Page 111 of Only the Wicked
“If someone had a list of my assets, they would know…” I shrug. It’s obvious. I wasn’t allowed to return to my apartment as it was deemed too dangerous. Met my CIA handler in the park and was instructed to get in a limousine that whisked me away to the airport. Everything in my apartment arrived two weeks later neatly packed by professional shippers.
“If you’re right, then ARGUS is being used by clients to comb through surveillance data to answer specific questions. Why assume I’m involved?”
“The assumption wasn’t specifically you. The desire is to learn more about how ARGUS works. You’re one of the creators. The lead.”
“I work with the Pentagon. Closely. The DoD. If the CIA has these questions, why not come to me?”
“Perhaps they did. As I understand it, a congressional hearing was?—”
“Hold a hearing and you might as well be making announcements to the world.”
“Well, that’s why there’s a covert investigation. The world won’t find out what’s going on at ARGUS.”
“The Pentagon, our biggest client, doesn’t believe us?”
“Maybe your contacts believe you, but maybe their contacts don’t.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. If we’d fielded employees, it would’ve been better. Me getting close to Rhodes… “Is it possible that someone within ARGUS is doing queries and selling the data?”
“No.” He’s too quick to answer. “We have precautions in place.”
“If you hadn’t pulled strings to close down the congressional investigation, we probably wouldn’t be here.” My goal isn’t to gaslight him, but it is the truth. The FBI floated opening an investigation to the DOJ—also shut down. Red flags.
He folds his hands, elbows on his knees, resembling the thinker. “I understand now. Thank you.”
The formality, the coldness. It’s all what I deserve but I at least need to try for him to understand. I sink to the floor, hands on his knees.
“My intention was never to hurt you.”
I’m kneeling before him, sitting on my ankles. The posture feels foreign—vulnerable in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be with a target. The subservience is not lost on me. I don’t kneel. I don’t apologize. And I also complete the mission at all costs.
But this isn’t about a mission anymore.
I stare at my hands, remembering them on his body last night. Remembering them on my service weapon in Paris. The same hands that caressed him set tracking devices, picked locks, even coerced innocent civilians into helping us, only for them to lose their lives. Working for KOAN, I’ve crossed professional lines and violated principles. But more importantly, I’ve been dishonest with someone who, against all protocols and predictions, I’ve come to care about and it’s not a textbook phenomenon.
“If you discovered I was breaking the law, would you have turned me in?” His eyes hold mine, searching for truth—or perhaps a comfortable lie.
I consider deflecting but opt for honesty. “If you were breaking the law, yes.” I pause, weighing my next words. “But laws and ethics aren’t always aligned. The CIA taught me that some laws exist to protect power, not people.”
His eyebrow raises slightly.
“When I say no one is above the law, I mean it. But I also know that not all laws deserve equal reverence.” I think of classified operations I’ve taken part in—technically legal but morally questionable. “I’d want to know why you broke it. The motivation matters to me.”
“Does it?” His voice is soft but intentional. “Or is that something you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
The question hits closer to home than he could know. How many nights have I lain awake justifying actions taken “for the greater good”?
“Fair question,” I admit. “I guess we all draw our lines somewhere.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied with my imperfect answer. “Fair enough.”
“I’ve gotten to know you over these last few days and I don’t believe you’re unconscionable. If anything, I believe you’re burdened with your responsibility. That’s why your partner urged you to vacation, isn’t it? It’s been getting to you.”
He extends a hand. “Don’t sit on the floor.”
I lay my hand on his, and the warmth of his skin penetrates deep within. As I rise, it feels like he might urge me onto his lap, but he doesn’t. I stand before him, uncertain.
But uncertainty isn’t warranted. That’s just wishful thinking.
“We’ll work together? My team with ARGUS. We want the same thing, right?”
