Page 2 of Double Take

“We’re operating on a hope?”

Marshall said nothing. But what could he say? The RCA superpower had the rest of Earth over a barrel. The axis broke treaties and other agreements, and nobody could do anything about it. Occasionally, small concessions could be gained from individuals within the RCA, hence the importance of Dark Ops, which operated outside official government and diplomatic channels.

“Who are wehopingto get released?” he probed.

“Three of our agents, plus a group of college kids, one of whom is Senator Janson’s daughter.”

He wondered what the students had done. Notoriously stupid, college kids were oblivious to possible consequences of their hijinks. Alcohol-soaked adolescent brains didn’t comprehend that freedoms enjoyed at home didn’t exist in other parts of the world, and what might be a minor offense—or no offense—in their homeland often carried Draconian penalties elsewhere.

On the other hand, considering a senator’s daughter was among the abducted group, the kids might have been innocent of any wrongdoing. The students might have been targeted because ofherso that an exchange could occur.

“How much in weapons are we giving away?”

“Everything you need to know is on the chip. Be ready to go on Tuesday.” Marshall turned to leave.

“We hung her out to dry.” The words burst out of him.

“Hung who out to dry?”

“Faith Hammond. Does she have any protection at all?”

Although Mark Hammond had been fatally wounded in an operation gone south, he’d been extracted before succumbing, which had enabled Bragg to replace him. Physically and officially, accountant Mark Hammond, husband of Faith, had passed away. But Dark Ops spread disinformation to the criminal underworld that he’d survived the attack. As Hammond’s stand-in, Bragg continued the wheeling and dealing with criminals and terrorists, all the while the vulnerable widow resided alone in a Maryland, USA suburb.

“Protection?” Marshall scoffed. “She’s damn lucky to be the widow and not the deceased. HQ was on the verge of neutralizing her when Hammond died.”

What? Jesus!He stared at his CO.

“Before he died, he’d reported to HQ she started questioning his out-of-town trips.”

What kind of man ratted out his own wife?A conscienceless asshole fucker.Not a day went by that he didn’t discover another reason to despise his progenitor. Bragg had suspected, but couldn’t prove, that Hammond had been a double agent, working for both Dark Ops and the RCA. Regardless, the man had been an asshole. He’d never loved his wife; he’d married her to complete his cover as a boring married accountant.

“She probably found out about his affairs,” he supplied, trying to cover for her in case HQ hadn’t given up the idea of neutralizing her. Among the least of his flaws, Hammond had been a notorious womanizer.

“She discovered he didn’t work for Underwood, Herr, and McCullough, Accountancy LLC.”

UH & M “employed” quite a few Dark Ops agents. Accounting, like truck driving, insurance, and data analysis drew little public curiosity or scrutiny. Nobody cared what an insurance salesman or data analyst did all day. Safely boring, those occupations provided good covers.

“We didn’t plant an insider?”

“Of course we did! But she’d called in sick with the flu, so the firm had brought in a temp, who transferred Mrs. Hammond to HR, who reported no one named Hammond worked at the firm.”

“Is that why I didn’t assume his role as her husband?”

“HQ took a chance she would cease asking questions if she believed her husband was dead.” Marshall’s mouth adopted a wry twist. “We do try to avoid killing innocent people.”

Since when? Dark Ops accepted collateral damage as the cost of doing business. They avoided large-scale carnage that could draw attention to their activities, but they didn’t hesitate to sacrifice innocent civilians to achieve an objective.

“It seems to have worked,” Marshall said. “She’s moved on. She relocated to Terra Nova.” He paused. “And she applied to Cosmic Mates for a husband.”

Chapter Two

Spinning on the potter’s wheel, the mud felt smooth and slick as Faith funneled the clay into the tall vase she’d envisioned, humming as she worked. She found working with clay relaxing, almost meditative. Worries and concerns melted away as a lump of wet mud transformed into an object of beauty.

Sometimes she had something specific in mind, but she preferred to let the magic of inspiration guide her hands. Not all of her inspired pottery pieces sold, but she loved them the best. Her husband had mocked those the most. However, her favorite, unique creation had garnered a pretty penny from an anonymous buyer on the HyperSphere. Sometimes she regretted letting it go, but that single sale had paid a good portion of the bills she’d been saddled with after Mark’s death. Still, making ends meet hadn’t been easy.

Hopefully finances and life would improve.

Soon. Soon.

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