Jacking Jill

14

“Your brother’s an asshole.” John Benson narrowed his eyes at Mike “Ice” Wagner, Jack’s older brother, who’d just gotten in after driving down from Upstate New York. Benson had ordered Ice to get his ass down to HQ, making the call in the late afternoon because Benson was already getting a bad feeling that this Jack mission was going to hell in a handbasket. Benson wasn’t sure if he’d called Ice down here to babysit his younger brother or replace him on this mission. “Which usually isn’t a problem for me. I’m an asshole too. But you can’t be an asshole if you’re also a fuck-up. One or the other.”

Ice said nothing. The former Delta interrogator specialized in saying nothing, Benson remembered. Silence always made people nervous, and Benson reminded himself to calm the hell down and take a cue from Ice’s silent coolness.

“Jack is solid and you know it, Benson,” said Ice quietly as he dragged out a swivel chair from behind the long conference table in one of the glass-and-wood-paneled war-rooms with a view of the Virginia woods to one side and a massive projection-screen covering the other wall. “This is the third Darkwater mission that Diego’s been involved with, and he’s still on the loose. From what I hear, you had the entire Darkwater crew on board that cruise ship and Diego still got away. Diego getting away is on all of us, not just Jack.”

Benson grunted, stretching out his leg which had stiffened because it was past midnight and he’d been pacing up and down in this war-room for hours now, getting updates from Paige and Nancy, who were both working different angles to figure out how Romeo Carmine and Kay Steffen fit into the picture.

Because they were most certainly in the damn picture now.

Just like Diego Vargas was once again in the picture—and frustratingly out of it at the same time.

“Fair enough,” grumbled Benson. “Diego got away after the Rivington debacle. And he got away after damn near killing Martin Kaiser and myself outside the Senator’s home.” He glanced up at the stoic Ice Wagner and cracked a grin. “Thanks for that, by the way. You saved our asses outside the Senator’s home.”

Ice shrugged. “Wasn’t trying to save your ass, Benson. My woman was about to get into a car which Diego had rigged with plastic explosive. Saving your ass was just a lucky side-effect.”

Benson chuckled, tapping the rubber tip of his aluminum cane gently against his aching shin-bone which was now partially titanium—which sort of made him a bionic man, didn’t it? Some kind of robot-human hybrid?

“Lucky side-effects are my specialty,” Benson cracked, looking up as Nancy entered the war-room with a laptop in her hand and a frown on her face. “Speaking of lucky side-effects, aren’t we all thrilled that Nancy is back?”

Nancy didn’t grace him with a smile. She deposited her butt in the chair next to Benson’s, flipped open the laptop lid, adjusted her tortoise-shell reading glasses, then turned the laptop screen so he could see what was on it.

“That’s too many numbers.” Benson didn’t bother trying to decipher the spreadsheets and screen-shots and whatever else Nancy—a former agent for the United States Department of the Treasury—had been digging up. “I’m a big picture guy, Nancy. Give me the highlights.”

“Romeo Carmine was one of Northrup Capital’s big investors.” Nancy’s face tightened, her blue eyes darkening. She’d been on board the Rivington when Kyle and Kenneth Northrup and their wives had all been killed in that crazy Hogan-and-Hannah mission. That mission had been the last straw for Nancy. She’d had enough of the darkness, and Benson worried that the loose ends from that mission might send Nancy heading back to her peaceful retirement filled with grandchildren and gardening or whatever the hell else Nancy had been doing to keep herself busy the past year.

Benson wouldn’t know, because Nancy didn’t take a single one of his calls the entire time, cutting him off with a ruthless efficiency that reminded Benson that Nancy Sullivan was very much a Darkwater woman, whether she liked it or not.

“I don’t like it, John.” Nancy scrolled through what appeared to be bank transactions. “Romeo Carmine actually increased his investments after Northrup Capital got taken over by IMG Corp. He’s even taken out big loans to invest more. He’s doubled down and levered up. Stands to lose tens of millions—maybe hundreds of millions—if Senator Robinson gets to the White House and shuts down those loopholes which groups like the Zetas need to keep paying the obscenely high interest on those bonds.”

Benson grunted, rubbed his chin which was getting a bit stubbly even though he’d shaved that morning—which seemed a long time in the past. “Well, that would explain why he’s connecting with Diego. If Romeo uses his influence at the Philadelphia area docks to smuggle drugs from the Zeta Nation, it’s a new source of big-money for the Zetas. And Romeo wins double—he makes money from the lucrative drug business and also keeps his legal investment income going.” He tapped the cleft in his chin, glanced at Nancy with a furrowed brow. “You still haven’t been able to figure out who actually owns IMG Corp?”

Nancy took off her glasses, rubbed her bloodshot eyes, shook her head grudgingly. “Too many shell companies based in offshore tax havens with bulletproof privacy laws. There are so many tiny island nations that are getting in on the anonymous banking business that it’s become a nightmare for the Treasury department. Treasury was able to pressure the Swiss banks into revealing their secrets, but it’s like playing whack-a-mole with these smaller nations that don’t give a damn about diplomatic relations and are too small to warrant the U.S. taking political action.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Benson grumbled, rubbing his own eyes and reaching for the cup of thick black coffee which was his fourth since sunset. He drained the cup and placed it back on the glass-topped table when the war-room door burst open and Jack Wagner strode in. “Speaking of excuses,” Benson said chirpily as the coffee kicked in with perfect timing. “What’s yours?”

Jack stopped about six inches in front of Benson, who’d rotated his swivel chair to face the heavily muscled former Delta Force commando. There was a nasty gash on Jack’s cheekbone where a bullet had ripped the skin off, making it look like dark red warpaint.

Benson reclined the swivel chair and grinned up at Jack, who was in a formal shirt that had perhaps once been white before getting streaked with blood and grime. “So, where is she?”

“In the medical center with Fay.” Jack rumbled out a breath, glared down at Benson. “She seems to be all right. No thanks to you.”

Benson shrugged. “She isn’t my responsibility.” He lost the grin and sharpened both his gaze and his tone. “And she isn’t yours either, Jack. Do you have any idea what you’ve done by letting Diego get away for the second time today?”

Jack’s arms were folded across his big chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos all over his massive forearms. But Benson wasn’t intimidated by the guy’s posturing. Jack Wagner had screwed up, made choices that might have been acceptable on the early Darkwater missions but were far too reckless now.

Because the missions were different now.

Darkwater was different now.

And hell, maybe Benson was different now too.

Older for sure.

Wiser?

Not so sure.

Jack rubbed his eyes, his big Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. The square-jawed Delta glanced at his older brother Ice, who sat silently across the table alongside Paige, who was squinting at a laptop with far too much concentration, like she was trying to disappear into that computer screen so she wouldn’t have to participate in this uncomfortably tense confrontation.

Benson cast his silver-eyed gaze around the table. Keller, Ice, Paige on one side, Benson and Nancy on the other, Jack standing with his arms crossed and a scowl on his bloody face, anger in his burning eyes. Benson stayed silent, waiting for Jack to respond to his question that was both rhetorical and rude. But Jack seemed to have learned something about silence from his older brother Ice, and the man stood his ground, his broad frame casting a dark shadow over Benson.

Benson rubbed his temples. Those veins on the side of his head throbbed like perhaps he’d ingested far too much caffeine. But there was also a dull pain that radiated through his skull almost constantly now. Benson knew it was the aftereffects of the shockwave-induced concussion from being so close to the blast. He’d refused to take the anti-inflammatory pills that his doctors had prescribed, didn’t even take the painkillers they’d given him for his physical injuries. He wondered what the trauma of the explosion followed by two months of chronic physical pain and near-constant headaches were doing to him. Certainly they were affecting his mood, making him snippier with the wisecracks, adding a vicious edge to his humor which wasn’t there in the past.

But were Benson’s injuries also affecting his judgment?

After all, hadn’t Jack Wagner just made a choice every other Darkwater man before him had also made?

The choice to follow his heart instead of orders.

“Sit down, kid,” Benson said finally, breaking the stare-down stalemate with a sigh. He gestured with his head towards an empty chair, waited for Jack to sit down, then smiled wearily and sighed again. “Maybe that joke about letting the woman die was a bit tasteless. And maybe I’m being too harsh with the blame game, calling you a fuck-up and all that.”

Jack shrugged. “No apology needed. Battlefield humor gets dark sometimes, so the joke’s all right. And I did fuck up this afternoon at the gas station when Diego stole my damn bike while I was taking a piss. That was an unacceptable mistake. It cost a civilian his life, and that’s on me.” He stretched out his big arms, then touched the fire-red gash on his cheekbone, frowning like he’d only just remembered it. Nancy was about to say something, but Jack waved it off with a sideways grin that probably hurt. “Getting ambushed by Diego is also on me.”

Benson shook his head. “That was unexpected. Diego could have taken a shot at you at the gas station, but he knows it’s not easy to kill a Delta man and so he didn’t take the risk. I don’t think Diego would have chosen to ambush you on an open road at night in a snowstorm with only a handgun if someone hadn’t forced his hand. Romeo Carmine must have ordered the hit, and that’s even more surprising.” Benson huffed out a breath. “The only way Romeo would take a risk like that is if he was certain you aren’t law enforcement, aren’t working for the FBI or DEA or ATF.” He tapped his lower lip, then made a fist and looked grimly around the table. “Which means he knows you’re Darkwater.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “That was bound to happen sooner or later. Only a matter of time before Kay, Diego, and Romeo connected the dots. But it’s a head-scratching decision to order Diego to take me out. Seems pretty damn reckless to order a hit on someone who’s with an off-the-books team of ex-Special Forces killers.”

Benson smiled faintly. “Lots of head-scratching decisions were made tonight,” he said pointedly, ignoring Jack’s glare and glancing up at the open war-room door. Fay had just entered the room, followed by a brown-haired woman in a black cocktail dress. “Speaking of which, you must be Jill Hennessy. I’m John Benson. The guy you called an asshole earlier, remember?”

Jill’s brown eyes widened and her freshly scrubbed face paled and then turned beetroot red. She parted her lips, glancing at Jack in mortified panic before gulping twice and then managing a hesitant smile. “I . . . I only said you sounded like an asshole,” she explained, her smile brightening as she swept her gaze past Jack and up at Hogan and then back to Benson. “Hogan and Jack were the ones who confirmed you were an asshole.”

Benson cracked up with laughter, smacking his knee on the table-edge and sending splinters of pain rocketing through his reconstructed shin. Grinning and wincing at the same time, Benson rubbed his knee and nodded in Jack’s direction. “I like her. I guess she can stay.”

Jack cracked a grin now too, more smiles breaking on the faces of all the Darkwater men and women in the room. Benson sighed, shaking his head as that familiar ripple of energy moved through his body, taking away the pain in his bones. He watched in silence as Jack stood from his chair, walked over to Jill, leaned in close to ask her if she was feeling all right. Jack’s tone and posture were oddly self-conscious, like he was acutely aware of everyone’s attention on him but couldn’t stop himself from showing concern, from giving a shit about this woman even though Jack didn’t usually give a shit about anyone except his team and himself.

Where’s that player-cool cockiness now, Benson wondered as he watched Jill wave off Jack’s concern and say something back to him in hushed tones. Damn, the guy seems like a different person around this woman, like that choice he made to go to Jill instead of Diego changed everything—starting with Jack himself.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, you old fool, Benson told himself angrily when he saw color darken Jack’s cheeks at something Jill was saying as the two of them stood near the wall by the door like co-conspirators in some secret plan. You’ve always known that with so many players in the game now, destinies will come into conflict, fates will fight each other for primacy. Not everyone gets to live out their fate in this slice of reality. Not every couple gets their happy ending in this spin of the great wheel of probability. Sooner or later one of these Darkwater couples will get thrown off the spinning wheel, go tumbling down into an abyss from which they can’t climb out, no matter how strong their bond, no matter how fierce their love, no matter how hot those flames of sex and violence burn in their fated souls.

Darkwater was created to serve a purpose greater than just one man and one woman, Benson reminded himself as the buzz of conversation rose up around him again. Each individual Darkwater mission was just a stepping stone to a grander mission that was now unfolding, becoming more clear as Marcus and Delilah Robinson got closer to the White House—which would bring Benson and Darkwater closer to the inner circles of power and influence, put them in a position to steward Benson’s beloved nation of America to its unspeakably grand destiny, its immeasurably infinite fate as the beacon of freedom and light, the pinnacle of the good and the right.

And no country can fulfill that sort of sweeping vision without sacrifice.

Without pain.

Without loss.

Without death.

“You’re dead if you go back there, Jill,” came Jack’s voice through Benson’s throbbing head. He blinked himself back to the real world, glanced over at where Jack was holding Jill’s arm as Jill made for the open door. “Don’t be an idiot. You don’t even have a car. Not that you’re in any condition to drive.”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Benson said, pushing himself to his feet, holding onto the table-edge as the pain roared up from his shin and radiated through every bone and sinew of his body. That throbbing headache was back—if it had ever left—and combined with all the coffee and adrenaline was bringing Benson’s temper to a boil. “Fay, take Jill back to the medical wing. Lock her in there if she tries to leave without my permission.”

“Excuse me?” Jill’s face sharpened with indignation. “I don’t need your permission to go anywhere. I’ll walk out to the damn highway and hitch a ride if I have to.” She wrenched her arm away from Jack’s grip. “Nina’s all alone back there. She’ll just be an afterthought in all that chaos at the Carmine mansion with Bobby dead and the crashed cars on the road and all the guests and everything. She’s hysterical and also high on God-knows-what. I’m really worried that she’ll overdose by mistake or maybe even on purpose. I need to find her and make sure she’s all right.” Jill’s lower lip jutted out as she glared at Jack, who’d stopped trying to grab her arm and instead had parked his big body squarely in the doorway, blocking her exit. “You know I have to go to Nina, Jack. What would you do if one of your teammates needed you in a crisis, if their life was in danger?”

Jack’s face hardened, his gaze flicking left and right as he tried to avoid Jill’s defiant eyes. He took a breath, blinked twice, then finally looked at her. “Jill, it’s too dangerous for you and you know it. You can’t help anyone by going back to the Carmine Mansion. Besides, I heard Nina screaming at you at the accident site. She blames you for Bobby’s death.”

“She wasn’t thinking straight,” Jill said with stubborn insistence. “Her fiancé just got shot in the head and she’d been in a car accident and she was probably high and drunk.”

“Romeo will send her to the hospital,” Jack said unconvincingly.

Jill snorted. “You know he won’t.” She glared at Benson for a moment, just long enough for Benson to see the fire in her eyes, feel the fierceness of her determination to do something completely irrational but heartbreakingly honorable. “For the same reason Benson wouldn’t allow you to take me to a hospital. Because the hospital will call the police, and neither John Benson nor Romeo Carmine want the cops anywhere near this thing. Whatever this thing is.”

“Darkwater,” said Benson matter-of-factly.

Jill stared with impatient confusion. “What?”

“You asked what this thing is.” Benson grinned. “This thing is Darkwater.”

Jill frowned, cocked her head at Benson. “What the hell is Darkwater?”

Benson leaned on his walking stick which, after almost twenty-four hours of pacing and stomping, was now much more than a prop. He felt like a hobbled old wizard, and was mildly surprised when he caught a reflection of himself in the tinted glass window and saw that he was still in a modern tailored suit with neatly cropped hair and not in a flowing dark medieval robe with a head-full of hissing serpents. “Darkwater is . . .” he started to say before glancing at Nancy and grinning. “Actually, why don’t I let Nancy explain it.”

Nancy looked up, saw the glint in Benson’s eyes, and sighed. “Darkwater is a symptom of John Benson’s madness, Jill. I suggest you follow your survival instincts, walk out that door, and don’t look back. You’re far safer hitching a ride on a dark highway at 3 a.m. than listening to Benson pontificate about the universe and its mysteries and how he’s the steward of America’s fate and we’re all destined to be pawns in some vast game of cosmic chess where he’s the grandmaster.” Nancy smiled primly at Benson, raising two well-plucked eyebrows above her cat-eye tortoise-shell reading glasses. “Did I capture the essence of Darkwater, John? Anything you’d like to add? Anyone?”

Chuckles rose up as Nancy swept her twinkling blue gaze around the room, finally settling on Jill’s stupefied face.

Jill stared at Nancy, clearly more confused than ever. Nancy’s tone was sharp, edgy, but with a strange mix of sarcasm and seriousness that was new. Benson’s gaze lingered on Nancy. He wondered if she was testing Jill the way Benson had done with all the previous Darkwater couples. Was Nancy checking to see if Jill could really walk away from the energetic vortex named Darkwater, if Jack would let her walk away?

Because if you can walk away from Darkwater, then maybe you should.

So Benson stayed quiet, leaning on his cane as he watched Jill’s gaze move from Nancy to each of the Darkwater men and women gathered in the war-room. Jack was still blocking the exit with his body, but Benson knew Jack wouldn’t be able to stop Jill if she really wanted to go.

Because Benson wouldn’t let Jack stop her.

And he sure as well wasn’t going to let Jack go with her either.

Jill needed to choose for herself.

And sometimes doing nothing and waiting was a choice too.

It gave fate the chance to step in.

“What the hell?” muttered Jack, frowning as he held up his vibrating Darkwater phone, turning the screen so Jill could see. “Your phone is calling me.”

Jill’s eyes widened. “Kay Steffen. I told you she stole my bag with my phone.”

Jack clenched his jaw, shot a glance in Benson’s direction. It took about three milliseconds for Benson to put it together and bark out his orders.

“Tell Paige your number,” Benson said to Jill before nodding at Paige. “Can you locate Jill’s phone on the grid-map, tap into the signal?”

Jill rattled off her number to Paige, whose fingers were moving blurry-fast on the laptop keyboard. Within seconds Paige looked up and nodded. ”Jill”s phone is calling from the Carmine Mansion. Parking lot.”

Benson tapped the cleft in his chin, letting the phone ring a few times. “These Darkwater phones can’t be traced by anyone except you, right, Paige?”

Paige hesitated, then shook her head. “Our GPS signal is encrypted using military-grade NSA-level technology. Someday Artificial Intelligence will be able to crack it, but we aren’t there yet. We’re good to go. Nobody can track the signal to our current location.”

“All right, answer the phone, Jack.” Benson sat down at the big table again, resting his cane against the edge, then gesturing for Jack to bring his vibrating phone over. “Put it on speaker.”

Jack nodded, placing the phone flat on the table between Benson and Nancy as he leaned between them, tapped on the screen, and answered the call with a nonchalant sigh. “How much prison-time do you get for stealing a phone and then using it to make long-distance calls, Counselor?”

Benson stifled a chuckle. Nancy did not seem amused.

“John Benson,” said a woman—presumably Kay Steffen—from the other end of the line. “That’s your boss, right? Put him on. I don’t have time for your wisecracks.”

Jack seemed about to respond with another cocky comment when Benson raised his hand to stop him. Jack growled out a breath, but held his tongue and stepped back from the table.

“You calling to make a deal, Miss Steffen?” Benson said with a cheerful smile that came through in his tone. “Though looking at your record with the U.S. Attorney’s office, cutting deals wasn’t your specialty. You took every case to trial, pushed hard for the maximum penalties under the law, showed up at every parole hearing to make sure none of the thugs you put away got out early.” He paused, took a breath. “But sometimes you have to cut your losses and make a deal, right? And you’re smart enough to know that cutting a deal is the only way you survive this. Mind you, there’s no guarantee you walk away from this alive. You’ve chosen to join forces with men like Diego Vargas and Romeo Carmine, and there are consequences to all our choices, Miss Steffen.” He paused a beat. “You know that better than most, Kay. May I call you Kay? I’m going to call you Kay.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. Benson let the tension build. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his stubbly chin as he thought back to the conversation he’d had with CIA Director Martin Kaiser earlier that night. Benson had asked Kaiser to see if there were any files on Kay Steffen that had been sealed by the Department of Justice—sealed so tight even Paige wouldn’t find a trace of their existence.

Turned out there was indeed a file on Kay Steffen which had been sealed by the DOJ.

And Benson had been shaken by what was in it.

At first he’d assumed Kay Steffen was dirty and the Department of Justice wanted to cover it up so the U.S. Attorney’s Office wouldn’t look bad. It would fit in with Kay’s puzzling association with a gangster like Romeo Carmine after she quit being a prosecutor for the U.S. government.

But the sealed records didn’t contain evidence of corruption or bribery.

They contained something darker.

Something that Benson had kept to himself the past few hours, letting it settle in his mind, take its place as one of the puzzle-pieces that needed to come together before Benson could get a clear picture of Kay Steffen.

But that picture was nowhere close to complete yet. Kay was still a mystery, and now Benson wished he’d brought Paige and Nancy in on the details of what happened to Kay seven years ago.

Seven years ago . . .

Around the same time Darkwater was getting started.

Coincidence?

Or was this fate reaching its tentacles across space and time, pulling all the past and future Darkwater men and women into its perilous path, that dark road paved with sex and violence?

Benson chuckled inwardly as that familiar thrill moved through his body, making his titanium leg tingle beneath the table like a tuning fork seeking a sympathetic vibration with the cosmos.

“Since when does an ex-CIA guy get to lecture anyone on morality, justice, and keeping bad company? Didn’t you guys actually create the Zetas twenty years ago and then disavow them, leaving them at the mercy of the Cartels without backup or funding?” Kay’s response was smooth and emotionless. If she’d gotten the message that Benson knew about her past, she didn’t show it.

Though of course Benson only knew the sketchy basics of what had happened to Kay seven years ago. He didn’t know exactly how she’d responded to the attack, if she’d been broken beyond repair, damaged beyond healing, the darkness taking over so completely that no light could ever enter.

Not so different from how Diego Vargas had been broken beyond repair by the cruelty of his own fate. Sure, Diego had shown a glimmer of light for Mercy and Cari, but it was too little, too late. There was no happy ending coming for Diego Vargas.

Could there be one for Kay Steffen?

Probably not, Benson thought with a hint of almost tragic disappointment. He wasn’t sure what Kay Steffen had been up to the past seven years, how she’d channeled her rage and hatred. But all signs indicated that the darkness had won the battle for Kay’s soul. There wasn’t even the hint of a normal human relationship in her life the past seven years. Kay might have been destined to cross paths with Darkwater, but she’d come up on the wrong side.

The losing side.

“Congratulations,” said Benson crisply. “So you know I’m ex-CIA. Sadly, that isn’t as big a secret as I’d like it to be. As for holding me personally responsible for every bad decision the Agency has made in the last forty years . . .” He raised an eyebrow at Nancy, who was looking at him with a sparkle of smugness in her eyes. “Well, maybe there’s some truth to that. All right, now that we’ve each struck a blow to kick off this negotiation, let’s get down to business, Counselor.” He leaned back in his chair, gazed up at the ceiling, then looked down at the phone. “And the cost of doing business is Diego Vargas. You know we want him, and I’m guessing you’ve already figured out why. You may have abandoned your sense of justice, Kay, but I suspect you’re still a patriot to some degree. Diego tried to assassinate a United States Senator who’s the leading Presidential candidate. And we know that Romeo Carmine was a big investor in Northrup Capital—and, by extension, in the Zeta Nation’s bonds which are siphoning taxpayer money. You don’t want any part of this, and that’s why you’re calling. So just tell us where we can find Diego. We don’t even start this negotiation until I’ve got Diego in my sights.”

“I don’t know where he is now,” Kay said evenly. “But I know where he will be in six weeks.”

Benson frowned. “What happens in six weeks? More importantly, what happens between now and six weeks from now?”

“Romeo and Diego are going to do some test runs of Fentanyl shipments from the Zeta Nation’s seaport to the Philadelphia docks,” said Kay after a pause. “I can give you the ship names and container numbers if you want. But Diego won’t be anywhere near those shipments, and if you or the DEA bust them up, he’ll never contact me or Romeo again, will go so far underground you’ll never find him.” She took a quick breath. “You need to let those shipments go through—track them if you want, so the DEA can seize them later. But if you want Diego, you’ll have to let the test shipments go through. After the last test shipment is through, Diego will leave a new burner phone number for me in a dead-drop location. You can stake out the location and nab him then. If that doesn’t work, you can still track him using the new burner phones when he calls me.”

“Well, that sounds very convenient and easy, Kay.” Benson chuckled dryly. “Maybe I’m a bit jaded after forty years of backstabbing and double-dealing, but it seems a bit too easy. Hell, you haven’t even told us what you want out of this deal.”

“Nothing.” Kay’s response was curt. “Not a damn thing. I just want out of this whole mess. This deal with Diego and the Zetas felt wrong from the beginning. And after your action-figure Delta-Force hero Jack Wagner showed up at the cocktail party and we realized some off-the-books CIA-linked team is after Diego, I told Romeo to walk the hell away from the whole thing before we crossed the point of no return.”

“Oh, hey, Kay?” Jack leaned in between Benson and Nancy, his voice dripping with cool sarcasm. “Just so you know, the point of no return has been crossed. Action-figure Delta-Force heroes tend to take it personally when someone tries to kill them.”

Benson raised a stern eyebrow at Jack, who shrugged, sighed, and stepped back from the phone again. Benson thought a moment, then shook his head.

“No deal, Kay. Six weeks is too long. We’ll find Diego on our own well before that. You wanted nothing out of this deal, right? Well, you get nothing. Nobody’s getting you out of this mess. Jack’s right. You’ve passed the point of no return, as far as I’m concerned. Besides, we aren’t law enforcement. Can’t do a damn thing to protect you from the fallout of your own bad choices. Thanks for calling, Counselor, but you don’t get to clear your conscience by trying to give us Diego after you and your gangster boss took a shot at one of my guys. You have my sympathy for what happened to you seven years ago, but it doesn’t excuse you from the choices you’ve made since then.”

“Fuck your sympathy,” snarled Kay, the rage breaking through her coolness, just like Benson had hoped to do with the emotional provocation. “You don’t know a damn thing about the choices I’ve made—and why I made them!”

“You’re right, I don’t know a damn thing about you or your choices, Kay.” Benson spoke with practiced smoothness, knowing he’d gotten his hooks into Kay now, had opened up a vulnerability which he could ruthlessly exploit to draw her in and see what was inside that secret space of her damaged psyche, her hardened heart. “And you know what? I don’t give a shit. Goodbye, Counselor.”

Benson hung up.

Every head in the room snapped towards Benson at the same time, every wide-eyed gaze asking him the same question:

What the hell are you doing, Benson?

“You didn’t even ask about Nina!” Jill tried to snatch the phone from the table, but stopped when it started to ring again, her own name and number showing up on the caller ID.

“I do know a thing or two about negotiating,” Benson said with a sideways grin as Jill backed away. He tapped the phone’s screen and answered Kay”s callback. “Well, at least we know you’re desperate, Counselor. So give me something I can use or else I’m hanging up again—this time for good.”

“You’re desperate too,” said Kay coolly. “You’ve been after Diego for months—at least since that mess on the cruise ship last year. The Rivington, right? And I know all about the explosion outside Senator Robinson’s townhome two months ago. More importantly, I know that the Senator wasn’t the target, Benson. You were the target. You and CIA Director Martin Kaiser.”

Benson stiffened in his chair. “So Diego told you everything. That only drives home the point that you’re in deep, Kay. Way over your head. Seven years ago you were a star in the U.S. Attorney’s office. Now you’re brokering deals with men who try to murder American government officials. What went wrong, Kay?” He snorted. “Don’t worry about answering that. I don’t give a damn. Now, for the last time: Tell me where Diego is right now. The truth and nothing but, Counselor.”

“I am telling you the truth.” Kay’s voice didn’t sound strained in the least. She must have been a damn good prosecutor, Benson thought. “Look, Benson, I only got the full story from Diego a few hours ago. And you’re right—I want no part of assassination attempts on elected U.S. officials and folks who serve our country. But I don’t know where Diego is right now, and I have no way of contacting him.” She paused, took a breath. “And honestly, with Bobby Carmine getting his brains blown out . . . hell, Diego might decide it’s too risky to do any sort of deal with Romeo. He might cancel those test shipments, nix the whole thing, try to connect with some other mafia family or drug gang.”

”I don’t think so,” said Benson. ”Because it seems Diego is desperate to make this deal—otherwise there’s no way he’d have agreed to Romeo’s reckless order to take out Jack Wagner.”Benson grunted. “Why did Romeo order the hit on Jack? Diego told you guys that Darkwater was after him. Which means Romeo gave the order knowing damn well that he was going to end up on Darkwater’s naughty list—regardless of whether he succeeded or not.”

”He needed to know Diego was on the level, that it wasn”t a setup, that Diego hadn”t been turned.” Kay sighed. “And I think Romeo figured that if he was going into business with Diego, then he would have to go up against Darkwater sooner or later.” She hesitated, then sighed again. “But it was also impulsive, like something impelled Romeo to make that choice. Almost like he was drawn into it. I . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

I do, thought Benson with a tight inside smile.

“Maybe it had something to do with that woman from IMG,” said Kay like she was thinking aloud. “She’s the one who sent Diego to us.”

Benson and Nancy both sat up straight, looked at each other, then stared at the phone.

“You spoke to someone from IMG?” Benson did his best to sound disinterested even though his head was buzzing as connections started to spark and the puzzle-pieces swirled around looking for places to fit. “A woman? What’s her name?”

“No idea,” said Kay. “Romeo spoke to her privately some time back. He just told me today, which makes me think she asked him to keep it to himself. Also, the IMG person used some kind of Artificial Intelligence voice. It was a female voice, but that doesn’t mean it was a woman.” She chuckled dryly. “Maybe it wasn’t a human at all. The CIA has a long history of making deals with aliens, right, Benson?”

Benson smiled. “I’m not at liberty to discuss our alien partners, Kay.” He rubbed his jaw, shot a look at Nancy, who gestured for him to push on, ask more questions, find out more about IMG while Kay was in a talkative mood.

But Benson stayed silent. Something unsettled him about this conversation. He couldn’t put his finger on it. At first he’d considered the possibility that Romeo was in the room with Kay, that this was some kind of a double-cross, a setup. But Kay had revealed too much, and although a seasoned prosecutor like Kay Steffen would be a world-class liar, Benson was a masterful deception-artist himself and had a solid sense of when somebody was bullshitting him.

And so far Kay had been telling the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.

That’s what’s so damn unsettling, Benson thought as he shifted in his seat and bit his lower lip. Why is a cold-hearted tough-as-nails former prosecutor who survived hell by becoming one of its demons suddenly coming clean?

She’s scared, Benson realized. She’s got good instincts, and they’re telling her she’s in over her head, is messing with powers that she doesn’t quite understand.

And maybe you don’t fully understand either, Benson thought grimly as he considered this surprising new information about IMG entering the game, influencing the players. You need to take a step back, John, he told himself as time did that thing where it slowed down and also sped up. His temples throbbed again, and Benson chewed on his lower lip and played with the possibility that Kay Steffen might be a Darkwater woman, that maybe there was a way out for her.

Now Benson realized he was looking right at Keller as the question of Kay swirled through his pulsing head. He stared at the stoic former Delta killer who’d spent a decade as a CIA assassin.

Keller and Kay.

Had a nice ring to it, right?

Wrong, Benson told himself angrily. Names have power, but that doesn’t mean you can wield that power like it’s your own. The moment you start believing you’re in control is the moment when the universe cuts you down to size, puts you back in your place, reminds you that you’re just like all the others on the dancefloor. You don’t control the music. You don’t control a damn thing except your own choices.

And so Benson chose.

He cut Kay loose.

“Thanks, Kay,” Benson said softly. “There’s nothing else I need from you. And there’s nothing I can do for you. Goodbye.”

He reached out and killed the call, then turned off the phone so Kay couldn’t call back.

“John, what are you doing?” said Nancy, whipping off her reading glasses and glaring at Benson. “She’s our only connection to Diego!”

“And to Nina!” Jill was livid.

Benson said nothing. He drummed his fingertips on the table, peered into his cup of coffee. Nothing but cold black sludge at the bottom of the white porcelain. He sighed and glanced at the silent phone on the desk. Looked at his watch, that trusty old Fossil from his Navy days. It was looking more battered than ever, but still kept perfect time. Hopefully his timing was still as good.

Time ticked onwards. Three minutes, then five, now ten.

The room buzzed with questions and protests, but it all faded to background noise as Benson rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. Those puzzle-pieces still swirled around looking for their places, but Benson couldn’t get them to fit.

Not after this new twist with the IMG woman.

Who was she?

Was she even a she?

This couldn’t just be about money anymore, could it? Surely an investment company could find safer ways to make money than by getting involved with assassination attempts and CIA conspiracies. It was one thing for IMG to buy out Northrup Capital’s portfolio and passively hold on to it. But to actively intervene by connecting Diego and the Zetas with an American Mafia boss?

No, this wasn’t just about money.

Maybe it wasn’t even just about power.

Maybe it was personal.

Because everything was getting personal with Darkwater these days.

Benson felt a chill go through his aching body, and he almost shivered in his chair. Who the hell was this mystery woman running IMG? Was it someone Benson had double-crossed somewhere along the decades-long road from the CIA to Darkwater?

Benson reached for some instinct or intuition to give him the answer, but suddenly he felt empty inside, like he was looking into a vast abyss of nothingness. He rubbed his eyes again, asked for something from his subconscious to guide him. But all he got in response was silence, vast and thick, deep and dark.

Finally, Nancy broke the silence. “What happened to Kay seven years ago, John? Paige and I found nothing on the record. And we checked everything from court cases to local police to newspapers to the damn FBI.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Kaiser got you access to something that was sealed? Is that it? Department of Justice records that were locked down so tight that Paige couldn’t even find a trace of their existence, let alone their contents?”

Benson sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, massaged his throbbing temples. He saw Nancy cast a concerned look in his direction, then knowingly flick her gaze towards Paige, who also looked concerned.

“John, if you’re still having those headaches . . .” Nancy started to say.

“I’m fine, thank you very much, Florence Nightingale,” Benson snapped, his tone sharper than intended. Or maybe not. Maybe the anger was directed at himself for how he’d handled the call with Kay Steffen.

Shit, that call was a cry for help, Benson realized as he shot a furtive glance at the phone which was still turned off. Kay was reaching out to him, to them, to Darkwater. She might not completely understand why she’d made that call, might have just done it on instinct instead of intelligence.

Following her heart instead of her head.

And Benson had turned her away.

Every head in the room was turned in Benson’s direction now as Nancy’s question about the headaches seemed to linger in the air, reverberate off the walls. He realized he’d been rubbing his temples, grinding his teeth, tapping his foot incessantly on the stiff carpet beneath the table. He glanced around at the concerned faces of his team, meeting each gaze sternly. The past couple of months ranked amongst the hardest of Benson’s life—topped only by the horrific emotional aftermath of Sally’s death on that first Darkwater mission. This challenge, however, was more physical than emotional. Benson had been injured in the field before, but being so close to that blast had rattled his cage in a way he didn’t think was possible. He’d always bounced back from injury stronger than ever, but this felt different.

Maybe he was just getting old. Maybe this was the universe reminding him that life was lived in the flesh, that your soul is eternal but your body isn’t going to last forever. The orthopedic surgeons had fixed up his leg all right. The pain was no problem, really. But the headaches hadn’t subsided at all. He knew that the force of that blast would have bounced his brain back-and-forth against the inside of his skull multiple times—each hit technically a separate concussion. He’d been ignoring the signs of post-concussion syndrome for two months now, but it was clear that nobody else was ignoring it. Benson had built his reputation in the CIA for being the coolest snake in the den, but ever since the accident, his temper flared with uncharacteristic quickness, his wisecracks carrying far more bite than before.

Maybe his judgment was compromised too.

And that was a big fucking problem.

Because Benson needed his judgment to be spot-on for Darkwater to keep winning at this pulsing, throbbing, seething game of choice and circumstance, sex and violence, fate and destiny. Every man, woman, and child in Darkwater depended on the Captain to steer this cosmic ship through the storms of serendipity, navigate the currents of chaos.

And right now it was Jack and Jill’s mission, which meant they needed him the most.

Benson glanced towards Jill now. She’d barely been an afterthought to him so far. Benson had been so focused on the bigger picture with Senator Robinson and the Presidential election that he was losing sight of the deepest truth of the great game:

That there is no bigger picture without the smaller picture.

They say the Devil is in the details, but God lives in the details too.

Spirituality lives in the flesh.

Enlightenment is found in the daily work of the laborer.

There is no tree without the seed.

And the seed of human existence lies in the union of man and woman.

This man, and this woman.

Jack and Jill.

Benson needed to focus on them, on their story, their choices, their challenges. That was the only way to play this game when nothing else was clear. Hell, that was the game, remember? The only game the universe ever played.

The game of man and woman.

“This isn’t a game,” came Jill’s voice through Benson’s throbbing thoughts like an answer from not his mystical mind but the physical world. Benson was startled to feel her brush past his shoulder, reach for Jack’s phone on the table, snatch it up and turn it on to call Kay Steffen back. “Nina’s all alone back there, and maybe Kay can help her. Clearly nobody else will.”

“Give me that damn phone.” Benson struggled to his feet, grimacing from the stabbing pain in his left shin. “Jack, stop her.”

“She can’t unlock it without my fingerprint.” Jack strode over to Jill to snatch the phone away from her hand, but she sidestepped him and ducked beneath his arm and scurried out of the room like a rabbit on the run. Jack sighed and then strode after her down the labyrinth of corridors and cubby-holes and conference rooms of the unfinished Darkwater HQ.

Benson hesitated, then smiled. Get back to the basics, he reminded himself. Trust the process like you have on every Darkwater mission so far. There is no bigger game than the game of one man and one woman, so let it play out with this man and this woman.

“Unlock the phone for her,” Benson called to Jack, who stopped in the hallway, turned his head halfway, flashed Benson a curious look, then shrugged and disappeared around the corner after Jill. Benson looked at Paige, his eyes lighting up as he felt the game spin back into play. “I presume you can get that conversation on audio in here?”

Paige nodded quickly, tapped a few keys on her laptop. Moments later the in-ceiling speakers crackled to life, filling the conference room with crystal clear audio of Jill and Kay’s conversation.

“This guy Benson is an asshole,” Kay was saying.

“Yes, everyone says so,” Jill replied.

Benson sighed gruffly, then settled down in his chair and grinned. Chuckles of relieved amusement went around the room. Nancy smiled with smug satisfaction.

And Benson’s temples stopped throbbing as that familiar ripple of excitement moved through his creaky semi-bionic body. This was Jack and Jill’s mission, and right now Benson was just going to sit back and listen, relax and let it play out instead of thinking he could take the reins from the universe and not get bucked off that cosmic rodeo. Yeah, it was time to let things flow like a river flows naturally to the sea.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?