Chapter 2
DECLAN
The Order has really outdone themselves this time.
“What. The. Hell?!” I hear the annoyingly attractive – and now more than a little exasperated – young woman shout from the other side of the glass doors. I cast one discreet backward glance. She is glaring at me like I have ten different heads.
It would be just like the Order to send an operative right here to the head office to weasel their way in and get intel. It’s already clear they have one mole within our organization; with a second set of eyes and ears, who knows what they could accomplish.
An attack on Oliver or any of our other operatives. Hack our network. Plant a listening device. More of the sabotage that we’ve been dealing with for the past six months.
Fresh off a red-eye flight from Helsinki, I nearly let exhaustion cloud my judgment at the sight of her damsel-in-distress act, arms full of sandwiches and a large bag hanging off one elbow.
With her chocolate brown hair pulled up, some ends sticking out, and frazzled by the humidity, she looked eminently kissable. Not to mention those toned legs . . .
Enough, Declan.
I shouldn’t think the worst of people. But an attractive young woman who looks exactly my type, standing outside the FIRE headquarters?
Six months ago, I would have trusted a pretty face and a plausible story.
Now I know better.
The gym attendant, an amiable guy named Brian, waves at me when I enter. “Hey, man, it’s a little late for you to be in here.” He’s right. I’m usually finishing up a punishing training ride when he arrives for the day. My gaze flits to the stationary bike.
“Red-eye got in late. Just gonna hop in the shower.” If my flight had arrived on time, I would have gone home, knocked out at least thirty to forty miles, showered, eaten a real breakfast, and then come into the office.
Instead, I have barely enough time to clean up before the meeting, and I do not have time for chit-chat.
Starting to clean down the equipment, Brian says, “Bummer. Where did you go?”
Great. First a turbulent all-night flight, now this.
“Helsinki.” My reply is terse, hoping he’ll get the message. I’ll take turbulence over small talk any day of the week.
Brian cocks his eyebrow. “Business or pleasure?” he asks, not getting the message at all.
Definitely not pleasure. My mood sours further. I haven’t had a vacation in two years, and dating requires too much of a time commitment. Even if there was someone I wanted to make time for, the risk isn’t worth it.
I tell him the truth: “Business.” But not the whole truth. “We’re hosting our first ultra-marathon in Finland. Athletes will finish under the midnight sun on the longest day of the year.”
Brian already knows I work for FIRE. Has asked me a few times about upcoming events that he swears he is going to sign up for.
He seems like an alright guy, and I have a dossier on him that proves he isn’t connected to the Order.
Still, I generally don’t trust people who ask so many questions, not in my current line of work.
Brian moves on to cleaning the next treadmill. “Well, I bet it was a lot cooler there than it is here,” he says.
I nod, signaling the conversation is over, and head toward the men’s locker room.
The shower stall at the end of the row is open and I set down my duffel bag. I’ll re-wear the wrinkled clothes I wore at meetings this weekend.
As I take off my faded Annapolis T-shirt, my phone pings.
I glance at the notification.
Oliver Hawkins
Crisis in Kandy. Mostly under control now.
My shoulders deflate. We can’t go a full twenty-four hours without an international incident to resolve. I shake my head.
Then my phone rings. It’s Oliver, impatient for a response to his message. “Great work with the peace talks this weekend,” he says without so much as a hello.
What I told Brian was true. I was traveling for business, but the ultra-marathon planning meeting and permit application was a cover for a top-secret meeting between warring world leaders and military officials to hammer out the final details of a peace treaty.
When you have the right contacts in every major city in the world, you can get a lot done.
“I’m glad it’s finished,” I respond, careful to manage how much information I reveal while in a public place.
I didn’t see anyone from the other offices in the gym on my way in, but I can’t be too careful.
“Oh, and we are all clear to use Senate Square for the race village.” I slip between topics seamlessly.
Secret missions to race operations in a second.
I was surprised when I first learned about FIRE’s clandestine arm.
It makes sense, though. Sport brings people together.
It tears down borders in an instant. When you stand on the start line, when you’re gassed mid-course, when you’re giving it everything you have to get to the finish, it isn’t about the flag on your arm.
What your government is or isn’t doing to help.
These venues are the best way we can get meaningful peace on paper, to stop evil masquerading as capitalism.
This past weekend was all conference rooms, handshakes, and civilized discussions. Much calmer than my other recent missions.
“Excellent,” Oliver replies. “Let’s get the team up to speed at the Monday meeting. We had to bump it. You’re on your way in?”
A meeting first thing after a delayed red-eye across the Atlantic? I’d rather chew glass.
“Yep, just got to the office,” I tell him, stifling a groan. “I’m about to shower. Then I’ll hop upstairs.”
I expect him to hang up, but he adds, “Charlie, my new assistant, started this morning. I’ll do intros at the meeting.”
Right, another new assistant is starting today.
Oliver didn’t have the team interview this one.
I can’t say I blame him entirely. After what happened six months ago, we’re all on edge.
Oliver wants to bring in his own guy to manage his schedule, I get it.
He needs someone he can trust. That he doesn’t entirely trust me to vet this new assistant still stings.
“Great,” is all I manage in response.
Oliver disconnects the line.
I shake off the feeling that things will never be the way they were before. Back when Oliver still trusted the team, when he had no reason not to. When I had no reason not to.
I finish undressing and step into the freezing water, opting for a cold shower to shock my system. I will the ice-cold water to wash away the sinking feeling that I’m always one step behind.
Wake up, Declan. I need to stay sharp, stay alert.
I’ll never let my guard down again.