Page 102 of Only the Wicked
Stay on task.
“My assets weren’t the only ones killed. Assets and CIA officers throughout Europe, the Middle East, and Africa were terminated. Most looked accidental. Some were assassinations. Straight out murder. Someone sold a list to our enemies.”
“And I’m suspected?” Now he turns around, incredulous.
“ARGUS. Not necessarily you.”
He rubs the back of his head. It’s a gesture I’m becoming familiar with, one that relieves frustration.
“I didn’t take the assignment lightly. But it’s important to me that we find the source of the leak. My assets? Our officers? My colleagues? They were good people. With families.” I swallow hard, remembering the notification procedures, the carefully worded letters that never actually explained how someone died serving their country. “We’ve lost more assets and officers in the last six months than in the history of the CIA program. Eighteen people.”
My entire career upended because I might have been next on the list. If we don’t find the source—a source that no one in the government apparently believes exists—additional names may be added to the memorial wall at Langley.
He drops his head back, looking to the ceiling.
“When I developed ARGUS, it was because I saw a need. Existing surveillance systems and communication databases possess an unwieldy amount of data. I developed ARGUS to allow the good guys to better use the resources available to them. My goals are for good.”
“Who are the good guys? In your opinion.” Because that’s the problem. No one goes out there aiming to be the bad guys. In geopolitics, good and bad hinges on perspective.
“Fair question.” He steps across the room and sinks into an armchair. His hands fall to his thighs. “I don’t believe we’ve applied our technology to anyone possessing the data that would reveal CIA operatives.”
“But it’s possible?”
“It’s not a zero-sum possibility.” His left thumb raps out a beat and his head tilts. “I’ll help you. If we’re aiding an entity that is taking out US operatives, I want to know.”
“Russia would be an obvious choice.”
His gaze roams the room. “Are we being recorded?”
My gaze travels to my bag. “Doesn’t your security check?”
Wrinkles form around his eyes as he squints at me like a judge weighing my veracity. And he’s right to question.
“When we learned your security team was on site, we scrapped surveillance plans.”
He nods twice, thoughtful.
“An investor in my first company requested that I meet with the Russian embassy today. The investor has no hold over me. Doesn’t stand to gain from the meeting.”
“Do investors often ask for favors?”
“It’s not uncommon. This particular investor invested when no one else would. He earned his money back, but you don’t forget the initial investors who give you a chance. You don’t want to say no to them, but sometimes you have to.” He releases a long sigh. “A few active investors and my partner have been pushing for ARGUS to go public. I’ve held my ground. Refused. The meeting today felt like something I could give this particular investor.”
“And?”
“The embassy contact blackmailed me. And before you ask, no, I don’t think the investor put him up to it. His Russian contact probably said something innocuous like they’d appreciate some private time with me if I have it to spare.” He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and looks me directly in the eyes. “Tell me more about KOAN. Perhaps we can work together.”
The slither of an opening is like a ray of light in a storm. This is the best possible option—for the team and for the operation. My cracked heart… That’s just Mata Hari.
“Are you familiar with the definition of koan?” I ask, noticing the leather-bound copy of Joseph Campbell’s “Hero with a Thousand Faces” on the coffee table. It could be the hotels, but it reminds me of a small personal detail tucked away for this assignment—Rhodes reads mythology and philosophy.
“A paradoxical question without a clear answer, meant to provoke enlightenment.” His eyes narrow slightly as he answers, appreciative of the reference. “Fitting for a group that operates in gray areas.”
“The answers aren’t always obvious,” I agree. “Sometimes you have to sit with the contradiction.”
For a brief moment, I glimpse something in his expression—a flash of the intellectual beneath the businessman, the thinker behind the tech mogul. And then, there it is…the connection between us. The energy, the charge.
“Don’t mistake me.” He gestures between the two of us. “There’s nothing between us. What I’m proposing is strictly professional. If you’d like to join me as my plus one at the Bastille gala, that’s fine. I assume attendance plays into your operation and will give you an opportunity for more intel. But…”
