Page 245 of The Black Trilogy

“Emmy, they already sent their best team.”

Oh. My blood drained to my feet as I realised what Nate meant.

“Jed?”

“Jed,” he confirmed. “Plus one other, a guy called Phillip Farrow.”

Now I didn’t know Phillip Farrow. But I knew Jed. And Jed’s bosses at the CIA knew I knew Jed. And as they knew a lot, even if it wasn’t quite as much as they liked to think they did, they likely knew how well I knew Jed.

So now they were asking me to go into Syria to find him and complete their job while I was at it. Manipulative little… I had to hand it to them. It was something I’d have done myself.

“So…” I started.

“You’re not doing it, Emmy,” Nate jumped in.

“That’s got to be a decision I make, Nate.”

“You’ve already made it. I saw it on your face the second I mentioned Jed.”

“So you understand there’s not much you can do or say to change my mind.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But it doesn’t mean I won’t try. You’ve only been back a few months, and without Black here your head’s not in the right place.”

“I know as well as you do I’m not playing with a full deck at the moment. But I’m still going.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nick said.

Nick’s proposition meant he was literally putting his life on the line for me. But I had to turn him down.

“No, Nick. Not that I don’t appreciate your offer, because I do, but that’s not a part of the world you’re used to operating in.”

“Who do you want, then?”

“Logan Barnes, if he agrees to it. Plus the support of everyone around this table because I’m going to need it.”

“Goes without saying that you’ve got our support, Emmy,” Nate said. “That doesn’t stop us all wishing you wouldn’t go.”

“I have to.”

And not only because of Jed. When I started working with Black, he showed me I could make a difference. Some of the things I did, although unpalatable, would ultimately lead to a greater good. If I gathered information on weapons the Syrian regime didn’t want people to know about, the world could act. Would I trade my life for the potential to save many? In a heartbeat. It was why I existed—I’d just got lucky so far.

Nate knew that, and he sighed as he hit a button on the intercom.

“Someone find Logan, please.”

And that was why, a little over a week later, I sat in premium economy eating shrivelled peanuts as the plane descended into Damascus.

“Want one?” I offered the packet to Logan.

He mock-shuddered. “I can only stomach those with beer.”

What I wouldn’t do for a pint. We were off alcohol until we got back, not that it was easy to come across in the Middle East, anyway.

The first miracle befell us as the ageing plane landed in one piece, and the second happened when the rickety luggage carousel cranked into life and all our bags appeared on it. Logan picked up the hefty case holding his cameras. We’d travelled under the guise of freelance reporters, both on French passports. Logan had his French accent tuned to perfection, and it did squishy things to my insides just listening to him. I’d already made him read the weather report twice.

Of course, flying commercial limited us somewhat in the weapons we could bring. The knives hidden in our suitcase frames would have to serve us until we sourced something better. The CIA had promised their support—I’d have settled for nothing less seeing as it was them who’d messed up in the first place—but I never completely trusted them. On past experience, I’d found the CIA looked out for the CIA and screwed everyone else. I’d sent them a shopping list two days ago, but whether they delivered any of it remained to be seen. I certainly wasn’t holding my breath.

The hotel we spent the night in claimed to be five-star, but turned out to be five-cockroach. Logan and I took it in turns to keep watch, and as the call to prayer echoed off the battle-scarred buildings the next morning, we packed up for the next stage of our journey. At least our CIA contact had turned up with just over half of my requests. I felt happier with a gun under my baggy shirt.

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