Desert Dark (8 page)

“Are you even listening?” Alan asked.

Oh, fantastic. They've been talking the whole time and I have no idea what anyone said
. “Of course I'm listening.” She couldn't ask them to start over. She'd look like a complete idiot.
I'll ask Libby if I can copy her notes
.

Nadia sighed and looked around the room. Her classmates sat in huddled groups, hunched over foot-high stacks of index cards, open texts, piles of notebooks.
Yeah. I don't belong here
.

And that's when she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat.

He stood at a bookshelf skimming the titles. His forehead furrowed in concentration, full lips moving slightly as he read. His skin was a beautiful dark olive; it almost glowed. He ran a hand over his cropped black hair. Then, as though he could feel Nadia's stare, he looked up—directly into her eyes.

Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away. She took a deep breath and glanced back. He walked toward her; his lean body taking long, smooth strides. His eyes did not leave hers.

He reached the table and offered his hand. She took it to shake hello. With his other hand he gently pulled on her arm, forcing her to stand. He smiled, his eyes still locked on hers. Her mouth opened, but she couldn't find words. For what seemed like minutes (but was probably only a second or two) they stood staring at each other. She couldn't look away.

Finally, Libby broke the silence. “Nadia,” she said, “meet Jack.”

Earlier that day, during his Advanced Documents class, Jack had received a summons from Dean Wolfe. He was halfway out the door before the bell finished ringing, a flutter of excitement in his stomach. He rushed to Hopi Hall.

Maybe it's a commendation for my analysis of Slavic satellite surveillance
. His instructor had insisted Jack read the paper aloud in class.

He adjusted his shirt collar and checked his reflection in the glass bookshelf. Jack ran a hand over his black hair—more out of habit than necessity—before knocking. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Close the door,” said the Dean. “Please, have a seat. How is your semester progressing?”

“Excellent, thank you.”

“And your summer?”

“No complaints.”

“You worked as a camp counselor, right? With inner-city kids?”

He's been keeping track of me. That's a good sign
. “Yes sir. My summer was very rewarding, but I'm always glad to be back at school.”

“You strike me as a loyal, dedicated student. A patriot. Would you say my assessment is correct?”

“Absolutely.” Jack straightened a bit. “I'd do anything for the Academy.”

“I'm pleased to hear it.” Dean Wolfe thumbed through an open file on his desk. “It seems your peers think highly of you, and your instructors offered glowing end-of-year-reports. Last spring you reported a student for cheating on an exam; he was expelled. You two were close.”

“He was my best friend.” It almost killed Jack, turning him in. But lying and cheating—not to mention disobeying orders—were absolutely unacceptable. No excuses.

“And one of your biggest rivals.”

Jack hesitated.
Does he think that's why I spoke up?
“Yes sir. I suppose that's true.”

“Relax, son. It wasn't an accusation. In fact, your choice of friends indicates you aren't intimidated by other people's accomplishments. You stick with the winners. That's part of what makes you a successful leader.”

The compliment sent a warm feeling through his chest. “Thank you, sir.”

Wolfe paused for a long moment, tapping his pen against the desk. “Jack, I'm afraid I have troubling news. We've suffered a serious security breach. It appears Drew Anderson's death was not an accident. Furthermore, I believe one of our students may be a double agent. Immediately following the incident with Drew, Marcus Sloan came to me recommending a new student, a transfer. Her name is Nadia Riley.” Dean Wolfe's chair rasped as he rocked back.

Nadia Riley. She must be the one I saw him with yesterday
. “Drew was murdered? I don't understand. You suspect the new recruit? Or the recruiter?”

“At this point, I don't know what to think. Albert Vincent, our CIA director, has received intelligence that we have at least one double in our student body. Until we discover who has penetrated our network, no one can be trusted. Since nothing implicates Drew Anderson as the traitor, her murder leads me to one of two conclusions. Either she discovered the identity of the mole, or—”

“Or the mole wasn't initially invited and she needed to clear herself a spot on campus.”

“Exactly. To explore the first hypothesis, tell me what you know about Drew's roommate.”

“Liberty Grace Bishop, only daughter of Senator Wentworth Bishop. She's from Savannah, Georgia; parents married; older brother. She's attended a series of prestigious private schools. Good grades, excellent standardized test scores. Her personality inventory reveals a slight tendency toward obsessive-compulsive behavior, but it also indicates that she respects authority and is extremely loyal. Her family is from the Deep South; I suspect she's a patriot, born and bred.”

“Excellent assessment. Tell me about Damon.”

“Damon's a natural. He's attentive, perceptive, intelligent, well-spoken. His manners are impeccable. His mother is a librarian. His father died of a heart attack.” Jack cleared his throat. “He has no siblings. His psychological profile describes his sense of justice as very black-and-white. He despises weakness. I don't see him waffling between right and wrong.”

“Alan Cohen?”

“Alan is the team's greatest intellectual asset. He's an only child. His father is a doctor, his mother sits on the board of several charities.” Jack paused. He didn't want to bad mouth his subordinate.

Dean Wolfe seemed to sense Jack's reluctance. “Go on.”

“Alan does not share Libby and Damon's gift for putting others at ease. I can't imagine he'd be selected for undercover work. As you know, a covert agent must be nuanced, captivating. At the very least, unassuming.” Alan was the antithesis of disarming. “How can I put this? His awkwardness makes others uncomfortable.”

Wolfe nodded approvingly. “Good work, Jack. It sounds like you really know your team. Let me tell you a bit about the new girl. Our recruiter suggested her last spring and I refused to admit her. I didn't want her attending our school.”

“She's not qualified?”

“On the contrary. Miss Riley earned a perfect score on the questions the CIA embeds into the standardized tests. Marcus Sloan thinks she's a genius.”

“And you?”

“No one scores perfectly on that exam. It's possible to have too much of a good thing. She fits the CIA's profile too well, as though she's been prepped. And even if she wasn't, bringing someone like her onto campus is like starting a nuclear countdown. Overqualified applicants turn into rogue agents. I've seen it before at the CIA. It's only a matter of time until something snaps. And when that happens, regardless of her allegiance, her handler will cease to be in control. The security of Desert Mountain Academy is my highest priority.”

“Why take the risk? Can't you just expel her?”

“Not without reason. Especially since her mother is Middle Eastern. We can't be accused of racial profiling. Now, I could rearrange the teams and assign her to someone else, but I firmly believe you are the best man for the job.”

Jack looked down as his cheeks warmed. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

Dean Wolfe nodded. “You've earned my trust. I want you to keep an eye on her; report any unusual activity to me. But don't assume anything. We must be certain before we move—we get one chance. When we find the double, we need to arrest and interrogate, not expel. And if we make a mistake, the real double will disappear.”

“I understand. Given that off-campus communications are carefully monitored, I assume a double agent would need an on-campus handler. Any leads? Maybe a faculty member?”

“I've been considering that question myself.”

“Does anyone travel extensively over the summer?”

“The foreign language professors all take refresher immersion courses. Our recruiter travels constantly. He takes three to five days off every month, during which time he is not required to
report in. He has more freedom than any of us. And, of course, Hashimoto Sensei says he spends his summers in Japan, but I never see his receipts so I really don't know. He doesn't seek reimbursement for travel expenses because his trips are not school-related. But I have no other reason to suspect him.” Wolfe continued, “Obviously, this information is well above your pay grade, so to speak. I'm placing my trust in you. Do not disappoint.”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent. That's all for now.” Dean Wolfe waved his hand in dismissal and resumed the paperwork on his desk.

Jack hesitated. “Sir, may I ask a question?”

“What is it?” The Dean did not look up.

“How did Drew Anderson die?”

Wolfe stopped his work and rubbed his forehead. His fingernails were buffed to an understated shine. After a moment he looked at Jack. “She was shot in the back of the head, execution style. I don't need to tell you: this information does not leave this room. We teach strategies of war, Jack. Techniques of clandestine service, skill sets specific to Black-Ops. If this information were leaked, a foreign agency would know exactly how we train our up-and-coming agents, which would inform their counter-intelligence training.” Dean Wolfe leaned forward and lowered his voice. “More detrimental, however, is the devastation that would be inflicted on our government if an enemy organization managed to plant a mole at this level—the beginning of training. Such an individual would have the potential for an extended and damaging career posing as an agent of the United States of America.”

After dinner Jack headed to the library. First-year students always gathered for evening study sessions. He'd catch up with the new girl there.

Jack forced himself to stop smiling. He was elated Dean Wolfe had confided in him. To be trusted with something like this was
unprecedented. This assignment had implications far beyond the academy, to his career and future with the CIA.

He spotted Damon and Alan at their usual table. Damon, the natural, with his back to the wall. Alan, the less-natural, scowling at the girls at the next table for whispering too loudly. Knowing Libby would be along soon, Jack positioned himself between shelves.

Desert Mountain demanded excellence in all things. Competition was fierce among his classmates, but it was nothing Jack couldn't handle. He'd been competing with his brothers his whole life. Now, probably to please their father, they were both in medical school, while Jack studied here at the Academy, content with the secret knowledge he was serving his country.

He straightened the books directly in front of him, then checked his watch.
Where are they? This is cutting into my study time
.

A minute later Libby and Nadia walked through the door. Nadia moved confidently, shoulders back, chin high. Her hips swished a little as she walked. She laughed at something Libby said, a quiet laugh with a slightly crooked smile. Jack realized he was smiling with her. He moved closer, to a bookshelf near their table, pretending to be deep in thought.

After a few moments he glanced in their direction; Nadia stared at him.
Am I being too obvious?

If she is a double, she's been trained to read body language
, he reminded himself.
Maybe she saw right through me. I guess there's only one thing to do
. He adjusted his messenger bag and marched to her table.

Tuesday morning after exercises, Nadia and her team ate breakfast as the sun rose higher. The light glinted off the city below, burning through the hazy cloud that settled on the valley.

“Do you want to hear something annoying?” Alan asked.

“Why wouldn't we?” Libby answered.

“I called my parents last night and the phone kept clicking. And I noticed a distinct pause between everything I said and everything they said.”

“The phones are tapped,” Damon said.

“What?” Nadia asked.

“Phones are tapped. That's the delay. Everything you say is prescreened. If the operator doesn't like it, your folks don't hear it.”

“Good to know,” Nadia said.

“How do
you
know?” Alan asked. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Nadia noticed Alan tended to stay on the defensive.

“What else could it be? It's a basic security measure.”

“What's on today's agenda?” Nadia asked.

“Diplomacy with Dr. Moran, followed by Phys Ed with Sensei. We get a light load on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If I had to guess, I'd say we're doing archery in gym class.” Damon nodded toward the lawn, to the line of targets arranged at the bottom of the hill.

“How do you know so much about everything?” Alan demanded.

“First of all, I'm looking right at the targets. Secondly, they went over all this in orientation. You were sitting right next to me.”

“Don't feel bad,” Libby told Alan. “I don't remember that, either.”

“Certainly you are not comparing your intellect and recall to—”

“Hey, guys.” Jack interrupted Alan as he stepped onto the patio. He pulled a chair next to Nadia's. His clean smell surrounded her. “I need to speak to Nadia for a minute.”

“Off we go, then,” Alan muttered, as the team gathered their dishes.

“I'll see you back at the room,” Libby said, collecting Nadia's plate.

“Thanks.” Nadia adjusted her ponytail.
I just finished working out, I'm all sweaty and exhausted, and he sits right next to me
. Add that to yesterday's fabulous first impression—she'd been so flustered when they met she made a complete fool of herself, answering all his questions with one word:
fine, fine, good, fine
. He took her to the language lab in the library, a glass room lined with laptops and headphones. She completely ignored his instructions as he pulled up the Arabic program, and instead spent her time watching his beautiful hands fly over the keyboard.