“I’m on my flight.” Declan’s voice is filtered through static.
I’m leaning against Merl’s desk using the landline again. Mid-morning sunlight pools on the floor under the window. Rebecca’s face is on the computer screen. Merl and Anita sit in their chairs. Mulberry stands in the doorway, James on his hip. All the adults wear headphones so they can hear my conversation clearly. Lenox couldn’t join us but will get a recap later.
Our dogs are in the dojo. A sea of gray, white, and black. Six giant dogs take up a lot of room and their synched panting is as loud as the insect chorus filtering in through the open windows.
“Did you get a chance to look at what I gave you?” I ask, running the phone’s coiled cord around my pointer finger in a gesture that drags me back to the phone in my childhood home’s kitchen, the one with the long cord. The one they called on when it was time to say goodbye to my father. The one I used to call 911 when my mother drunkenly fell and cut herself so badly that her blood ran as fast as the spilled wine.
“Yes,” Declan answers. “It’s compelling but not enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“I can’t open an investigation on a sitting US Senator with it.” His voice is low, tone tense. As if my question has an obvious answer and me asking it is some kind of attack on his manhood. And maybe it is.
“Do you believe he is responsible?” I ask.
Declan’s pause lasts so long I’d think we’d been disconnected if it wasn’t for the static still coming over the line. “Yes,” he finally answers, the word sounding like it was pulled from his mouth, almost as hard to dislodge as a healthy tooth.
“Good. So you’ll help.”
He coughs a laugh. “You will help me. You’re the CI.”
“Oh right, of course, sir.” I tease because we both know how this is going to play out.
“I think I know his motivation,” Declan says, ignoring my teasing.
“Oh?”
“He’s had an infrastructure bill in committee for years. A huge price tag. One he’s running on—and it is necessary. So much of the country’s essential infrastructure is in need of repair, but it’s hard to rally support. Most Americans are more concerned about cost of living than the slowly crumbling pylons of their bridges or the vulnerabilities of the electric grid. One shows up in their bank balance and the other is invisible until tragedy strikes. And those tragedies are local. There has not been any spectacular incident to highlight the infrastructure crisis.”
“Well, this is spectacular,” I admit, bile rising up my throat. “But he didn’t mention his infrastructure bill in the interviews I’ve heard him give since the blackout.” I look over at Anita. She gives a shake of her head.
“Not yet, but that’s because he’s smart. If he starts pushing his bill on day one he will look callous and opportunistic. He’s got to start with the prayers, follow up with the plan.”
“The two p’s of politics,” I mumble.
“Yeah, something like that. But I would be willing to bet that he will start talking about his infrastructure bill—because cyber security is a major part of it. Again, he’s not wrong. We need these changes.”
“An unpleasant means to a worthy end,” I say. “I do sympathize with the predicament—but endangering millions of people…” I look over at Rebecca. Her focus is on a different screen, the click-clack of typing coming over her line. “Even if that is his plan. Even if his purpose is noble—”
Declan cuts me off. “That’s not what I’m saying. He isn’t being noble, he’s being calculating. This is a power grab. He doesn’t give a fuck about infrastructure—he cares about winning the election.”
I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. Nothing makes a white knight madder than an evil one picking up their mantle and pretending to care. “You won’t get any arguments from me that the man is a narcissist scumbag who needs to be taken down, but why blame Joyful Justice?” I ask. “It’s not like we are known for large-scale attacks like this. It’s antithetical to our mission to put so many innocents in danger.”
“Organizations are not really known until something like this happens. The majority of the public had never heard of Al Qaeda before 9-11. But everyone knew them after. I could name dozens of terrorist organizations you’ve never heard of.”
“We’re not a terrorist organization,” I remind him.
“Potato, po-tah-to,” Declan says.
“We’re a vigilante organization.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to.”
“You’re annoying.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
I huff a laugh. Anita raises her hand to get my attention. She holds up a note. When will he start accusing JJ? What is his evidence?
“You think he’ll start talking about the infrastructure bill in the next few days. What about accusing Joyful Justice?”
“I’m not sure. He may not do it publicly. He may just let the CIA or Homeland Security push that narrative.”
“What kind of evidence has he manufactured?”
“The attack has Dan’s signature all over it, Sydney.” Declan sounds almost like he’s sad to say it. Like he’s telling me bad news.
“Well, since he’s currently under your control, wouldn’t that implicate your intelligence agencies rather than us?”
“There is no evidence that Dan is in US custody,” Declan reminds me.
I glance over at Rebecca. She shrugs. A message pops up on the screen. It would be difficult to prove that he’s not currently free.
“We need to find him.”
“That does sound like a good priority for you,” Declan says.
“Come on, Declan, I thought we were a team. Sundance and Butch Cassidy.”
“Which of us is which in that scenario?”
“Bonnie and Clyde then.”
“I’m not a criminal.”
“Work with me, Declan. Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
He lets out a low amused chuckle. “If I hear anything I’ll pass it on.”
“I’ll take that, for now.”
“Send me anything else you gather.” His voice drops, not to a whisper, but to that volume just above one. The hushed tone of a man trying to convince you he’s telling the truth. “I do want justice, Sydney.”
“We can agree on that,” I say. Though I’m not sure we share the same vision…
“Speaking of justice. What happened with our prisoner?” Declan asks. I bite my lip, staring down at the phone cord wrapped around my finger. My skin bulges white between the tight coils. “Ditching me like that definitely didn’t help instill confidence in our relationship.”
I smile, looking up to the window. A breeze brushes over the jungle, making it sway—the leaves rippling like water. “Sorry, but I felt it was best for everyone involved. And judging by who answered your phone last night, it worked out for you.”
“Tell me what you learned.”
“He didn’t have a tongue. Couldn’t talk.”
“Oh.” Declan sounds unsure, like I just cut off his line of questioning.
“He wasn’t after you, though,” I assure him.
“How do you know that?”
I glance over at Merl; he shakes his head, a subtle movement. Don’t tell him.
“I’ll tell you when I see you Stateside.”
“Excuse me?” Declan sounds almost as alarmed by the idea of me returning to the country as Mulberry. “We must have a bad connection, it sounded like you said you were coming back to the United States.”
“I am. And I can tell you all about the assassin.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Declan’s tone implies he actually thinks it’s a terrible idea.
“Are you afraid for your CI?” I ask, my voice a coo. “How sweet.”
“There are plenty of things that your status as a confidential informant can’t protect you from—going after a sitting US Senator would be one of them.”
“I have no intentions of going after him,” I say. He’s going to come to me. “I just want to visit my husband.”
Declan clears his throat. “Sydney…”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I’m not worried about you getting hurt, Sydney. I’m worried about you assassinating someone and the blowback I’ll get from that.”
Those are reasonable fears. “Pshaw, Declan. I already told you I’m not going after anyone.”
I glance over at Mulberry. His brow is drawn down, his eyes glittering with emotion. He is going to use Declan’s hesitation as an excuse. “If I see you, I’ll have to report you.”
“I thought that was all confidential.” I move my gaze over to Rebecca, and she’s smirking as if the word confidential amuses her.
“Sydney, just…” He sighs. “I can arrange a safe house for us to meet at.”
Rebecca’s expression shifts—that’s not funny. She shakes her head in the international sign of no fucking way. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It will be fine,” I assure him.
“Stay out of trouble.”
“I will. You be a good boy.”
I hang up to the sound of Declan laughing.
Anita is the first to speak after I disconnect. “We need to get ahead of the narrative that Joyful Justice is behind this attack,” she says. I shift on the desk so I’m more fully facing her. She’s pulled off her headphones and is chewing on her lip, eyes narrowed, staring into empty space. I can practically see the wheels turning.
We all wait, letting Anita’s brain do its thing. She nods and refocuses on Rebecca. “We have a few options. Come right out with our side of the story—say that Dan is in custody and that they have used his zero day to attack New York City.”
“Highly unbelievable,” Mulberry says from the doorway. His headphones are around his neck, and James is eyeing them like they might make a good snack.
Anita turns in her seat to focus on Mulberry.
Rebecca chimes in. “The problem I see is they kill Dan and say they caught the terrorist responsible. A known founder of Joyful Justice.”
Anita tips her head side to side. “Agreed. Unless we can extract Dan first, that plan is dicey at best. Option two: start to unravel Richard’s reputation.”
“Meaning?” Merl asks.
I interrupt. “How about I kill him before he starts his smear campaign?” I smile as if I have found the simple solution to our complex problem.
Anita breathes out a laugh. “If he was working alone, sure, that might work—except it’s unlikely you could move fast enough. But the fact is that he has a team. Richard Chiles’s death won’t stop the machine.”
“Ugh, the machine,” I say dramatically.
Anita smiles. “Such a pain in the ass.” We grin at each other, the machinations of power our own little inside joke.
Rebecca chimes in. “I think the key is extracting Dan. And I think the best way to find him is through Richard. I’m guessing he knows where he is.”
“Robert must as well,” Merl points out, looking at me. “You could ask him for help retrieving Dan.”
“Yes,” I agree, nodding, waiting for the mix of fear and excitement to coalesce into dread. But it doesn’t happen. I’m not afraid to ask Robert for a favor…huh.
“I also think that working to dent Richard’s reputation is smart,” Rebecca says.
Anita nods. “He must have some pretty gruesome skeletons in his closet.”
Rebecca shrugs. “Yes, he does. We have a very thick dossier on him that Dan created.” She clears her throat. We all know what a stalker Dan is, and he was in love with the man’s fiancée: Consuela Sanchez. “But he’s not an idiot. He’s got a web of lies protecting him so thick it looks like lace.”
“Poetic, Rebecca,” I say. “But there must be something. You found evidence linking him to this attack.”
“I found communications that could be interpreted as links. As Declan said, nothing that would hold up in court—combined with the fact that all the evidence we have was gathered illegally.”
“Reporters don’t care about proving anything in a court of law,” Anita reminds us all. “My contacts just need enough evidence not to get sued.”
Rebecca nods. “If you want we can go through it together.”
Anita nods her agreement.
“Okay,” I say. “So we are going at this from a couple of different angles.” I hold up a finger. “Ruin Richard’s reputation.” A second finger. “Retrieve Dan.” Third finger. “Kill Richard.” I nod, liking the plan. It’s simple. I like simple. Merl is frowning. “What?”
He rolls his lips. “Let’s take it one step at a time. I think it would be best if we didn’t kill Richard but just exposed his true nature.”
“And I’d prefer for unicorns to be real, Merl. We can’t always get what we want.”
Mulberry coughs a laugh. I glance over at him. “I agree with Merl,” Mulberry says quickly. “Unicorn jokes aside.”
“I’m always for avoiding violence,” Rebecca says. “But I’m not sure we can nail Richard hard enough to make sure he stays down. He is a popular public figure with lots of admirers and allies. We won’t be able to turn them all. Enough of the public won’t believe anything against him no matter the evidence. We are living in a post-truth world.”
“But a dead man tells no lies,” I grin, turning back to Merl as if my point has been full on nailed. He’s still frowning.
“Let’s not forget that dead people can be even more dangerous than living ones.” He cocks his head at me, his eyes reminding me that I was once named Joy and am now at the training camp of a vigilante organization named after that “dead” woman.
God damn Merl and his knowing looks.