Chapter 51
DECLAN
“Alright, let’s get to it,” I mutter after I take a sip of fresh hot coffee. The caffeine is necessary for this morning’s task.
Charlie groans and we head over to Ian’s office. It’s remained locked for two weeks now. Shauna sent the discreet “Ian Turner is no longer with the company” email. Void of details.
The rumor mill did its thing. Everyone thinks Ian was sabotaging our athlete-tracking app to force Oliver to sign with a new platform partner, that Ian would get a kickback.
Some theories said he needed the money for gambling debts and that is somehow related to his arrest. A few people are theorizing that Ian tried to kill Oliver to get the CEO job.
Or something like that. Gossip is always oddly specific and yet very vague.
People make up their own stories and it never gets close to the messy truth.
Everyone on Ian’s team has been fully screened. Several have been put on standard duties for the time being so we can assess if they’re potentially leaking any information.
Ian is already out on bail. He’s been charged with trespassing and attempted murder with a deadly weapon.
Since these are his “first offenses” and he has friends in high places connected to the Order, he will likely get a slap on the wrist and probation.
Charlie has a restraining order, but paper doesn’t do much to stop bullets.
We expect he’ll flee to join X.C. whenever his trial concludes.
Oliver said Ian’s lawyer will likely have him sign a plea deal for lesser charges to get the whole thing over with.
In the meantime, FIRE is stuck with unraveling what he left behind. We did a full technology reset – again – and I’m confident we left no backdoor code for him to infiltrate.
His office is another story.
Charlie approaches Ian’s workbench. “What a mess,” she mumbles.
I agree. It’s chaotic. Though I once thought it was a sign of his ordered brain, his ability to track everything without filing it.
Charlie picks up one of the papers. I should get busy packing up his hard drives, organizing the files into normal FIRE business and potentially sensitive documents about our missions.
Instead, I walk up behind Charlie. I place my hands on the workbench, pressing our bodies together, and delight in the pleasant “hmm” she releases.
After checking that no one is walking by, I bury my nose in her hair.
The smell of her fruity perfume fills my nose.
It is a distinctly Charlie aroma, a smell that has now found its way into the fibers of my pillows.
Even on the nights she hasn’t stayed over, her scent lingers.
My world smells like Charlie now and I love it. I love her.
I move my head so I can plant a kiss on her neck.
We made a new set of rules, promises to keep our relationship out of the office. But we’re alone in this completely closed-off space. I figure we can steal one or two moments. I plant another kiss on her shoulder. I stiffen against her, memories of last night filling my brain.
“Not here,” Charlie whispers before biting into her delicious lips. The blush on her cheeks tells me she’s thinking what I am, but she has better restraint.
She’s right. I plant a chaste kiss on her shoulder and walk to the other end of the table. Charlie busies herself with the documents before she looks over at me, the pink of her cheeks still not fully receded. I wink and watch her neck and face go into a full flush.
Charlie clears her throat. “How about you take that side and I focus over here?” She turns away from the table and starts to go through documents. I know she’s keeping us on task. Her work ethic is unparalleled, and it’s one of many things I appreciate about this strong woman.
Without any windows, it’s hard to keep track of time while we sort through Ian’s materials.
“Who else is going to Rome next week?” I ask to break the silence. I swear if I have to look at one more technology contract, I’ll need to borrow Charlie’s glasses to see straight.
Charlie begins to rattle off the names. “You, me, Oliver, Celine, Ana . . .”
Obviously, our pro-athlete liaison is going, trying to covert some of the shorter distance athletes to move to our events. Because while the World Games are elite and the average person wouldn’t dream of trying out, many runners, triathletes, and cyclists live for the endurance events.
“We’ll need to keep an eye out for some potential recruits for our team too,” I add.
Charlie looks up from her stack of documents. “Anyone you have in mind? Are we sitting in the stands for all the sharp shooting and archery events?”
She’s trying to be sarcastic. While those athletes would have skills we need in our line of work – the spy side of things – we want those who have more access to the upper echelons, the parts of society where the Order operates.
“I’m thinking dressage, gymnastics, and fencing,” I reply.
Charlie nods, accepting this explanation. I’m sure she’ll have a new itinerary for us by the end of the day. She moves to another stack on the far side of Ian’s workbench. Some loose papers and a few spare parts. “Declan, come look at this,” she says, her eyes examining the paper.
I walk over and peer at what’s in her hands. Schematics. It appears to be some kind of device Ian was tinkering with. A new mechanism he was creating. Beneath it is a Metro map of Rome and an overlay of the city with World Games events and their locations.
“Are we sure we got all the explosives Castillo purchased in Argentina?” Charlie asks as she flips one of the maps over to reveal a yellow sticky note with two words written on it: “opening ceremony.”
“Yes,” I respond. Castillo’s yacht is still impounded by the Italian Coast Guard as well, in case any munitions were hidden within any secret compartments.
I check the schematic. “This doesn’t look like a weapon, though.
It’s some kind of recording device.” I’m confused even as the words leave my mouth.
My mind turns over this new information.
X.C. told Charlie that only some of the munitions would be used to eliminate Raj and cause a nightmare for FIRE, so we assumed that the anticipated fallout would be a cover for whatever arms deal Castillo intended to make at the World Games.
But what if both of those were supposed to be the distraction?
Something to keep us busy, from seeing what they really have planned.
Charlie said X.C. had something different planned for the World Games. Could this device be the big plan?
It never ends. That’s the frustrating part. Evil never sleeps. The layers of subterfuge peel back to reveal more.
Then again, I’m an athlete. I live for a finish line that feels impossible.
Espionage is an endurance sport. Marathons and ultras, triathlon, road biking, the miles are endless when you’re out there.
Sure, there are aid stations every so often, but it doesn’t change the fact that the longer you’re in it, the further away the finish line appears. That’s why crossing it feels so good.
The world is always teetering on the edge of disaster. The bad guys are well funded. But something has changed. And it’s Charlie. Because now I have a reason to want to keep the world safe. For her. For us. Not just my hero complex.
Our work isn’t done yet. There’s still a threat to neutralize. I get that itch to get out there and stop it.
I glance up at Charlie and see a shine in her eyes. She has it too.
“Looks like we have our next mission,” I say.
Charlie reaches for my hand. “We sure do,” she says with a wink.
THE FINISH LINE