Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Katherine stared at the Agency phone in her hand and felt the room narrow around the glowing name on the screen.
R. Upton.
Associate Deputy Director Richard Upton carried weight through internal memos, policy reviews, classified historical appendices, and decisions that moved people across the board without explaining why. He’d signed off on her reassignment to Montana.
The phone continued to vibrate against her bandaged palm.
Around her, the conference room was silent. Reid sat up, fully awake. CB no longer looked amused. Mack’s expression sharpened. Sebastian stood near the large screen still as stone. Jasper remained beside her.
Sebastian’s gaze flicked to Jasper. “An Associate Deputy Director is high in the ranks.”
“Yes.” Katherine’s mouth had gone dry. “It is.”
The ringing sounded sharp and official. She’d had the phone turned off until half an hour ago, when she’d been debating about calling in.
She’d tossed it in her document bag with the notebook because leaving it behind had felt impossible.
Her document bag was her portable archive, her chain of custody, her last illusion of control.
Her stomach knotted, her breathing came fast. If she let the call go to voicemail, that would be a statement. If she answered, she might be condemning herself. Senior officials rarely called people of her level directly. They had assistants, deputies, and layers of hierarchy for that.
The fact that his ID even lit up said something. He was using his direct office line and bypassing Taysha, his executive assistant, who ran half the senior staff calendar with the ease of Priss ripping her catnip toys to shreds.
The problem with senior officials was that silence and speech both became evidence of something, depending on who wrote the memo afterward.
“Don’t answer it,” Jasper said. “You can call back later on your own terms.”
She shook her head. “It will just hang over my head until I do.”
“You don’t know what he’s going to say.”
She sucked in a lungful of air. “That won’t change if I delay speaking to him.”
“But you can be more prepared,” Reid countered.
Would she, though? Her mind whirled.
“Put him on speaker,” Jasper said. He grabbed her notebook and pen, opening it to her Agency notification protocol page. “I’ll be here to coach you.”
Her first instinct was to refuse. This was an Agency call on an Agency phone. She had a lifetime of training where compartmentalization and need-to-know weren’t preferences but reflexes.
Then she looked at the monitor showing the dark sedan, at the paused image of the man whose lips she recognized. She looked at Jasper, who’d cleaned blood from her cheek, brought her breakfast, and asked for a voice instead of a veto.
She answered and tapped the speaker icon. “Katherine Townsend.”
“Ms. Townsend,” Upton said. His voice was exactly as she remembered it from the few internal briefings where he’d spoken from the front of a room full of analysts, historians, and staffers. Soft, composed, and precise. He didn’t introduce himself. Men like Upton rarely needed to.
“Sir,” she said, and was relieved to hear that her voice sounded steady.
“I’m calling about your temporary assignment in Blackridge.”
Jasper’s eyes held hers. Sebastian shifted closer to the conference table, moving silently, while Mack set down a piece of his weapon he’d been cleaning.
“Yes, sir,” Katherine said. “What about it?”
“Priorities have shifted here. I need you to return to Langley.”
The sentence landed with the quiet force of a hand closing around her neck. He didn’t mention the break-in. He didn’t mention the attempted murder, the police report, the gun, the fact that someone had known her name and tried to force his way into her bedroom.
Either he didn’t know, or he knew but wasn’t going to give it away. Both possibilities made the skin between her shoulder blades tighten.
Don’t agree, Jasper wrote in large letters. Say you need more time.
“I see,” she said, because that was safer than the dozen other responses that tried to climb up her throat. “Is there a problem?”
“The Vance materials are being pulled for internal review,” Upton said. “Bring all processed and unprocessed papers with you. Your work in Montana has been appreciated, but the remainder can be handled in-house.”
Upton’s wording was smooth. Routine. Administrative. That was the worst part. He made it sound as if he were recalling office supplies.
“Has Dr. Helms been notified?” she asked.
A faint pause followed. “She’ll be looped in later today.”
Not had been. Would be. Her direct supervisor hadn’t been told.
Katherine kept her eyes on Jasper. “I’m surprised the reassignment is coming directly from your office.”
“As I said, the situation has changed. Unexpected information has come to light. Given the potential for classification issues, I’d prefer to expedite the transition.”
Given the potential for classification issues.
That was a phrase designed to cover almost any problematic issues.
It could mean the Vance papers contained sensitive operational history.
It could mean Cinder. It could mean nothing at all except that Upton knew the right words to make a request sound inevitable.
“I understand,” she said. “When do you expect me?”
“Today.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. He shook his head, tapped the words he’d written.
Katherine chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “That won’t be possible.”
Upton’s voice remained mild. “Is there a problem?”
Katherine heard the trap in the question.
Not a large trap, dramatic one. A small, bureaucratic snare made of procedure and hierarchy.
If she mentioned the attack, she gave him information he might not have.
If she didn’t, she risked sounding evasive.
She forced herself to breathe as though she were standing at a reading table in Langley, comparing two versions of a document and waiting for the contradiction to reveal itself.
“The materials aren’t ready for transfer,” she said. “I’ve completed a preliminary review of a dozen boxes, but the chain-of-custody log, redaction notes, and transfer inventory are incomplete. If the papers are being reassigned, I’ll need time to prepare them properly.”
“I’m sure someone with your attention to procedure can prepare the transfer quickly.”
There it was. A compliment with a hook inside it.
“I can,” she said. “Given the volume of material and the number of cross-references already flagged, I’ll need seventy-two hours.”
Jasper gave her a thumbs-up.
Upton coughed. “That’s longer than necessary.”
“With respect, sir, it’s necessary if you want the archive defensible. Pulling the papers mid-process without a full transfer memo creates a gap in custody and context. Whoever takes over in-house will be working from an incomplete record.”
Upton was quiet for a moment. She could almost see him weighing whether to press harder. “Forty-eight hours. I expect you and the materials at Langley in two days, no more.”
Forty-eight hours. It was less than she needed and more than she’d feared he would give. It was also proof that he wanted the papers badly enough to negotiate.
“I’ll prepare the transfer in forty-eight hours,” she said.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“No, sir,” she replied. “But it’s what I can responsibly confirm. Travel logistics will depend on secure transport for the materials.”
Another pause. The suspense made her skin crawl. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Your accommodations in Blackridge remain adequate?”
Katherine’s pulse hit hard. Jasper’s gaze narrowed. No one in the conference room moved other than to exchange a glance.
She looked at the phone as if it had become a living thing on the table.
If Upton knew about the attack, the question was an exquisite cruelty.
If he didn’t, it was routine enough to pass unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t spent the night in a stranger’s laundry room with blood on her face and a blanket around her shoulders.
“I’ve made appropriate arrangements,” she said.
“Good. I’d hate for anything to interfere with your work.”
The words were perfectly bland, yet she sensed menace under them. Was she being paranoid? Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, her bandaged palm protesting the pressure. “I don’t let accommodations interfere with my work, sir.”
“The Agency appreciates discretion in sensitive matters,” Upton said.
Her throat tightened. “As do I.”
“Forty-eight hours, Ms. Townsend.”
The call ended.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. The phone screen went dark, reflecting a dim, distorted version of her face.
CB broke the silence first. “I don’t like him.”
Mack looked at him. “You don’t even know him.”
Jasper’s attention remained on her. “You did good.”
She was so tense, the space between her shoulder blades hurt. “I bought as much time as I could.”
“Write it all down,” Reid said, pointing to Jasper. “You want a detailed log of what was said just in case. Also, that all of us were present as witnesses.”
He sounded like a lawyer. Maybe he was.
Jasper scribbled the details in her notebook, documenting the time and those present. “Is it normal for an Associate Deputy Director to personally call an archivist on a temporary assignment?”
“No.” Her voice sounded calm, but her pulse had not slowed.
“It’s possible if the materials are considered sensitive enough, but the normal route would be through my supervisor, Dr. Helms, or the Chief of History Staff.
Upton signed off on my assignment. He has the authority to recall me, but personal involvement at this stage is highly unusual. ”
“Unusual meaning suspicious?” Reid asked.
“Unusual meaning I’d like to see the routing memo.”
Jasper’s mouth moved slightly with an almost smile. “He wants you and the papers out of Montana.”
“And back under his control,” Katherine said.
Sebastian nodded once. “He’s created a clock.”
“Forty-eight hours,” Mack said. “That’s not much.”