Page 118 of Secret Weapon

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NINE

In my past life, I’d spent some time around embassies, studying their layouts, watching the activity nearby, occasionally slipping inside for a closer look.Visit Embassy Row in DC or Kensington Palace Gardens in London, and you’d find yourself immersed in a world of quiet wealth and privilege where loitering unnoticed was difficult.I’d had to get creative—dress up as a tourist with a different disguise every day, skulk around at night avoiding the watchful eyes of security cameras, that kind of thing… Once, I’d reinvented myself as a landscaper just to spend time in the area.Nobody questioned a woman with pruning shears.

The Russian Consulate Field Office in Huntington Beach presented a different set of challenges.It perched above the Big Break Surf Store, a stone’s throw from the ocean, and there were people everywhere.Locals in a hurry, tourists wandering in the way, kids on skateboards, a woman arguing on the phone with her boyfriend, and a pickpocket scoping out potential marks.On a different day, maybe I’d have treated him to a dose of his own medicine, but this morning, I had other priorities.

I knew now where the “watchers” were.The Surfside Hotel overlooked the entrance, a nondescript door sandwiched between Big Break and the Matrixx nightclub.Guess the diplomats liked to be in the heart of the community.I’d bet my Remington CSR that the US government occupied one of the hotel rooms on a long-term rental, and even as Alex and I ate a late breakfast at the café opposite Big Break, an agent would be sitting above our heads, studying the comings and goings.We’d considered renting a room ourselves, but if somebody left and we needed to follow, they’d have disappeared into the crowds by the time we made it down to the lobby.

So for now, our brief was simple: play tourist.At this moment, our three main targets—Timonenko, Smirnov, and Agapov—were all inside, and after we’d taken our time eating, Emmy and Black would relieve us.By then, we hoped to have a location for our new friend, Bryant Angelou.It was possible the meeting between him and Timonenko had been entirely innocent—one role of diplomats was to promote the culture of their homeland, after all, and Angelou’s latest venture was an action thriller being shot on location in both Moscow and California—but he was still a loose end.

I didn’t care for loose ends.

“Want more coffee?”Alex asked.

“Not yet.After we’ve eaten.”

Which wouldn’t be anytime soon, I suspected.The couple next to us had ordered before we arrived, and they were still waiting, the woman tutting and looking at her watch.Twice, she’d asked her boyfriend togo and say something, but he didn’t seem to share her impatience, a response that only left her more peeved.She’d never worked in hospitality, that much was clear, as was the fact that the café was short-staffed.One server rushed around trying to keep everyone happy, and a “Help Wanted” card in the window had “flexible shifts, free meals” handwritten at the bottom as an afterthought.

If we needed to watch the office long-term, Emmy could have an agent hire on as waitstaff, but for us today, the place was almost perfect.The server could take as much time as she wanted, and I’d make sure to leave her a nice tip from Emmy’s expense budget when we left.

I say “almost perfect” because the tables had been set out with one chair back-to-the-window, one chair back-to-the-street.Far from ideal as one of us would have to face away from the consulate.Rad and I would have flipped a coin for the window seat, but when we arrived, Alex had taken the street side for himself without asking.That tiny gesture had left me with a lump in my throat.

A stack of guidebooks sat between us, and I flipped through the pages, jotting down notes.I’d done this dozens of times in the past—worked a surveillance detail, planning an itinerary for a vacation I’d never take, but this time, something felt different.Not just the company but the tiny bud of hope in my chest.A real vacation was out of the question, but I wasn’t beholden to an unreasonable master now.If Alex didn’t need to rush back to Virginia, maybe we could spend a day together by the ocean?

“You okay?”he asked.

“Huh?”

“You looked kind of…glazed?”

“I…”Pizdets.I’d never zoned out like that before, not in the middle of a job.A lapse in concentration could result in death, either mine or someone else’s.“I’m fine.I don’t… I don’t think anyone left.”

“They didn’t,” he said, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear.“I was watching in the glass.”

“Sorry.I’m just…just…”

Off balance.Usually, I didn’t apologise for getting things wrong because I made sure I got them right.

Alex reached across the table and took my hand in his.Good.That was good.We needed to stick to our cover story, and a regular couple would demonstrate affection.

“We’re a team, Dashenka.We hold each other up.”

I nodded because that stupid golf ball wedged in my throat made it difficult to speak.The general had told us the Ten were a team, but in reality, it had been every assassin for themselves.Pavel wouldn’t have pissed on me if I’d been on fire, not unless it benefitted him in some way, and if Ilya had been drowning, I’d have pushed him under if nobody had been looking.Sure, I’d have saved Ana or Rad, maybe even Vik or Artem, but the others?No.

I’d only been involved with Blackwood for a few days, but I already knew these people were different.A real team filled with genuine friendships.

“I’m still getting used to this,” I whispered.

“I understand.And if you stumble, we’ll all be here to hold you up.”

“You think I’ll stumble?Because I’m good at my job.I—”

A squeeze of my hand quickly shut me up.In this moment, I was being anything but professional.

“I know you’re good at your job.But you’re also dealing with a lifetime of trauma, whether you want to admit it or not.”

How dare he judge me, this man who’d only met me properly four days ago?He thought I was weak?That I hadn’t put my past to rest?That every so often, the pain got so intense that it threatened to overwhelm me?That memories plagued me like suffocating shadows in the night?That some days, I drove to the middle of the forest just to scream?That I buried my feelings and focused on training because it was the only way I could cope?That every time I killed a man, I imagined it was Oleg Zacharov in the vain hope that my demons would finally be exorcised?

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