Page 84 of Agency
“Okay,” Jericho said, slowly nodding. Clearly, he was as confused about this as I was.
“M-2406,” Ambyr said. Eyes narrowing, she continued to manipulate the screen. “Four of them. M-2406-1, 2, 3, and 4.”
“Yeah,” Jericho breathed. “Okay, but maybe they use this to keep track of the regions where their agents are supposed to be? Like what contracts they’re on?”
“Kind of makes sense from a combat perspective,” I said. “Knowing where backup might be located.”
“Not from a security perspective, though,” Andrew said. “Keeping operatives cut off from other operatives is basic op sec, in case one gets captured.”
“And now you’re back to looking at where we are,” Jericho said with a sigh, clearly exasperated from the way he was running a hand down his face. “Ambyr, what do you think is…?” He trailed off.
“Shit,” he breathed.
I glanced up at them. Ambyr’s face had gone from pale to something else, something more sickly, and I began to understand where the phrase “green at the gills” had originated. Because Ambyr, rubbing the back of her neck and looking like she’d eaten some bad eggs at breakfast this morning, seemed as if she was ready to lose her meal down the hole we’d just finished digging.
And Jericho didn’t appear much better.
Andrew and I both exchanged uneasy looks as we went to join them.
“What happened?” I repeated as I leaned in close to them, and we all formed a small huddle next to the burial site. “What’s wrong?”
“Ambyr’s dot just moved,” Jericho said, gesturing to the screen.
“How far?” I asked.
“Two-hundred-twenty-five meters, give or take.”
My stomach sank.
“They probably just updated the information,” Andrew said, standing up to take the device. “Right? They could do that, right Morgan?”
“Sure,” I said. “But to our exact location?”
“Maybe it’s just something you did, then,” Andrew said.
“How could I have done shit?” I snapped back. “I was tying up Joergensen with you. Here.” I took the device from his ten clutching thumbs and began to scroll through the menus. All the filters looked fine, and so I hit the button to recenter the map on our current location.
I nearly dropped the device when I did, though.
“What the fuck?”
“What?” Jericho asked, leaning in close. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s another dot, now.” Swallowing hard, I went to tap the screen. “Right on top of X-2418.”
I nearly puked when I saw the new dot’s designation.
“M-2406-1,” I muttered.
I looked to Ambyr. Her hand was still at the back of her neck, and her skin’s pallor had gone from merely mildly pale and queasy to full on death masque white. She looked ready for her own grave.
“Ambyr?”
“One of you have a knife I can borrow?” she asked, her voice as low and hollow as Andrew’s had been when he’d been earlier digging Joergensen’s future resting place.
“Here,” Jericho said, digging into his pocket and retrieving his pocket knife for her. If he’d had reservations about arming her, they were clearly gone.
She took the knife and flicked out the blade with casual grace, saying, “Can you guys help me unwrap him?”
