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Ice had heard the rumors, and he hadn’t liked what he heard.
Especially that shit about the names all lining up alphabetically.
To him that wasn’t a sign from the damn universe but more likely an indication that Benson was off the rails—just like some other rumors that had also been going around about the former CIA man.
But hopefully Benson recruiting guys with names in sequence was just a harmless case of OCD or some other psychological tic. Those CIA guys liked to get cute when naming missions or coming up with codenames. Wouldn’t be too hard to recruit guys in alphabetical order if you were a seriously-connected obsessive-compulsive wacko like Benson was rumored to be.
Easily explainable.
Hopefully harmless.
But you never knew with these sketchy Company guys who’d been operating in the dark so long they started seeing ghosts in the shadows, patterns in the chaos, meaning in those patterns.
So Ice had decided that if he couldn’t stop Jack from joining Darkwater, he was going to tag along and ride shotgun for his kid brother.
“So O’Donnell is CIA,” Ice had confirmed after ignoring Benson’s pointed word-choices about disease and damage. “I’ll be working with her?”
“No, you’ll be workingonher.”
Ice had blinked twice, almost putting his shades back on to hide what his eyes might reveal. Benson was studying his eyes like he was watching for something, but Ice had a poker face that could fool his own mother. He didn’t let the dark chill running down his spine show up in his dead-cool eyes.
Because Ice knew what workingonsomeone meant.
Especially when a CIA man was giving the orders.
Company guys like Benson and Kaiser were in their own league when it came to crossing ethical lines, stomping on moral rights, ignoring not just basic human decency but even the U.S. Constitution if that’s what it took.
Delta Force was part of the military, bound by codes of conduct, restricted by international conventions.
But CIA had always played by a different set of rules.
And man, had the gloves come off in this new world of terrorism and random acts of mass violence.
Ice knew because he’d seen it working on CIA-run missions while still with Delta Force.
Seen it and lived it.
“O’Donnell is dirty?” Ice had asked softly. “You know that for sure? Or is that what you need me to figure out?”
Benson hadn’t answered, instead gesturing to the waitress for the check. He’d paid in cash, leaving a tip larger than the bill.
They’d walked to their cars silently, Benson stopping in front of his gray Crown Victoria and turning for what ended up being his final words before Ice was on his way to Newark Airport to catch an Air India seventeen-hour nonstop direct to Mumbai International.
“The last time the United States convicted someone for treason was in the 1950s,” Benson had said softly as the sun bathed them in golden light. “And that isn’t because we’re so awesome that nobody has wanted to switch sides in the last eight decades. We just handle those cases outside the courtroom now. You know that as well as anyone. That’s why I picked you. That’s why Kaiser and I are sending you to O’Donnell instead of bringing her back to America.”
Ice had stood silent in the morning sun and slowly put his shades back on.
He knew exactly what Benson was saying.
Knew exactly what the mission would become if O’Donnell admitted to betraying her country.
But what Ice didn’t exactly know was if he’d be able to finish that kind of mission with a woman.
He’d sent his share of souls to hell back in the Deltas, but Ice had never put down a woman.
And a part of him wasn’t sure he could.
Wasn’t sure he would.