The engine is roaring as they start to taxi down the runways, and Chelsea's screaming something as she pounds on the window. I'm about three seconds away from falling apart right there, when she mouths words that I want to believe are something I hope they are, but they can’t be, because that's a wasted wish to think she feels the same after all the shit I've pulled.
The plane skims down the runways, bounces once, and then they're up.
And she’s gone.
I turn towards the sounds of jeeps crashing through the driveway gate, of yelling voices, of lights in my eyes, and calmly put my hands behind my head.
Now it's time to pay the reaper.
29
Chelsea
“You're to be commended, Agent.”
The Director's office is as cold and sterile as the rest of the building; all metal and glass and blank surfaces devoid of emotion. Because that's what the job is; a lack of emotion and a lack of empathy in order to get done what needs to be done.
Except a “lack of emotion” is basically the exact opposite of anything at all that happened on my first field mission. The Director doesn't know that, of course, but it's still making me feel impossibly small and unrewarding of any sort of “commending”.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You kept your head, you kept cool,and you followed your instincts.”
No, I didn't.
My instincts were to get as far away from that man as possible, and telling my instincts to fuck off was the best thing I’ve ever done.
“I didn't-” I shake my head; “I didn't complete the mission, sir.”
The Director snorts a laugh and stands from his chair. He walks over to the dry bar in the corner of his office and holds an empty glass towards me; “Drink, Agent?”
How about tequila with a side of waves and a dash of sunset.
“No thank you, sir.”
He nods before turning and pouring himself a splash of scotch; “I'm not worried about the original mission, Agent Archer; we did one better. Javier Toro was a nuisance; a pain in my ass and a thorn in the Agency’s side. With all due respect to what happened to you with your mission, it was a gopher mission; basic retrieval for an asset I'd rather just have disappear off the face of the Earth than actually have to deal with.”
My hands clench into fists and I force myself to breath as I close my eyes and count backwards from twenty.
“I have no idea how you managed to persuade him to make that phone call, Agent, but Javier gave us everything; Koufax, Blackriver, all of it.” He sits back at his desk and frowns; “They're denying it, of course; saying this Benson character was a 'rogue operative' or whatever. It's all bullshit, obviously, but we'll have a hell of a time proving that.”
“What happens now?”
“With Koufax?” The Director's lips turn into a smile; “Colombian border control caught him coming through Cali and our teams there took over.” The Director smiles thinly; “Koufax disappears; end of discussion. I've got him on collusion, espionage, and treason. He's gone; he's a Goddamn ghost.” He sips his scotch and nods slowly at me; “Toro's phone call solved a lot of stuff, Archer. I'm glad you got out when you did, but you should know we were going to come for you no matter what.”
Of course you were, I think, mentally rolling my eyes.
“We leave no one behind, Agent.”
Except we did.
We left the man I love.
30
Chelsea
“She’ll be back.” Logan’s face is grim, and he’s not looking at me as the door to Hudson’s penthouse slams shut with my sister’s exit.
My whole family is here for my “ripping the band-aid” moment of spilling my guts about the last few days, about Javier, and about, well, everything else they don’t know about me. Hudson sits quietly on his couch next to Reagan with my little niece Christine burbling quietly between them, pleasantly innocent of the drama brewing around her.
“Logan, I-”
“I don’t really need to know the details of you and that fucking piece of shit, OK Chels?”
He’s still avoiding my eyes, looking at a blank spot on the wall opposite from where he stands with his arms crossed and his face grim. His sister Peyton shoots me a quick sympathetic look before she resumes playing the “everyone not looking at Chelsea” game while she rubs his back.
“Logan will you look at me please?” Logan’s gaze steels itself, unwavering from its piercing stare at the wall. The air is thick with tension with me sitting by myself in the middle of it feeling like I failed them all.
“So how long were you planning on having us think you were actually getting a masters in international economics?” Hudson isn’t overtly smiling, but I know that glint of humor in his eyes when I see it, and it gives me a sliver of confidence that my family will ever speak to me again.