Page 21 of Play the Game
“The fries were hand-cut by yours truly, lightly seasoned, and air-fried, which is as decadent as I’m willing to get, in case Doc catches wind of this off-the-record meal.”
“Thank you,” he said. “And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
As he ate, he asked me innocuous questions about the mission. Bond had limited his access to information but hadn’t curtailed it. There weren’t many details I could add to his knowledge.
“So, last night, you followed the plan and came in third in the hacking competition. How did that feel?”
“Third place was shitty. The rest of it was good.”
“And how’s Sparks doing in her new role?”
“She’s doing great—giving you plenty of reasons to be proud of her.”
He nodded. “I never doubted it. I’ve wanted to give her experience as lead logistician multiple times this past year, but with all this Carbonados shit, the missions were coming fast and furious, and the timing was never right.”
“Then I guess this was serendipitous.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d worry you set me up to take that beating, just to get me out of commission.”
I shook my head. “No way, man. I’m really sorry it happened, Penn.”
“I know. And it all worked out, right? First, you got the mob guy’s phone, then you got him arrested and under HEAT’s control.”
The way he said it made me think he didn’t believe it had worked out that well, after all.
“We have important information now,” I explained.
“Which we wouldn’t have gotten any other way,” he added.
I rubbed the back of my neck. I could see where this was going. “We would have gotten it another way. It would have just taken longer.”
“Ah, so we got the information faster.” He glanced in the direction of his ribs. “But there was a cost.” He met my gaze. “And not just to me.” He wiped his hands with a paper napkin, which he dropped onto his empty plate. “You know we need to clear the air about Friday night.”
I nodded. I deserved whatever he planned to throw at me, although a pretty big part of me was glad it wouldn’t be his ham-sized fists. At least not until his ribs healed. “None of it was Tam’s fault. She didn’t know what I was planning.”
“We all figured that out pretty much instantly,” Penn said. “That’s the only reason she wasn’t given her first written warning.”
My stomach lurched. “Shit.” I knew she’d taken a lot of crap on Saturday, but I’d had no idea they’d considered writing her up. In HEAT, if warnings were so bad that they were written up in your personnel file, you were basically on probation. A second write-up, and you were out.
“Yeah, shit indeed. TJ had to talk X down. Damnit, Jensen,” he said through clenched teeth, “I thought she was your best friend.”
“She is,” I insisted. “Best friend ever.” And sometimes, she was more. A lot more. Although what, exactly, I still couldn’t say. That scared me nearly as much as the realization of how close Tam had come to being fired.
“Then look out for her like a best friend,” Penn said, his voice calmer. “You might be irreplaceable here, but the rest of us are expendable. Sparks is damn good at what she does and has a few special talents that would be hard to replicate. Those are the reasons I hand-picked her to be my logistics second. But it’s not like she’s one of only five people in the world who could do her job. You’re a fucking unicorn, Jensen, and it gives you leeway no one else here has. Sparks is not a unicorn.”
“That’s not fair.”
“But it’s true. The same can be said for me. I damn well deserve my place on the Alpha Team, but there are dozens of others who could do it, even if it took some time and training to do it well. Even TJ and Bond could be replaced if—God forbid—it came to that.”
I remembered what she’d said last night about not wanting to resign. She loved her career, and I’d been reckless with it. “Christ, I’m a shitty friend.”
“Last Friday night, yes. More generally, no. You’re a good friend and a good guy, Jason. But keep Sparks out of your hare-brained schemes.”
“Message received.”
He was right. I owed her that much. She’d been there on my worst days over the past couple of years as my marriage had deteriorated, then slowly crumbled into litigious dust. Tam had been a bright spot in my dark days, sometimes the only one I’d glimpsed for weeks on end. She’d reminded me life could still contain joy.
Every day we spent together, she shared her quick laugh and even quicker wit. She called me out on my bullshit when I needed it. And she reminded me that what we did for our country was a privilege. This was her mission in life. I had to take much more care with her because losing her career would destroy her purpose. She would lose a piece of herself. I loved her too much to allow that to happen, let alone be the cause of it.
