Desert Dark (36 page)

Within the hour he's Jordan Phelps.

He studies himself in the mirror.
I wish it hadn't gone down like this
.

Damon's long-range mission was, of course, to score a spot in the CIA. He'd enter at ground level, but his handlers were confident he'd quickly climb the ranks. The Nighthawks wanted access to Project Genesis, currently in development at the CIA. Scientists would be working on it for at least another ten years. They'd finish right around the time Damon would receive full clearance.

According to Agent Roberts, “Project Genesis will catapult the security of the United States to an impenetrable level.” The technology was insane. With Genesis, a satellite orbiting earth had the power to locate any person on the globe, provided the government had a speck of their genetic material. One microscopic flake of skin or a tiny hair from a razor.

Genesis analyzed the material, transmitted the information to the satellite and based on the individual's unique genetic code, located the host within a half-mile radius. After tracking the subject, a deployed guided missile finished the job.

A GPS for DNA.

The Nighthawks were pissed because America hadn't nuked the entire Middle East after 9/11. A bunch of guys in the CIA had resigned right after that and started their own agency, with an insurance business as their cover. Damon didn't care about their ideology then, and he doesn't care now. Roberts did what no one else could—but he only found the driver. Damon saw three men in the SUV that killed his brother. And he means to ferret out the rest.

Roberts promised that every available Nighthawk resource would be at Damon's disposal, in exchange for his service. And the pay was outstanding—his mom needed financial help and he knew it. He'd created letterhead, designed a webpage and opened a bank account: The Littlest Angels, a fake charity that offered financial assistance to single mothers who'd lost a child. Every month, he cashed his paychecks and sent her a check.

She never said the actual words, but she will always blame Damon for Gabriel's death. She'd told him a thousand times,
You are your brother's keeper
. And he takes that weight—it is absolutely
his fault. He will spend the rest of his life hunting down the men responsible for his brother's death.

The Nighthawks were his way in.

“Guess I'm gonna need a new plan,” he mumbles. He changes his shirt so it doesn't match the passport photo.

The parking lot is mostly empty when Damon steps outside. Employees park in the back, so that's where he'll boost a car. No one will notice for hours, and by then he'll be halfway to Baltimore. Like Nadia, Damon happens to be especially suited to this line of work. He's smart and strong. He knows people—deep down and right away. Knows how they think, what they feel. And his flexible moral compass could only have helped his future as an agent.

He throws his old clothes and the leftover tape, along with the iron and razors, into the dumpster. His shoes go in a second dumpster across the street. He selects a white, late-model sedan. Inconspicuous, no flash. He jimmies the door and climbs inside.

Five minutes later, he's on his way to Tucson. He eases the car onto the expressway and cracks the window. The cool breeze chills the sweat on his skull. Against his will, pictures of that morning fill his head, as they have so many times. The memories come in flashes, like photographs tossed onto a coffee table, one by one. Gabriel, his sweet baby brother, with his quick laugh and his tiny teeth. His little hands. His fat cheeks. He followed Damon everywhere.

He sighs as his adrenaline dips; fatigue will soon follow.
Not much longer
. He turns on the radio and takes a few deep breaths to wake up. In three hours he'll be on a plane, racing toward Baltimore-Washington International Airport.

Five hours later, somewhere over Kansas, Damon realizes his new passport has probably been flagged.

Nadia wakes in a hospital, in a dimly lit room that smells of antiseptic and bandages. She hears her mother's voice in the hallway. “Mom?” she whispers.

A nurse leans in to adjust the pillows. Quietly she says, “You had appendicitis. We operated; you're going to be fine.”

“Appendicitis? No, that's not—”

“Your cover story is that we removed your appendix. Which we did, just in case. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

Nadia nods as her mother enters the room.

“Nadia! Are you all right?”

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“You're in the hospital. Of course I'm here. Are you okay?” She turns to the nurse. “Maybe you should get the doctor.”

“I'll let him know she's awake.” The nurse leaves.

Nadia offers her mother a weak smile. Her lips feel like plastic, dry and cracked. A bitter metallic taste lingers in her mouth. She tries to remember her last moments awake, in the dean's office—it's like a dream.

“Your friends are here. I met Libby—she's a
doll
. And Jack, who also seems very nice. And quite taken with you, I might add. He brought me coffee.”

“Jack's okay?” Nadia's eyes tear.

“Yes, dear, of course. Why wouldn't he be? And who's the other boy? Alan?”

Nadia grins and tries not to cry. She nods.

“He's a character, hobbling around on that cane. He says you kicked him during jujutsu!”

“Is that what he said?” Nadia laughs as tears drip down her cheeks.

“You've always been a firecracker. Are you crying? What's wrong?”

“I'm so happy to see you.”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I've missed you too. Where is the doctor? If you want something done right, I guess you have to do it yourself. I'll go find him. Should I send in your friends?”

Nadia nods again. “And maybe some water?”

Jack, Libby and Alan enter the room as her mom leaves.

“Nadia, thank God you're all right!” Libby leans in to give her a gentle hug. “We've been worried sick about you!”

“How are you feeling?” Alan asks. He leans on a cane. “You look
awful
.”

“You lied to my mother,” she whispers. “Good for you.”

“It was harder than getting shot,” Alan whispers back.

Nadia looks at Jack. “I thought you were dead.” She fights back her tears.

“No such luck.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “You'll have to try a lot harder if you want to get rid of me.”

She struggles to keep her eyes open. She has a million questions but she can't stay awake. “Water?” she whispers.

“Okay, everyone, that's it for now,” the doctor says as he shuffles her friends out of the room. “Nurse, can you get her some ice chips?”

“I'll see you soon,” Jack promises.

Sunlight pushes through the cracks in the blinds when Nadia next opens her eyes. Hashimoto Sensei stands at the window, his back straight, arms crossed.

“Sensei.”

“Ah, Nadia-san, welcome back.” He pulls a chair next to her bed.

“What happened?”

“Dean Wolfe tried to kill you.” He smiles. “He failed.”

“He called
you
?” She remembers the dean calling someone, asking for help.

“No. When we discovered you recorded the incident, we checked his phone records. He called Professor Hayden.”

“But Hayden never came.” Nadia tries to scratch her nose but her arms are connected to many tubes. She roots her face into her shoulder.

“No, he did not.” Sensei chuckles. “Hayden-san made a hasty departure. He disappeared.”

“You saved my life.” Nadia smiles at him.

“
Hai
.”

“You deciphered my message. I knew you would.” She closes her eyes.

“Well done, Nadia-san. Get some sleep. We will talk later.”

Over the next twenty-four hours Nadia pieces together what happened. Jack and Sensei explain what she's missed.

“I thought you were dead,” she says again to Jack. She's able to sit up in bed. Her abdomen aches from the operation—they cut through her stomach muscles to dig out the bullet. By some miracle, no major organs were damaged.

“No, apparently not. I was unconscious, however. Wolfe knocked me out cold, but I guess since you were on your way in, he didn't want to risk the noise of a gunshot.”

Nadia nods. “He didn't have a silencer.”

Jack looks away. “I can't believe it was him this whole time. I should've seen—”

“Don't do that. You couldn't have known.”

“Nadia-san is correct.”

“I know. It's just embarrassing. I really looked up to him.”
Jack clears his throat. He turns to Hashimoto Sensei. “I still don't understand how you got there.”

Sensei smiles. “Nadia-san left a message when she broke into the covert-operations room at the dojo. When the door opens, it triggers a silent alarm that sounds only in my room.”

“Sorry about breaking in.” Nadia blushes and looks down at her hands.

“Nadia-san, it is no accident you saw my password. I knew you were suspected as the double agent. I also knew you were innocent. I thought the day might come when you would need access to that room.” Sensei turns to Jack. “She scribbled her message on the wall—in
pen
, no less.”

“I was afraid someone would see it and erase it. I would've carved it with my knife if I'd had time.” A nurse comes in to check Nadia's vitals and they fall silent.

As she leaves, Jack looks from Sensei to Nadia. “So what was the message?”

Sensei leans back and laughs. “
Sute inu
. Well done, Nadia-san.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asks.

“I was afraid if I wrote
ookami
, it would be too easy for someone else to figure it out and destroy my note,” she interrupts. “And I thought you would be investigating my death, not saving my life.”

“But what does
sute inu
mean?” Jack pleads.

Nadia grins. “It means: a dog with no master.”

“What?” Jack furrows his eyebrows.

“A wild dog, Jack-san,” Sensei answers. “A wolf.”

Damon suspects agents will be at the gate when he disembarks. He spends the last two hours of the plane ride making friends. He trades places with a college student who is clearly annoyed by the screaming children beside him. He even moves the guy's carry-on bag—after attaching a luggage tag that reads
Jordan Phelps
. Then he goes to work on the young mother as she desperately tries to soothe her children.

When they land, he carries one of her kids off the plane. He keeps his head down, eyes on the sleeping toddler. Damon looks like part of their family. They're staying at the Airport Express Holiday Inn. What a coincidence; that's where he's meeting his Aunt Sarah. And he's more than happy to help her onto the complimentary shuttle. The kid in the University of Maryland sweatshirt gets tackled before he reaches the escalator.

Damon expects the Nighthawks to stake out his house, so he waits at the hotel until nightfall. At the gift shop he buys an Orioles ball cap, a red scarf and a puffy coat. Light disguise, but enough to change his shape and cast doubt if anyone's looking. The hardest part is adjusting his gait. He sticks a pebble in the corner of his shoe to establish a consistent limp.

After dark, he calls for a cab. He dozes in the back. The driver
wakes him when they reach the address. A convenience store three blocks from his house. He'll walk the rest of the way.

It's cold enough to see his breath. The street smells like the woods after a campfire. A half-block from home he cuts through the neighbor's yard, coming up on his place from behind. He pushes through the screen of junipers that runs along the property line. The yard smolders.

His house is gone.

For a second, he's confused. A black pile of smoking debris has replaced his home. His mouth falls open as he stumbles toward the street.

“Damon? Is that you?” Mrs. Williams, the next-door neighbor, waddles up the pavement toward him in her slippers and housecoat.

“Mrs. Williams, where's my mom?”

“Don't worry, baby, she's fine. The man from the insurance company came by and took her to a hotel. He left this for you.”

Damon's heart skips a beat. “What insurance company?”

“I'm not sure. It's right here on the envelope.” Mrs. Williams holds the message at arm's length, struggling to read the return address. “I don't have my glasses. Looks like . . . Harkins—no, Hawkins Insurance.” She hands it to him.

His hands shake as he tears the envelope. The note inside reads:
Welcome home. I'm willing to make a trade. You have my number
.

Damon's legs give out. He drops to his knees on the pavement. The acrid taste of bile burns the back of his throat as he vomits on the sidewalk.

“Oh, Damon. It'll be okay.” Mrs. Williams puts her hand on his forehead. “Come next door. I'll get you a ginger ale.” She starts down the walk.

He can't breathe. A vice crushes his chest. He grabs onto the grass to keep from falling over.

They took his mother. Then they took her house.

Damon looks up at the charred remains. Every last memory of her husband, her baby boy, gone. Burned to the ground. Roberts spared nothing.

And neither will I
.

Rage chokes his heart. He gazes into the starless city sky.
I'll get her back
.

Quietly, much too low for Mrs. Williams to hear, he swears a solemn oath.

“And then I'll annihilate the Nighthawks.”

Nadia is released from the hospital just in time to pack her bags for winter break. And not a moment too soon. She's bored out of her mind lounging around in bed.