CHAPTER 5
A SPY, A SANDWICH, AND SOME SECRETS
Abraham
Aslong as there isn’t an active mission thatCharlie’sneeded for, we get together for lunch once a week.Today, it’s at my desk inSub-levelOne, and we’re eating deli sandwiches and chips.Usually,Charlietells me about her life.ThingsIimagine she’d tell her dad if he was alive.AndthenItell her something about my life.
Today, though, she cuts straight to asking about mine. “So…” she says, dragging out the word as she picks up a potato chip, “Iget the sense that you really likeReese’smom.”
Iknew the subject would arise.She’sroommates withReese, after all.Idon’t mind that she’s asking—Annettehasn’t left my mind sinceImet her.It’snice to actually talk about her.
“Ido.Ican tell she’s worriedI’mhiding something, though—whichIam—and that it’ll start causing problems between us.”
“Soare you going to tell her?”
“Ithink so.”I’mactually pretty nervous about it.
“Whichpart?Workingfor a secret intelligence agency or the part where you don’t actually look like she thinks you do?”
Irun my hands through my hair. “Sheneeds to know both.”
“Okay, so turn in the paperwork to get her approved to know theCSAstuff, and then tell her both.”
Inod slowly and take a bite of my sandwich.Charlie’sstudying me.Shecan tell there’s more to it than submitting a form and then tellingAnnette.
“Whatis it?” she asks.
“Iwant to be authentic withAnnette.Ijust…don’t know ifIcan.”
Charlieis silent for a long moment as we each take another bite.Thenshe pushes her food aside and says, “Foras long asI’veknown you, you’ve worn a disguise outside of work.”
Inod.
“Idon’t know of a single other intelligence operative—ex or current—who wears a disguise for normal, everyday things.Doyou feel like you have to, or are you doing it because you enjoy it?”
Ithink for a bit, trying to decide how to explain, thenIshove my food aside, too. “Mydad worked for theCIAas an operative.”
SurprisecrossesCharlie’sface.It’snot thatIhide that fact.Thetopic just rarely comes up. “Heloved thatIwas adventurous, and he wanted me to have an adventurous job whenIgrew up.NotthatIneeded to be an intelligence operative—he would’ve been just as thrilled ifIbecame a helicopter pilot or a stunt coordinator.Maybea racecar driver or a storm chaser.
“Mymom, though, wanted me to nurture my artistic side.Shewas always worried about my dad and didn’t want to worry about me, too.”
“Ibet she’d be so happy to know you’re using your artistic side in your job now.”
Ismile. “Ilike to think she would.”Itake a deep breath. “WhenIwas fourteen, there was an information breach.Somecovert operatives were burned, including my dad, and a guy he’d tried to capture got that intel.Mydad died because of it.”Idon’t bring up that my best friend—Charlie’sdad—also died because he’d been an operative, butIcan tell thatCharlie’sthinking about it.
“So, maybeI’vealways worn it becauseIdon’t want someoneIwent after to come for me.”
“You’vebeen out of the field for a long time,”Charliesays.
“Iknow.Manyof the people who would’ve held a grudge probably aren’t even alive anymore.”
Charlieis silent for a moment.Shecan probably sense the “but” behind my words.Ishould tell her, except beforeIfigure out ifIcan even find the words, she beats me to it. “Butyou still wear a disguise because you’re afraid of people knowing the real you.”
Ichuckle and shake my head. “You’vealways been much too perceptive.Whichis what makes you so good at your job.”
Charliegrins.
“Youknow, maybe it isn’t thatI’mafraid of people knowing the real me, butI’mafraidIdon’t know who the real me is anymore.I’vebeen playing roles for too long.Maybethe real me got lost along the way.”
