hand for a moment. The warmth of her body is so close, the fragrance of her perfume so subtle and welcome.
Charlie is the one to break the silence. “So is it too much of a coincidence that we are the two people trapped in here? Like, whoever the mole is, probably locked us in here?”
“Could be,” I respond, hesitant to jump to any conclusions after my massive flub on her first day.
“Or it could have been an honest mistake,” she offers.
“The lights were on; anyone who came in would have surmised someone else was in here and called out. Whoever it was knew we were in here and didn’t want us to know.”
“And they wanted us trapped,” Charlie adds.
“Not a very good trap, though,” I tell her.
“Why? We can’t get out. I’d say that’s a good trap,” she counters, as the door rolls open and the lights blink back on.
Charlie is surprised. I’m not.
“Yoo-hoo!” Ian Turner’s cheerful voice calls out.
“We’re back here,” I respond, helping Charlie to her feet before navigating the maze of boxes.
I still feel too exposed, like my thoughts and fears were too close to spilling out of my mind, filling up this storage unit and another.
“Someone locked us in,” Charlie says as we approach the front, Ian in sight.
“Huh?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“She’s right – there’s no way the door closed and the lights shut off on their own.”
“Looks like we have another set of security cameras to hack.” Ian shakes his head and turns back the way he came.
“How did he know we were in here?” Charlie asks me.
“My tracking dot. I hit the alarm on it as soon as the lights went out,” I explain.
“Tracking dot?” Charlie asks.
“Oh right.” I haven’t told her about this yet. “I have a tracking dot on me at all times.” She nods, accepting this. “We should probably get one for you too,” I add.
At this, Charlie crosses her arms and scowls at me. “I don’t plan on being trapped in any more storage units any time soon,” she announces.
Do I have to say the quiet part out loud? That she’s in danger because she works for FIRE and by putting any effort into stopping the Order?
Before I can warn her, she is already down the hallway, putting distance between us as quickly as she can.
She may not want to heed my warnings, but I think we just had our own team-bonding moment.
An escape room without any cheesy prize at the end.
We stuck together as a team, didn’t argue, and made it out the other side.
Charlie is my colleague, an equal – and maybe a friend.