Page 62 of Turn the Tide
Logan shrugged. Didn’t matter if Sanborn wasn’t looking. He had eyes in the back of his head and saw everything. “Tough shit. I’m out. You gave me the heave-ho. Remember?”
Spared him the humiliation of admitting his inadequacy by quitting.
“You were a wreck.” Sanborn faced him, his preternatural aplomb projecting a glacial detachment. “Not fit to be in the field, or at a desk. But it was your choice to leave the family.”
The family.Sounded like the Mafia. Then again, Sanborn was a spy, a ninja, and the Godfather rolled into one. He moved mountains to get risky operations done and could probably part the Red Sea if he tried.
“Hear what he has to say before you decide,” Knox said, ever the dutiful enforcer.
“Not interested. Enjoy the flight back to fuck-off Langley.”
Knox pulled a folder labeledTop Secretfrom a portfolio and offered it to him.
“I’m the one who’s blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, but you two are having a hard time comprehending what I’m communicating.” Logan pointed to the door. “Get. Out.”
Sanborn unbuttoned his suit jacket, sat on the sofa, and crossed his leg. Smooth. Suave. He should’ve been holding a martini, shaken not stirred. “Ashley Agnello is missing.”
The words hit Logan center mass in a tight shot group. “What? How?” Ash supported operations from the protected sanctum at Langley via satellite comms, not in the field.
“Take a seat.” Knox slapped the folder to Logan’s chest.
Logan dropped into a sturdy dining chair off the compact living room, terrified to see the contents of the folder…but this was about Ash.HisAsh, for Christ’s sake. He flipped it open and read the redacted file as Sanborn explained, leaving a gazillion holes in the Swiss-cheese story.
“Rewind,” Logan demanded. “Why Ashley? She’s not operations officer material.” Wicked-sharp analyst, sexy as hell, and determined, sure, but she handled a spatula better than a SIG Sauer and wouldn’t kill a poisonous snake if her life depended on it—as he’d discovered during one of their hikes. “How could you send her in alone?”
“We’re hot in Germany. Extra operatives on the ground for months would’ve alerted the BfV, jeopardized Ashley and the mission.” Sanborn steepled his fingers. “When you left, she changed. Learned operational skills. Begged me for a shot in the field. I gave her one.”
“If a Girl Scout asked to be a spy,pretty please with sugar on top, you’d give her a gun and a mission with zero backup?”
“Her biochemistry degree and ability to speak like a native made her perfect.”
“Except for her utter lack of field experience.” Logan slammed the folder on the table. “Train thy people—one of your holy commandments. You set her up for failure.”
Knox sighed and sat in a leather club chair. “She’s not the same. She’s a marathon runner now, can handle herself with a gun or knife. And I trained her for this mission.”
Logan gave a dry laugh.
Knox was one of the best, molded in Sanborn’s image. It was also impressive that a woman who once wouldn’t walk to Starbucks when she could drive now ran marathons. Still…
“So you made her 007. Did you also teach her how to kill bad guys with a toothpick? The two of you are un-fucking-believable. She’s not qualified to be in the field, especially not alone. It takes years to develop hand-to-hand combat skills, instincts, contacts.”
Sanborn’s gaze never left him, his expression one of inexhaustible patience. Logan wanted to ruffle his feathers just once, knock his elegant bow tie askew and see if he could get a rise out of the man.
“What she stole is worth a lot,” Sanborn said. “The Agency thinks she’s gone rogue.”
The back of Logan’s neck prickled.Rogue?Not possible. Ash was no traitor. “Maybe she never made it out of the building.”
“She accessed the flash drive from a secure Agency laptop,” Knox said. “The open drive pinged Langley. She’s seen the files, which means she knows what the data is worth.”
Logan shook his head. Everyone had weaknesses, but money wasn’t Ash’s. She was an idealist, a true patriot. One of Sanborn’s disciples. “Ash would never go rogue. Not her.”
“You didn’t think she’d ever be an operations officer either.” Sanborn’s statement was a sucker punch to Logan’s jugular. “The minute she opened the files and didn’t upload them, she tied my hands. We have twenty-four hours, then the D/CIA takes over,” he said, referring to the director of the CIA. “The national security advisor and the president have an eye on this. I need you to find her.”
Click-click.Click-click.Click-click. The sound boomed in both of Logan’s ears. The distinct stutter of the wired car engine was the last thing he’d heard before the bomb killed his team. Would’ve obliterated him too, if he hadn’t gone back into the safe house to get the St. Jude pendant. The blast took his eye, the hearing in one ear, and turned his back into a science project.
Logan twitched, his mottled scars itching and stinging as though they were fresh wounds. He fought the nauseating urge to get the hell up and run out into the rain. And keep on running.
“You can’t afford to have a black mark on your perfect record,” Logan bit out. Sanborn’s accomplishments were the makings of a legend. “Then you’d never be director of the CIA.”
