CHAPTER THREE

“Excuse me,” said Zero, “do you think we could drive just a bit faster?” He sat in the back seat of a black town car as a White House chauffeur took him home to Alexandria, less than thirty minutes from Washington, DC. They drove mostly in silence, for which Zero was thankful; it gave him some precious minutes to think. There was no time to sort through the deluge of newfound skills and history that had been unlocked in his head. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

Think, Zero. Who do you know is in on this? The secretary of defense, the vice president, congressmen, a handful of senators, members of the NSA, the National Security Council, even the CIA… Names and faces flashed through his mind like a mental Rolodex. Zero sucked in a breath as a tension headache began to form at the front of his skull. He had investigated many of them, had even found some evidence—the documents he had locked in the safe deposit box in Arlington—but he feared it wouldn’t be enough to definitively prove what was happening.

In his pocket, his cell phone rang. He let it go.

Why now? He didn’t need his newfound memories for that part. It was an election year. In a little more than six months, Pierson would either be reelected for a second term or ousted by a Democrat. And nothing would drum up more support than a successful campaign against a hostile foe.

He was certain that Pierson was not a part of it. In fact, Zero recalled during Pierson’s first year in office when he signed a bill decreasing US military presence in Iraq and Iran. He was opposed to further war in the Middle East without provocation… which was why those in the shadows needed the Brotherhood’s catalyst.

And while the US decreased their presence, the Russians increased theirs. Maria had mentioned that the Ukrainians were nervous that Russia intended to seize oil-producing assets in the Black Sea. That’s why she had made a cautious alliance with them to share information. The US conspirators were in bed with the Russians. The US would get the strait, and the Russians would get the Black Sea. The United States would do nothing to stop Russia from their endeavors, and Russia would respond in kind, possibly even lend support in the Middle East.

Two of the world’s superpowers would become richer, more powerful, and nigh unstoppable. And as long as there was peace between them, there would be no one to oppose them.

His phone rang again. The call registered as unknown. He wondered briefly if it could be Deputy Director Cartwright calling. Zero’s direct boss in the Special Activities Division of the agency was noticeably absent at the Oval Office meeting with President Pierson. It could have been official business that kept him away, but Zero had his doubts. Still, the caller (or callers) had not left voicemails and Zero did not bother to reach out to the CIA.

As they neared his home on Spruce Street, he made two calls. The first was to Georgetown University. “This is Professor Reid Lawson. I’m afraid I’ve come down with something. Most likely the flu. I’m going to see a doctor today. Can you see if Dr. Ford is available to take my lectures?”

The second call was to the Third Street Garage.

“Yeah,” the man that answered said in a grunt.

“Mitch? It’s Zero.”

“Mm.” The burly mechanic said it as if he had been expecting the call. Mitch was a man of few words, and also a CIA asset who had helped Zero when he needed to rescue his girls from Rais and a ring of human traffickers.

“Something’s come up. I may need an extraction for two. Can you be on standby?” The words rolled off his tongue as if they had been well-rehearsed—because they had, he realized, even if he hadn’t spoken them in some time. He couldn’t risk asking Watson or Strickland; they would likely be watched as carefully as he was. But Mitch operated off the radar.

“Consider it done,” Mitch said simply.

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up. His first instinct was to have his daughters taken to a safe house right away, but any deviation from their normal schedule might instigate suspicion. Mitch’s extraction was a failsafe in case he had reason to believe the girls’ lives were in imminent danger—and despite the trepidation over this heightened sense of paranoia, he had plenty of reason to believe it was justified.

Home was a two-story house on a corner lot in the suburbs of Alexandria. To the non-street side was a vacant home currently up for sale, having been the former residence of David Thompson, a retired CIA field agent who had been killed in Zero’s foyer.

He unlocked the door and quickly punched in the security code for the alarm system. He kept it set that the code needed to be entered every time someone came or went, regardless of who was home at the time. If the code wasn’t entered within sixty seconds of the door opening, an alarm would sound and local police would be alerted. In addition to the alarm system, they had security cameras both outside and inside, bolts on the doors and windows, and a panic room with a steel security door in the basement.

Still he feared it wouldn’t be enough to keep his daughters safe.

He found Maya lying on her back on the sofa and playing a game on her phone. She was nearly seventeen, and often vacillated between unprompted teenage angst and the foreshadowing of becoming a discerning adult. She had inherited her father’s dark hair and sharp facial features, while taking on her mother’s fierce intelligence and biting wit.

“Hey,” she said without looking away from the screen. “Did the president feed you? Because I could really go for Chinese tonight.”

“Where’s your sister?” he asked quickly.

“Dining room.” Maya frowned and sat up, sensing the urgency in his voice. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Nothing yet,” he answered cryptically. Zero hurried through the kitchen and found his younger daughter, Sara, doing homework at the table.

She glanced up at the sudden intrusion of her father. “Hi, Dad.” Then she too furrowed her brow, seemingly aware that something was amiss. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m fine. Just wanted to check on you.” Without another word, he quickly headed upstairs to his home office. He already knew what he needed and exactly where to find it. The first item was a burner phone that he had picked up, paid in cash with a few hundred prepaid minutes on it. Maya had the number. The second was the safe deposit box key. He knew where it was as if he always had, though earlier that morning he never would have remembered what it was for or why he had it. The key was in an old tackle box in his closet, what he had dubbed his “junk box,” filled with all sorts of old things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of though they hardly seemed worthwhile.

When he returned to the kitchen, he was not all that surprised to find both of his daughters standing there expectantly.

“Dad?” Maya said uncertainly. “What’s going on?”

Zero took his cell phone from his pocket and left it on the kitchen counter. “There’s something that I have to do,” he said vaguely. “And it’s…”

Incredibly dangerous. Monumentally stupid to do alone. Puts you directly in harm’s way. Again.

“It’s something that means people are likely going to be watching us. Carefully. And we need to be prepared for that.”

“Are we going to a safe house again?” Sara asked.

It broke Zero’s heart that she had to even ask that question. “No,” he told her. Then he scolded himself, remembering that he had promised them honesty. “Not yet. That might come later.”

“Does this have to do with what happened in New York?” Maya asked candidly.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But for now, just listen. There’s a man, an agency asset named Mitch. He’s a big guy, burly, with a bushy beard and wears a trucker’s cap. He runs the Third Street Garage. If I give him the go-ahead, he’s going to come here and bring you somewhere safe. Somewhere that not even the CIA knows about.”

“Why don’t we just go there now?” Sara asked.

“Because,” Zero replied honestly, “there’s a chance that people might already be watching us. Or at the very least, keeping an eye out for anything strange. If you don’t show up for school, or if I do something out of the ordinary, it might ring some alarms. You guys know the drill. You don’t let anyone in, you don’t go with anyone, and you don’t trust anyone except for Mitch, Agent Strickland, or Agent Watson.”

“And Maria,” Sara added. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Zero murmured. “And Maria. Of course.” He reached for the doorknob. “I won’t be long. Lock up behind me. I have the burner; call if you need me.” He headed out the door and strode quickly to his car, dismayed to find that the memory of him and Maria together was rattling around his head again.

Kate. You betrayed her.

“No,” he muttered to himself as he reached the car. He wouldn’t have. He loved Kate more than anything, anyone. As he slid behind the wheel and started the car, he searched his memory for any indication that he was wrong, that he and Maria had not had an affair while Kate was still alive. But there was none. His relationship at home had been a happy one; Kate was none the wiser about his work as a CIA agent. She believed his frequent travels were guest lectures at other colleges, research for a history book, summits, and conventions. She supported him fully while taking care of the two girls. He hid his injuries from her, and when he couldn’t, he made excuses. He was clumsy. He fell. At least once he had been jumped. The agency helped with his cover stories and, on more than one occasion, went so far as to create fake police reports to substantiate his claims.

She didn’t know.

But Maria did. Maria knew this entire time that they had been together while Kate was still alive, and she had said nothing. As long as Zero’s memory was fractured, she could tell him whatever he wanted to hear and withhold anything he didn’t know.

He suddenly realized how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white and his ears burning in anger. Deal with that later. There are more important things to do right now, he told himself as he headed to the bank to retrieve the evidence that he could only hope was enough to put a stop to this.