Dan
"Good to have you back, boss." Rachel grins at me, her eyes making a quick run over my form. "You look like crap." She laughs. "Guess being a prisoner will do that to a man."
"I was an asset."
“Oh, hello grumpy. Miss captivity, do you?"
"Something like that." I am grumbling, which is super attractive and productive.
"Okay, grouchy. I was thinking we'd go over what's been going on in your absence, but you need a paddle."
I rub my eyes, knowing she’s right. It's my rule. We are not allowed to just live underground in the hollowed-out mountain that is Joyful Justice’s Pacific base. When we feel pressured or upset, we go out into the sun. What's the point of living in a tropical paradise if we spend all our time in the bunker? I've been traveling for almost thirty hours. I need to use my body.
"You're right."
"Oh, say it again," Rachel coos. "I just love those words." I can't help but smile. "Get changed," she says. "I'll meet you at the beach."
"I see you got comfortable giving orders while I was gone."
"Sure did." Rachel strides out of my apartment, and the door swings closed behind her.
I look around the sterile space, and my chest aches. I miss Consuela. Closing my eyes, I see her face. She's smiling at me the way she did when I showed her data she liked… when she saw the way we were subtly shifting minds. I groan.
There is a knock at my door, and Rachel yells from the far side. "Get changed!"
I can't help but let out a short laugh before heading to my bedroom and doing as my subordinate commands.
Fifteen minutes later, we are fighting the breakers to get out to the swells. My arms burn, salt spray mists my skin, and the powerful waves absorb my attention. I need this.
A wave crests in front of me. I take a deep breath before pushing my board down, letting the ocean roar over me, pulling the stiffness from my limbs and the painful thoughts from my mind.
I emerge back in the shallows, water sluicing off me, and gasp, tasting the ocean on my lips and tongue. "Come on," Rachel yells at me. I glance up to see her already standing on her board, beyond the breakers, paddling out toward the horizon. "You're getting slow in your old age."
I laugh as I set off again, this time clearing them, then hop to stand and begin paddling. We move in silent synchronicity, our arms rising and falling along with the swells as we move parallel to the shore. The sun blazes down on us, making me squint even under the brim of my floppy hat.
Consuela would like it here. I push the thought aside, forcing my mind to focus on my movements, the burn in my muscles, and the gentle undulation of the ocean.
Hours later, Rachel offers me a beer from the fridge in her apartment. I take it and follow her to where she's set up chairs in front of the large picture window. She's got it propped open, the salty breeze blowing into the small sitting room. The sun is setting and throwing off bright oranges and pinks that the ocean reflects.
"So," she says, settling into her chair and opening her can of beer, "let's talk business now that you've had a chance to unwind."
"Thanks for covering everything here."
"You read the files, I'm assuming." Rachel sent a laptop and phone along with the plane that picked me up. I nod. "We have a lot going on between the Sydney situation and what Lenox has been up to—which is a whole can of worms."
"I know. I read Merl, Lenox, and Mulberry's memos on the flight. Robert Maxim is alive and taking down our enemies for us. Lenox has known about it and didn't share. We have a meeting tomorrow to discuss in detail Lenox's outlined plan."
"What do you think about it?" Rachel asks, her voice quiet, unsure. Not like her at all.
I turn to look at her. She's changed out of her swimsuit into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a T-shirt. Her short hair is still wet from the shower she took down at the beach. She watches me with wary brown eyes.
"I'm worried about it," I admit. "I get the theory. We take over the sex trafficking, brothels, and the drug running, so that we can do it the right way and use the funds to continue our operations."
"We have plenty of money," Rachel points out.
"I know." I'm the one who’s managed our finances since the beginning. "But let’s not forget Joyful Justice started with a crime. Sydney stole the gold bullion from a long-sunken ship that served as the seed of our endowment."
"When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw," Rachel quotes Nelson Mandela.
I smile. "I don't think taking over the brothels of the world and buying up Isis sex slaves to free them is exactly what Mandela had in mind." I sigh. "The thing is, I always thought it was important that the change come from within. So if a sex worker came to us and said, 'I was held prisoner, come and help me free my fellow prisoners,' we would supply training and expertise to get the job done. But we were not going out and finding trouble. Now we are putting ourselves in the line of fire."
"Inviting Fire," Rachel says. "That is the name of Merl's martial art."
"Yes," I agree. The martial art he developed invites attack so that the opponent’s energy can be used against them. Similar to Aikido, except that with Inviting Fire, you search out the attack to draw fire from those less equipped to handle it.
"The cartels we are opposing are not just made up of the criminal class," I say. "The governments of sovereign nations are involved. If we destabilize those governments without inspiring grassroots resistance to replace them, we risk creating anarchy. That goes way beyond our original intent."
"Why can't we find leaders, more honest politicians to take their place?" Rachel asks.
"I guess we can. It's just not how we’ve ever operated. We are supposed to be from the ground up, not the top down." I sigh. "That's what's supposed to keep us honest. But at the same time, I can see how we got here. We are under attack. So what can we do?"
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," Rachel says.
I take a long drag off the cold beer, staring out to the Pacific Ocean. There is nothing beyond the horizon but thousands of miles of water. "I guess we will find out," I finally say.
"So you'll go along with it?"
"I don't see how I can argue against it, really. As much as it is a power grab, it is also defending ourselves. We tried to shift the way these organizations behaved based on the complaints we received from those they abuse. We threatened them. But instead of doing as we proposed, they came at us. Now we are using the US government and its international partners to take them all down. I think it will save lives and change others for the better. Declan Doyle will get one hell of a promotion."
"What about Consuela Sanchez?" Rachel asks.
"Our work together will probably help her career."
"If she keeps working after the marriage," Rachel says casually, as if she assumes I know all about it.
I turn to look at her. She cocks her head. "You didn't look at my research on her?"
"What research?"
"I left it in our shared file."
"I didn't have time to check that yet." Was too busy reading Joyful Justice business. "Who is she marrying?" I fight to keep my voice even, to hide how much the answer matters.
"I guess you two didn't talk much."
"Not about her personal life."
Rachel snorts. "They announced the engagement just yesterday, but they've been dating for years. She's marrying Senator Richard Chiles, the head of the Intelligence Committee. Word is he is going to run for president." My head starts to spin. "I bet they looked at your algorithms on how to persuade the unpersuadables and figured they could use them for his campaign."
Holy shit. That's what she meant. "We can take it from here."
"I put a self-destruct code in them all," I say, my mouth numb.
"Of course you did," Rachel says. "Obviously. You'd never trust the US government with that kind of power."
"No." I hardly trust myself.
Later, alone in my room, I pull my computer close and navigate to the file Rachel created.
It starts with public records. Consuela Sanchez is the only person on her apartment deed, so they are probably not living together. Waiting for marriage possibly? I try to fit that with what I know of Consuela. Would she commit to spending a lifetime with a man she'd never shared living space with? She was raised Catholic, could be for her mother…
My mind wanders back to how she vibrated in my arms. I have to shut it down, lock that away. It will haunt me into madness if I let it.
Special Agent Sanchez’s record is impeccable—her demotion in her own task force the only mark against her, but I know why that happened… hiding from me, the sly fox. My lips curl into an admiring smile.
She keeps her phone clean, but I am able to scroll through messages between her and friends. One from a few days ago—right after our near kiss and my leaving—has her sister asking if she is okay.
I'm fine, Consuela responded.
Mom said you seemed really upset.
Just work stuff.
She thought it was a matter of the heart.
Leave it alone.
Fine, tell your diary about it. But I'm here if you need me. *Kissing face emoji*
Consuela didn’t reply. My own heart gives a little thump. What I wouldn't give to see that diary.
I keep digging. She keeps her personal inbox mostly empty. Rachel hacked her work email and downloaded thousands, but the password changed again, so I can't get anything new. I save the emails for another time, hoping to find something more personal.
Two hours later, my eyes are burning. It's time to sleep. I'm willing to bet her diary is paper. I'd have to break into her apartment to find it.
I close the computer and push it away, but then drag it back to me almost immediately. I don't know if I can give up on her. I just don't know if I can leave it alone. I don't think she wants me to.