Читать книгу Person of Interest - Debra Webb - Страница 9

The main lobby of the CIA headquarters always took Elizabeth’s breath away. The granite wall with its stars honoring fallen agents. The flags and statues…the grandeur that represented the solemn undertaking of all those who risked their lives to make the world a safer place. The shadow warriors.

Elizabeth looked away from that honorary wall, knowing that one of those stars represented David. Though she would never know which one since his name would not be listed. Anonymous even in death.

For the first time since his death she wondered if she’d known him at all. Was his name even David Maddox?

Her heart squeezed instantly at the thought. This was precisely why she had promised herself she would not think about the past. Not today, not any day.

She had to get on with the present, move into the future.

Like David, the past was over. She was thirty-seven for Christ’s sake. Her fantasy of some day having a family was swiftly slipping away. Never before had she been so keenly aware of just how much time she had wasted. Though she loved her work, she didn’t regret for a moment the sacrifices she had made to become the respected surgeon she was; it was time to have a personal life as well.

The rubber soles of her running shoes whispered against the gleaming granite floor where the CIA’s emblem sprawled proudly, welcoming all who entered. The guards and the metal detectors beyond that proved a little less welcoming, reminding Elizabeth of the threat that loomed wherever government offices could be found. Even in her lifetime the world had changed so much. Maybe part of her sudden impatience to move forward was somehow related to current events as well as the recent past. Whatever the case, it was the right thing to do.

Dawson led her to the bank of elevators and depressed the down button. Uneasiness stirred inside her again. Somehow she doubted that the director’s office had been moved to the basement. Before she could question his selection the doors slid open and the three of them boarded the waiting car.

When he selected a lower level, she felt compelled to ask, “Aren’t we going to the director’s office?”

Agent Dawson smiled kindly. He’d always had a nice smile, a calming demeanor. She was glad for that. “We’re meeting in a special conference room this time. The director is there now waiting for your arrival.”

Elizabeth managed a curt nod, still feeling a bit uneasy with the situation despite her handler’s assurances. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end the way they did whenever she sensed a deviation in the status quo of a patient’s condition. She could always predict when things were about to go wrong. This felt wrong. For the first time since she’d agreed to support the CIA from time to time, she felt seriously uncomfortable with the arrangement. That premonition of dread just wouldn’t go away though it refused to clarify itself fully.

The other agent, the one whose presence added to her discomfort and who hadn’t been introduced to her as of yet, shifted slightly, drawing her attention in his direction.

He still wore those confounding sunglasses. Elizabeth found the continued behavior to be rude and purposely intimidating. Fury fueling an uncharacteristic boldness she opened her mouth to say just that and he looked at her. Turned his head toward her, tilting it slightly downward and looked straight at her as if he’d sensed her intent. She didn’t have to see his eyes. She could feel him watching her. Something fierce surged through her. Fear, she told herself. But it didn’t feel quite like fear.

Who the hell was this man?

She swung her attention back to Agent Dawson, intent on demanding the identity of the other man, but the elevator bumped to a halt. The doors yawned open and Dawson motioned for her to precede him. Pushing her irrational annoyance with the other man to the back burner, she stepped out of the car and moved in the direction Dawson indicated. She would likely never see this stranger again after today, what was the point in making a scene?

ON SOME LEVEL she recognized him. Special Agent Joe Hennessey couldn’t jeopardize this mission by allowing her to recognize him before the decision was made. He’d kept the concealing eyewear in place to throw her off, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be fooled for long. He’d been careful not to speak and not to get too close.

But there was no denying the chemistry that still sizzled between them…it was there in full force. He could only hope that she was disconcerted with the unexpected trip to Langley and was off balance enough to give a commitment before the full ramifications of the situation became crystal clear.

The long corridor stretched out before them, the occasional door on one side or the other interrupting the monotonous white walls. Tile polished to a high sheen flowed like an endless sea of glass. Surface mounted fluorescent lights provided ample lighting if not an elegant atmosphere. He could feel her uneasiness growing with each step. She didn’t like this deviation from the usual routine.

Hennessey knew this was her first trip to the bowels of the Agency and she probably hoped it would be the last. The adrenaline no doubt pumping through her veins would make the air feel heavier, thicker. It didn’t take a psychic to know she was seriously antsy in the situation. Didn’t like it one damned bit.

Dawson stayed to her right, a step ahead, leading the way. Hennessey stayed to her left, kept his movements perfectly aligned with hers, not moving ahead, never falling behind. If the overhead lights were to suddenly go out and the generators were to fail, he would still know she was there. He could feel her next to him. For someone who loved clinging to a routine, her energy was strong…her presence nearly overwhelming. With every fiber of his being he knew she was even now scrolling through her memory banks searching for what it was that felt familiar about him.

Thankfully they reached their destination. Dawson stopped at the next door on the left. “The director is waiting for you inside, Dr. Cameron.” He reached for the door and opened it.

Elizabeth looked from him to Hennessey and back. “Aren’t you coming in, Agent Dawson?”

She didn’t like this at all. Hennessey could feel the tension vibrating inside her mounting.

“Not this time, ma’am.”

SHE DIDN’T LIKE THIS. Her frown deepening, Elizabeth pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and moved through the open door. She had been briefed long ago about the various levels of security clearances within the CIA. Some were so secret that even the designation was classified. In most cases, the rule that every agent lived by was the “need-to-know” rule. One knew what one needed to know and nothing more.

Clearly Agent Dawson and his friend didn’t need to know whatever the director was about to discuss with her. The door closed behind her with a resolute thud and she shivered. The sound echoed through her, shaking loose a memory from months ago. It had been dark…she’d scarcely seen his face, but she had known his reputation. The man who’d been sent to protect her that night had held her there like a prisoner in the darkness for hours insisting that it was for her own safety. He’d been rude and arrogant, had overwhelmed her with his brute strength…his absolute maleness. And then he’d been gone.

He’d almost taken advantage of her—she’d almost let him—and then he’d disappeared. Like a shadow in the night…as if he’d never been there at all. She’d known what he’d done. He’d reveled in pushing her buttons, in making her weak. But she’d resisted, just barely. If she hadn’t, he would have taken full advantage, even knowing that she belonged to David. She wondered if David had ever suspected that the friend he’d sent to protect her from a threat the nature of which she hadn’t been authorized clearance for had almost succeeded in seducing her with his devastating charm. Some friend.

But then that was Special Agent Joe Hennessey. He might be a superspy of legendary proportions, but she knew him for what he was: ruthless and with an allegiance only to himself. The guy waiting with Dawson in the corridor reminded her of Hennessey.

“Elizabeth, thank you for coming.”

Elizabeth shoved the distracting thoughts away as Director George Calder rounded the end of the long conference table and made his way to her. A second gentleman she didn’t recognize rose from his chair but didn’t move toward her.

Present and future, forget the past, she reminded her too forgetful self. Like David, Joe Hennessey was a part of her past that was gone forever. Face forward. Focus on the here and now…on the future. Director Calder took her hand in his and shook it firmly.

“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your vacation schedule,” he offered, his expression displaying sincere regret.

George Calder was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not unlike the two agents waiting outside the door. Nearly sixty, his hair had long ago silvered and lines drawn by the execution of enormous power marred his distinguished face. He’d presented himself as nothing less than gracious and sensitive each time he’d requested Elizabeth’s presence. But there was more this time. Something else simmered behind those intelligent hazel eyes. The sixth sense that usually centered on her patients was humming now, urging her to act.

“Technically,” Elizabeth said succinctly, ignoring her foolish urge for fight or flight, “my vacation doesn’t start until tomorrow so you’re still safe for now.”

George laughed, but the sound was forced. “Let me introduce you to our director of operations.” He turned to the other man in the room. This one was slightly shorter and thinner, but looked every bit as formidable as Director Calder.

“Kurt Allen, meet our talented Dr. Elizabeth Cameron.”

His fashionable gray pinstripe suit setting him apart from the requisite navy or black, Allen rushed to shake her hand, his smile wide and seeming genuine. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Cameron. Your work is amazing. I can’t tell you how many of my best men you’ve spared.”

Elizabeth realized then that Director Allen was in charge of the field agents who most often needed her services.

“I’m glad I can help, Director Allen,” she told him in all sincerity. It felt odd now that she’d never met him before. Need-to-know, she reminded herself.

There was an awkward moment of tense silence before Calder said, “Elizabeth, please have a seat and we’ll talk.”

The director ushered her to the chair next to the one he’d vacated when she’d entered the room. Allen seated himself directly across the table from her.

The air suddenly thickened with the uneasy feel of a setup. This was not going to be the typical briefing. There was no folder marked classified that held the case facts of the agent who needed a new face. There was nothing but the high sheen of the mahogany conference table and the steady stares of the two men who obviously did not look forward to the discussion to come.

To get her mind off the intensity radiating around her, Elizabeth took a moment to survey the room. Richly paneled walls similar to that of the director’s office several floors overhead gave the room a feeling of warmth. Royal blue commercial-grade carpet covered the floor. The array of flags surrounding the CIA emblem on the rear wall and the numerous plaques that lined the other three lent an air of importance to the environment. This was a place where discussions of national significance took place. She should feel honored to be here. Whatever she could do for the CIA was the least she could do for her country, she reminded herself.

Elizabeth clasped her hands atop the conference table, squared her shoulders and produced a smile for Director Calder. “Why did you need to see me, Director?” Someone had to break the ice. Neither of the gentlemen appeared prepared to dive in. Another oddity. What could either of these men, who possessed the power to start wars, fear from her?

Calder glanced at Allen then manufactured a smile of his own. “Elizabeth, I think you understand how important the Operations Directorate is here at the CIA.”

She nodded. Though she actually knew little about the Operations Directorate, she did comprehend that the field operatives who risked their lives in positions deep undercover and generally in foreign countries came from that division.

“The men and women who make up the ranks of our field operatives are the very tip of the spear this agency represents,” he went on, verifying her assumption. “They are the forerunners. The ones who provide us with the data that averts disaster. They risk more than anyone else.”

Again she nodded her understanding. The knot in her stomach twisted as she considered why he felt the need to tediously prepare her for whatever it was he really wanted to say. Every instinct warned that things were not as they should be.

“During the past two and a half years we’ve counted on you more than a dozen times to provide a means of escape for our operatives. Your skill at creating new faces has allowed these men and women to avoid the enemy’s vengeance while maintaining their careers. Without your help, a number of those operatives would certainly have lost their lives.”

“There are other surgeons in your field,” Allen interjected with a show of his palms for emphasis. “But not one in this country is as skilled as you.”

Elizabeth blushed. She hated that she did that but there was no stopping it. She’d never taken compliments well. Though she worked hard and recognized that she deserved some amount of praise, it was simply a physical reaction over which she had no control. Her professional life was the one place where she suffered no doubts in regards to her competence. If only she could harness some of that confidence for her personal life.

“I appreciate your saying so, Director Allen,” she offered, “but I can’t take full credit. My ability with the scalpel is a gift from God.” She meant those words with all that made her who she was. A God complex was something she’d never had to wrestle with as so many of her colleagues did. She made it a point to remind her residents of that all important fact as well. Confidence was a good thing, arrogance was not.

Director Calder braced his hands on the table in front of him and drew her attention back to him, “That’s part of the attitude that we hope will allow you to see the need for what we’re about to ask of you, Elizabeth.”

She didn’t doubt her ability to handle whatever he asked of her. In that vein, she dismissed the uneasiness and lifted her chin in defiance of her own lingering uncertainty. There was only one way to cut to the chase here—be direct. “What is it you need, Director Calder. I’ve never turned you down before. Is there some reason you feel this time will be different?”

Two and a half years ago the CIA had, after noting her work in the field of restorative facial surgery, approached her. They needed her and she had gladly accepted the challenge. She would not change that course now.

“We are aware of the relationship you maintained with Agent Maddox,” Allen broached, answering before Calder could or maybe because he didn’t want to bring up the sensitive subject. “I believe the two of you were…intimate for more than a year before his death.”

The oxygen in Elizabeth’s lungs evacuated without further ado. She swallowed hard, sucked in a necessary breath and told her heart to calm. “That’s correct.” To say she was surprised by the subject would be a vast understatement. But, within this realm, there was no room for deception or hedging. Those traits were best utilized in the field. And the fact of the matter was Elizabeth had never been very good at lying. She was an open book. Subterfuge and confrontation were two of her least favorite strategies.

Just another reason she had no life. Real life, emotionally speaking, was too difficult. If she kept to herself, she wasn’t likely to run into any problems.

But you’re about to change that attitude, a little voice reminded. She had made up her mind to dive back into a social life…to take a few risks.

If only she could remember that mantra.

Director Calder picked up the conversation again, “Three months before his death Agent Maddox was involved in a mission that garnered this Agency critical information. He was, fortunately, able to complete the mission with his cover intact.”

Elizabeth imagined that maintaining the validity of a cover would be crucial for future use. She nodded her understanding, prompting him to carry on.

“Though the group he infiltrated at the time was effectively eliminated, two members have moved into another arena which has created great concern for this agency.”

Outright apprehension reared its ugly head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She did fully comprehend that there were certain elements she would not be told due to their classification, but she had to know more than this. Tap dancing around the issue wasn’t going to assuage her uneasiness.

“The two subjects involved have relocated their operation here. On our soil,” Allen clarified. “They have an agenda that we are not at liberty to disclose, but they must be stopped at all costs.”

Elizabeth divided a look between the two men. Both wore poker faces, giving away nothing except determination. She hated to say anything that would make her look utterly stupid but her conclusion was simple. “If you know they’re here, why don’t you just arrest them or…or eliminate them.”

Made sense to her. But then she was only a doctor, not a spy or an assassin. She felt certain they had some legitimate reason for taking a less direct route to accomplish their ultimate goal, though she couldn’t begin to fathom what the motivation could possibly be.

“I wish it were that simple,” Calder told her thoughtfully. “Stopping the men they’ve sent won’t be enough. We have to know how they’re getting their information to ensure the threat is eliminated completely. Otherwise the root cause of the situation will simply continue generating additional obstacles.”

Now she got it. “You need these two members of the group David infiltrated to lead you to their source,” she suggested. She’d seen a crime drama or two in her life.

“Exactly,” Allen confirmed. “If we don’t find the source, they’ll just keep sending out more assassins.”

Assassins. That meant targets.

“How does this involve me?” Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. She moistened her lips as the silence stretched out another ten seconds. This could not be good.

Director Calder turned more fully toward her, fixing her with a solemn gaze that reflected nearly as much desperation as it did determination. “In order to infiltrate this group we need someone with whom they’ll feel comfortable. Someone familiar. We have an agent prepared to take the risk and infiltrate the group, but we need to make a few alterations.”

Her head moved up and down in acknowledgement. She was on the same page now. “You want me to give him a different appearance? A new face?” That’s what she usually did. No big deal. But why all the beating around the proverbial bush?

“Correct,” Calder allowed. “But just any face won’t work. We’ll be requesting a specific look.”

“Someone these assassins know, feel comfortable with,” she echoed his earlier words.

“Precisely,” Allen agreed enthusiastically. “This part is crucial to the success of the mission. If the targets think for even a second that our man isn’t who he says he is they’ll kill him without hesitation. There is no margin for error whatsoever, Dr. Cameron. That’s why your help is critical.”

She looked expectantly from Calder to Allen and back. “What is it you need, exactly?” she asked, focusing her attention on Allen since he loved to throw around those extreme adverbs. The requirements sounded simple enough.

“What we need,” Allen told her bluntly, “is David Maddox.”

Her breath trapped in her throat and shock claimed her expression. She didn’t need a mirror, she felt her face pinch in horrified disbelief. Her fingers fisted to fight back the old hurt. “David is dead,” she replied with just as much bluntness as he’d issued the requirement. What was this man thinking?

Calder reached across the table and put his hand on hers. Echoes of the anguish she’d felt two months ago reverberated through her. “I know this is difficult, Elizabeth. You must believe that we wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”

He was serious.

“Oh my God.” She drew away from his comforting touch. Shook her head to clear it. This was too much. “How can you ask me this?”

“Dr. Cameron, there is no other option,” Allen said flatly, his tone far cooler than before but his eyes reflected the desperation she’d already seen in Calder’s. “We need David Maddox, but as you pointed out, he is dead. So we need a stand-in. We need you to do what you do best and give our agent David Maddox’s face.”

Tears stung her eyes, emotion clogged her throat, but somehow she managed to say the only thing she could. “I can’t do that.”

Director Calder leveled a steady gaze on hers. “I’m afraid my colleague is right, there is no other option, Elizabeth.”