Page 22 of A Touch of Treachery
The General strode forward.His wing tips barely made a whisper on the gray carpet, which was much thicker and nicer than what was in the waiting area outside.Somehow the faint scuffs made his footsteps even more ominous than usual.
He stepped behind a wooden desk that stretched along the back wall.The General sank into a black leather chair, and the padding let out a soft sigh, indicating just how luxe and comfortable it was.In contrast, the two chairs squatting in front of the desk were plain metal frames that looked like they belonged in an interrogation room.
Metal bookcases bristling with history, military, and other nonfiction books stood along one wall, opposite a gray couch and a mini fridge on another wall.A high wooden table covered with gleaming liquor bottles and crystal glasses stood in the back corner, and a shiny black metal filing cabinet was in the other corner.
An open door led to a gray tile bathroom.Folded white towels were stacked up on a long counter, while travel-size soaps and shampoos ringed the sink.This space looked more like a hotel suite than an office, and it was cold, functional, and sterile, just like my father so often was.
The only things out of place were the cardboard boxes piled on the couch and a smaller, battered, open box sitting on the desk.
“Moving in?”I drawled, leaning a shoulder against a bookcase.
My father shrugged.“I completed my review of the Section station in Vienna last week.I thought it was high time to return to D.C., especially given all the problems here over the last few months.”
As the head of the board of directors, my father was always moving from one Section station to another, like a shark gobbling up all the missions and problems in his wake, large and small, important and trivial.Basically, the General was a CEO, only he dealt in secrets, lies, and super-spies instead of cars, computers, and assembly-line workers.
I might be his son, but as a Section cleaner, I rarely saw my father, since I too was always traveling from one mission and one part of the world to another.At least before I had settled in D.C.But that arrangement had suited me just fine, especially after the Blacksea mission.
Even though Graham and several other agents had been killed, the General hadn’t sent anyone after Adrian Anatoly, the terrorist responsible for planting the bombs on the beach and ambushing the Section support staff in Australia.My father had claimed someone would kill Anatoly sooner or later and that going after the terrorist wasn’t a good use of my time and skills.
Despite our issues over the years, his lack of support had stunned me.Eventually, my shock had turned to anger, and I’d decided to go after Anatoly myself, which had eventually led me to Charlotte.
But right now, my anger was tempered by wariness.The General never did anything without a reason, which made me even more curious about what he was doing here.What person or mission had caught his attention at the D.C.station?
My father reached into the open cardboard box and pulled out a silver picture frame, which he positioned on the corner of the desk so that it was facing toward him.In the photo, my mother, Iylena, relaxed on a beach towel.A floppy hat covered most of her strawberry-blond hair and protected her pale, freckled skin from the sun, but her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and merriment as she grinned at the camera.
My father was American, but Iylena had been born in Australia, and I had spent a lot of time there during my childhood, hence my accent.My mother had suffered from a rare type of blood cancer that only struck paramortals, and later this year would mark the fifteenth anniversary of her death.I’d always been close to my mother, and seeing her smiling face made the sharp ache of her loss hit me all over again.
My father trailed his fingers down the glass as if he was caressing Iylena’s face.Despite his faults, he had truly loved my mother, who had been a kind, gentle, wonderful woman.Our mutual respect for her was just about the only thing the two of us had in common these days.
“Iylena would have loved seeing you establishing yourself here in the D.C.station,” the General said in a low, gruff voice.“She was always so proud of you, Desmond.”
I swallowed the knot of emotion in my throat.“Yes, she was.”
My father caressed her photo a moment longer, then hit a red button on the desktop.A familiar buzz rang out, indicating that he had soundproofed the office.
The General lifted his gaze to mine.The warmth drained out of his eyes like water leaking through a sieve, and he squared his shoulders, as if bracing for the unpleasant but familiar task of dealing with me, his disappointing son.“I suppose you want to talk about the analyst.Plead your case for how Ms.Locke should be allowed to continue working on the Hyde mission.”
His cold, flat tone punched the softness out of me, and I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders right back at him.“I don’t have topleadanything.Charlotte is the best analyst here, in all of Section, actually, and she knows more about Henrika than anyone else.Sidelining her is a mistake.”
My father arched an eyebrow.“So you said in the debriefing, but I remain unconvinced.”He gestured over at a pile of cardboard boxes stacked on the couch.“I’ve reviewed Ms.Locke’s work regarding Henrika.Her information-gathering skills and analytical deductions are average at best.”
I scoffed.“That’s bullshit, and we both know it.Besides, Charlotte was the one who figured out that Trevor Donnelly and Miriam Lancaster were moles.”
The General’s eyes narrowed.“My question is why didn’tyoufigure it out?You and Trevor were friends.You went on dozens of missions together, and yet you never noticed that Trevor wasn’t as committed to Section as he pretended to be.”
Anger surged through me, and my jaw clenched so hard I thought I might crack a tooth.My father had been here all of an hour, and he was already pointing out my many flaws.But the thing that annoyed me the most was that in this case he wasright.
Trevor Donnelly had been one of my closest friends, and he, Graham, and I had jokingly referred to ourselves as the Three Musketeers.I’d had no idea Trevor was involved with Miriam Lancaster, one of the charmers he was supervising, much less that they had both been feeding information to Henrika Hyde.
Not only had Trevor betrayed Section 47, but he’d also betrayedme.Trevor had leaked information to Adrian Anatoly that had resulted in Graham’s death, along with those of the other agents assigned to the doomed Blacksea mission.
I was the only one who had survived, and when I’d come to Washington, D.C., to track down the mole, Trevor had doubled down on his treachery.First, he’d sent several cleaners to kill Charlotte, who was getting closer to the truth than she’d realized.Then Trevor had sent more cleaners to try to kill us both with a car bomb.
And perhaps worst of all, after Charlotte had outed him as a mole, Trevor had admitted how jealous he was of me.How he hated the fact that I was a Legacy and he wasn’t, and how my father had handed everything to me on a silver platter.That was the first time I’d seen Trevor’s true colors, and the knowledge had stunned, saddened, and angered me.The two of us had fought in the level-three bullpen, and I’d killed Trevor by using my galvanism to stop his heart.
Sometimes I thought all I did was go around killing my friends.
“Well?”the General demanded.“Why didn’t you discover the truth about Trevor yourself?Instead of being so blind to his actions?I taught you better than that, Desmond.I taught you to keepeveryoneclose, friends and enemies alike, because—”
