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Jason shook the offered hand. “Boring,” he said. “I really don’t need that much of a break between jobs.”
“You’re not the first agent to tell us that,” Denny admitted. “But everything we’ve learned so far suggests that a successful agent is one who does take a break once in a while.” He gestured toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
Jason sat down, marveling again at how real this virtual world seemed. It was computer programming on a level the rest of the world only imagined in science-fiction books and movies. “Do you have an assignment for me?” he asked, stretching his legs beneath the table. “I’m ready to get to work.”
Denny picked up a file from a small table behind him. “Indeed,” he said, sliding it over. “Straight recon, nothing fancy. Get in, confirm the information, get out and bring it back.”
Jason opened the file folder and quickly reviewed the contents, committing them to memory as he read. “Supercavitation?” he asked. “No one has that kind of technology yet.”
“Not that we know of,” Denny said. “But we’ve reviewed the source carefully, and at the least, he believes it’s the truth.”
“So, you want me to find this sub—if it exists—and bring back as much data on it as possible?” Jason asked.
Denny nodded. “The plans, if at all possible. Our source believes that there are forces in Russia who want to bring the Cold War, the arms race, the whole shebang, back into full swing.”
Jason considered it, then nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “In fact, it wouldn’t even be the first time I’ve heard the sentiment. A lot of people miss Mother Russia, despite her less-than-charitable ways.”
“I suppose so,” Denny said. “But we can’t afford another war—cold, hot or anything in between. If the Russians have developed this sub, we need to find it, get the plans and immediately make it known that we can build them, too. Hopefully, they’ll realize how closely we’re watching them and focus their efforts elsewhere like food for their people.”
“Why me?” Jason asked. “I’m not usually a straight reconnaissance man.”
“According to our intel, they’re testing the sub in the Bering Sea. We want you to use the local Inuit villages along the coast up there for cover. You also speak fluent Russian, which makes sending you an even better fit.”
Jason glanced through the folder one more time, memorizing the information and calculating what he’d need to accomplish it. “Mission support?” he asked.
“We’ll put together an offshore support team by the time you’re in place, situate them on an oil barge. Just set up a coordinates beacon somewhere out of the way and within twelve hours, you’ll be good to go.” Denny tapped an icon and the image of a very attractive woman appeared. “This is Tina Kanut. She’s native, knows the area and works for a guide agency up there. We’ve already arranged for her services.”
“Sounds fine,” Jason said. “Any other parameters I should know of?”
Denny shook his head. “Nothing critical. Just remember that this is a recon mission, so I’d rather not have a trail of bodies. Get in, get the data and get out. Clean and simple.”
“Understood,” Jason said. “And if something goes wrong?”
“If you can and there’s time, check in with me and we’ll decide how to proceed. If not, destroy the sub. That will send a message, too,” Denny said.
“Got it,” Jason said. “When do I leave?”
“We’ve got you scheduled on a flight from Minneapolis to Seattle, connecting to Anchorage, tonight,” he said. “Your cover documents are being delivered this morning. You’ll be going in as an advance man for a geographic-survey team. That should give you a solid reason to be in the villages and along the coast, too.”
“That works for me,” Jason said. He slid the folder back to Denny and got to his feet. “I’ll report in as soon as I’ve got something solid.”
“Just remember that that part of the world is a strange place,” his boss replied. “The Russians watch the Bering Sea very carefully and they’re always listening, and the Inuit are a people trapped between the need to adapt to the modern world and the desire to cling to their traditions. That’s another good reason to send you, Jason. You have a better chance of understanding them, I think, than any of our other agents, and if they can be a help to you, that’s a good thing, too.”
Jason chuckled dryly. “My mother was Inuit, so I have the blood,” he said, “but I’m hardly one of them. I don’t believe in family.”
“I know,” Denny said. “It’s one of the reasons we recruited you. Family men get tangled up in personal issues. That doesn’t seem to be a problem you have. Still, that doesn’t mean you can’t use the native people up there if it comes to that.”
“I don’t imagine it will,” Jason replied. “But I’m not above using them to get the job done.”
Denny thought about it for a minute, then said, “I know that, too, Jason. I’ve read your file several times over. You’re smart, educated, cold and decisive. It’s why you’ve been so successful and why I think you’ll be successful here. That said, beneath the exterior, I imagine that you’re as human as the next man. Try not to let the machine take over completely, okay? The best field agents tend to blend your strengths with the ability to be compassionate.”
“I’m not a machine,” Jason objected, stung a little. “I just don’t have much use for other people. They’re a burden I don’t care to deal with.”
“You mean like what happened at the firing range last night?” Denny asked. “You killed one man and injured another.”
Jason paused, stunned that his boss knew what happened. “How did you—”
“It’s my job to know,” Denny said. “And for what it’s worth, you did the right thing. We ask our operatives to be ghosts, but there’s also a time for doing what’s right. That was the choice you faced last night, and you made the right call.”
“It won’t happen again,” Jason said, still trying to wrap his mind around an organization that could know so much about one person so quickly. “I mean…you hired me to be a ghost, so that’s what I’ll be.”
Denny chuckled. “Sooner or later, you’ll do the human thing again. I understand why you feel the way you do, why you operate the way you do. Just remember that relaxing once in a while won’t hurt you, okay? You are human, after all.” He smiled.
“Got it,” Jason said. He turned to the door. “I better get a move on if I’m going to be ready to catch that flight.”
“Stay safe,” Denny said. “And think about what I said, Jason. No man can stand alone forever.”
Without looking back, Jason said, “I’ll give it some thought, boss.” Then he opened the door and slipped out of the room.
All the way back to the log-out screen, he thought about Denny’s words. What did they want from him? One minute, he’s supposed to be a cold-blooded killer, the next he’s supposed to…what? Be a kinder, gentler assassin?
He logged out and put the glasses on the desk, rubbing his eyes to ease the strain. It was ridiculous, he thought. He didn’t have time for friends and family. And he didn’t have time to deal with any of the feelings associated with those issues today. He had saved Miller because it was the right thing to do, not because of some human bond. Most of the time, there was right and wrong, good and evil. Shades of gray entered into it, but usually that was confined to situations where feelings were involved, where the moralities of a given situation were debatable. He didn’t deal too often in those gray areas. His life tended to be black and white and he preferred it that way.
He got up from the desk just as a brown envelope slid beneath his front door. He knew it would contain his travel documents. “I’ve got work to do,” he muttered to himself as he crossed the room. “I’ll deal with learning how to be a more compassionate assassin tomorrow.”
“YOU’RE CERTAIN of this, Denny?” Kate asked, running a hand through her short-cropped hair. “He’s brand-new and this is delicate. We can’t afford any mistakes at all.”
“I’m sure, Kate,” Denny replied. “You’ve read his file.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Ph.D. in psychology from Harvard, with a genius-level IQ. Borderline photographic memory. Well above average blending skills and he excelled in our training program. His final test was a masterwork. That dignitary was about as covered as anyone I’ve ever seen and Siku got him. My concern is that this could get personal for him. His family is out there…somewhere. We don’t need personal right now.”
“Sure, it is,” Denny said. “But the man obviously does not care. He’s ice, Kate, and his record is spotless. My contact at the CIA said that they called him the thinking man’s assassin. Do you know why?”
She shook her head, and he continued. “Because he was like a computer. Precise, calculating, no feelings at all. He plans and plans and then does the job. No mistakes. And he’s not above using people to meet his mission goals—even if it gets them killed.”
“I understand all that, but this isn’t an assassination,” Kate said. “With any luck at all, no one important will even know he was there.”
Denny sighed heavily and wished he could go back to his horse ranch. “Kate, with all due respect, I think you’ve missed something here.”
One eyebrow arched and her lips pursed tightly before she said, “Go on.”
“The odds of him finding the sub—if it exists at all—then getting to it, getting on board and getting out again with no one the wiser are about a million to one against. Submarines are very confined spaces, and a stranger is going to be recognized instantly. It’s far more likely that he’ll be captured.”
“So why send him?” Kate asked. “If he’s just going to be captured and die, what’s the point?”
“I didn’t say he’d die, Kate,” Denny said. “I said it was far more likely that he’d be captured.”
“What’s the difference?”
“If he does get captured, Kate, it won’t be for long. Certainly not long enough for them to get him back to Russia. The most likely scenario at that point is that he would find a way to destroy the sub and kill the crew, even if it meant his own death.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?” she asked. “His psych profile doesn’t indicate anything like suicidal tendencies.”
Denny shrugged. “He’s not suicidal. What he is, Kate, is a man without anything in his life but the mission. That can be a good thing for us, of course, because if he’s successful, we win, and if he fails, it’s likely that we at least gain some time. Not as big a win, but a win of sorts. It’s not a very good thing for him to be that way, but he hasn’t figured that out yet. He may live long enough to do so, but I can’t really say for sure at this point.”
“You’re a coldhearted man, Denny,” Kate said. “Very cold.”
“No, Kate,” he said, “I’m a realist. I can’t afford to be anything else. If I start thinking like an optimist, a lot of people are going to die. Our agents need to be human, too. So do we, for that matter.”
“There’s a difference between being a hopeless optimist and having hope,” she said, her voice soft. “I’d like to believe that a big part of what Room 59 does is finding that difference.”
“Maybe it is,” Denny said. “But in the meantime, we have a job to do, and sometimes that means that we have to use people in some not so nice ways, even our own agents. Especially when it means, they’re better agents for it in the long run.”
“We all get used,” Kate said. “That comes with the territory. But that doesn’t mean we always have to do the same to our own people.”
“Kate,” Denny said, “unless I miss my guess, by the time he lands in Anchorage, Jason will have already figured out that he may have to die in order to achieve some level of success on this mission. As you said, he’s not stupid.”
“And when he realizes that you’ve sent him on what could be nothing more than a quick trip to die?” she asked.
“He’ll be cranky,” Denny said, smiling. “But he’ll also have to decide if there’s anything more important in his life than the mission—even something as petty as getting even with me. He’ll either die or come back a better agent for the experience. He might even come back with some actual feelings.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” she said. “But it still feels crappy.”
He nodded. “Yes, it does,” he said. “But with another Cold War brewing and more international terrorism going on than we can even begin to keep track of, we need better agents than we’ve ever had—men and women who can find the balance between hopeless optimism and hope, who can think on their feet and decide what is more important to them—their lives or the world. We need agents who can make that choice confidently, Kate.”
She thought for several long moments, then nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “The game is changing, I think, faster than many of us believed it would.”
“It always does,” Denny said. “And if we don’t change with it, we won’t be anything more than dinosaurs waiting for a meteor strike.”
“I’m not ready to be a fossil quite yet,” Kate said, laughing.
“Nor am I,” Denny said, “despite how I look. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Do that,” Kate said. Then she added, “And you look fine.” She cut the connection, her virtual avatar winking out of existence.
Denny leaned back, then returned to the file folders on his desk. He’d already spoken to Tina Kanut and explained the situation. She was to play the native guide and nothing else. Her only job was to keep an eye on Jason and if things began to go wrong, she could step in, identify herself and lend a hand.
Sadly, there was more going on in Room 59 than this one mission, and his attention was needed elsewhere. Win or lose, succeed or fail, there were always threats to be addressed. The threats, Denny thought, never stop. He hoped he was doing the right thing where Siku was concerned, but his agents needed to be human, as much as they needed to be effective. Too much of what Room 59 did involved making human decisions. It wasn’t all about killing. Sometimes, it was about choosing the lives of others over your own.
And sometimes, it was just the opposite.
3
The flights from Minneapolis to Seattle and on to Anchorage were uneventful, and Jason spent his time mentally reviewing the specifics of the mission, memorizing his cover story and trying to determine the best way to address the challenges of trying to find a submarine in the icy waters of the Bering Strait. Of course, finding it wasn’t the only problem, though that one was a significant challenge in and of itself.
But the biggest problem would be getting to the sub, getting on board and getting out again without being seen or captured. Even the largest submarines in the world had very limited amounts of space, and the entire crew would know one another on sight. The likelihood of capture or death was quite a bit higher than usual, and being sent on what could be either a wild-goose chase or a death sentence didn’t improve his mood very much. Denny had to have known this was not a simple mission, possibly even a suicide mission, and Jason intended to have some serious words with him when he returned—assuming, of course, that he survived at all.
As the plane began its descent into Anchorage, Jason thought about the fact that this wasn’t going to be his usual kind of operation. He enjoyed missions where planning was almost as important as execution. The proper plans almost always led to the successful completion of an op, and in his experience, failure was usually the result of poor planning. The problem here was that no plan could possibly address all—or even most—of the likely challenges. In other words, he was going to have to wing it. It was an uncomfortable sensation for him at best.
Still, he suspected that these kinds of missions were among the reasons that Room 59 existed in the first place. During his training period, his final test—what they called a mission assessment—was the elimination of a well-protected foreign dignitary who’d been selling state secrets on the black market. It had been an unfortunate situation all the way around. The man had a history of excellent public service to his own country and had built a network of friends within the U.S. government, as well. But he also had a gambling problem that led to a massive debt load. He turned to the only resource he had—selling secrets to both sides and funneling the profits to pay off his debts. Still, the man had a wife, two kids, a family…and he had to die. It wasn’t a situation where a slap on the wrist would do the job. His removal had to be quick and quiet.
After reviewing the mission parameters, Jason had flown to Washington, D.C., and attended a party where the man was a guest. He’d slipped through the crowd in a waiter’s uniform and removed him with a poisoned appetizer. By all appearances, the man had had a massive heart attack and was dead long before the paramedics could arrive. It was an unfortunate end to what had been a successful career, and his family would suffer grief. Still, Jason didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t hesitate. His trainers were very pleased, and even Denny had congratulated him on doing a difficult mission without letting it get personal.
“Why would it have gotten personal?” Jason had asked.
“Targets are still people,” Denny had said. “The man had a family and was well respected.”
“It wasn’t personal to me,” Jason had said. “He needed to be killed. That simple.”
Denny had stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “You’ll find, I think, that many of our missions aren’t so simple, as you put it. Sooner or later, you’ll run into something that makes it personal.”
Jason smiled grimly. “Nothing in our line of work, not even death, is personal. What we do is simple because it’s necessary. There’s no need to muck things up with feelings.”
For some reason, remembering that briefing now, Jason thought that perhaps Denny had been right. Sometimes the work could get personal. Even being this close to where his family had come from, where they might still be, made him edgy. He turned his mind back to his work.
Other than his cover story as part of a geological-survey team, Jason didn’t see a need to be overly creative with this mission. His real name would work fine and might even be helpful with some of the native people. After the plane touched down, Jason grabbed his laptop case from beneath the seat in front of him and made his way through the terminal to claim his baggage.
Denny had arranged a guide who was familiar with the coastline and knew the native population well. Jason grabbed his bags from the carousel and took a cab to his hotel. He’d chosen the Anchorage Grand Hotel for its central downtown location since he wasn’t sure how his guide would suggest they travel up to the strait.
He arrived at the hotel, and was pleased to find a message waiting for him from the local guide. His briefing materials indicated that she worked with a travel agency and came highly recommended. Jason checked in and used his cell phone to call her. He suggested they meet for dinner to discuss his needs and her ideas. She sounded bright and ready to work, and if nothing else, having someone along who knew the area well would be a good thing.
He took a brief nap, then headed down to the dining room to wait for Tina Kanut. When she stepped into the restaurant, Jason did a quick double take. For some reason, he’d expected her to look more like the native guides he’d used for missions in the Middle East or in Africa—weathered, worn and hardened by the conditions of their lifestyle.
In person, Tina looked younger than her picture, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, with the dark hair and eyes of her native Inuit people. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The photo Denny had shown him didn’t do her justice. She moved with the kind of grace usually reserved for dancers, and her frame was tall and lean. He caught her eye and waved her over. She waved back and headed his way.
Jason knew that a woman like this could be a distraction on a mission—he was a man, after all—but if she proved competent, then it would be up to him to control his urges and stay focused. It wouldn’t be fair to deny her the job simply because she happened to be knockout gorgeous.
He stood as she reached the table and offered his hand. “Jason Siku,” he said, keeping his handshake firm and businesslike. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hi, Mr. Siku,” she said. “Tina Kanut. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
A sexy voice, too, Jason thought, then forced himself to business. “Please, sit down.” He resisted the urge to pull out her chair.
They both sat, and he signaled the waitress, who came over and took their drink orders. Scotch on the rocks for him, and a soft drink for her. They made meaningless small talk until the drinks arrived, then turned to business.
“So,” Tina said. “The agency told me that you were looking for a native guide, all the way up to the Bering Strait. That’s a long haul from here.”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “My thought is to fly to Nome, then head up along the coast.”
She considered this for a moment, then said, “That makes the most sense, but it’s not an easy trek, Mr. Siku. There are only a few roads leading out of Nome, and even those only go a short distance. After that, it’s ATVs and hard work.”
“I can handle it,” he said. “I’ve traveled all over the world in some of the roughest country this planet has to offer.”
Tina laughed quietly. “I’ve heard that before, too,” she said, then changed tack. “What are you looking for specifically?” she asked. “I might be able to save you a lot of time if I know what you’re after.”
“Nothing in particular,” he said. “The company I work for does detailed, computer-based mapping, combining physical inspections, satellite imagery and aerial photography. They send me out in advance of the regular team so I can get the lay of the land, let them know of any problems the ground team might encounter before they arrive.”
“You don’t work for an oil company, do you?” Her tone was one of pure suspicion.
