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And there’d been a Scarlet too, all those years ago, hadn’t there?
Of course, Rhett called many of the girls he fucked back thenScarletin the privacy of his filthy fantasies. Sure, there was one Scarlet who stood out, would always stand out because of how she changed the trajectory of his life. But that raven-haired dark-eyed bitch was long gone, just like her bastard child.
Gone with the fucking wind, thank hell for that.
“Rhett and Scarlet, am I right?” Blondie teased. “Looks like you aren’t the onlyGone with the Windfan. Is this fate, Rhett? Destiny? Meant to be?” She grinned up at him, her fingers poised on the keyboard. Then she took a breath, the smile fading as she waited for his command. “Should I go ahead and activate her? Send her Wagner and O’Donnell’s photographs and location? Instructions to take out O'Donnell and make it seem plausible that Wagner did it?”
Rhett placed his hands on Blondie’s shoulders and squeezed as his brain tried to squeeze its way out through his damn ears. “Wait,” he managed to croak through the tightness in his throat. “Don’t open that file yet. It might be a trap. Benson may have planted it there. It might contain a program that traces this back to your computer, to your IP address, something like that.”
Blondie snorted confidently. “Oh, please. The entire art of hacking is to break into a database without anyone knowing you’re in there. I’m piggybacked into the system using Langley’s own internal IP address. My laptop looks like a regular background program running on the server. We’re invisible, Rhett.”
Rhett kept the pressure on her shoulders, shook his head, his mind churning through the choices. He tried to tell himself that Benson didn’t know anything for sure, that the morning visit was just to spook Rhett, to see if he flinched.
But the truth was Rhetthadflinched.
Benson was back in his life, and suddenly these odd coincidences were showing up all over the place, just like they had thirty years ago, the last time Benson had flashed his coyote grin in Rhett’s direction.
“Almost thirty years,” said Blondie.
“What?”
Blondie pointed at the screen. “There. See? This codename was created almost thirty years ago, Rhett. That’s how long Scarlet has been in NOC. No way to fake that timestamp without me knowing. The file is legit. Scarlet is real. Benson couldn’t have planted it in the system. Well, not now, at least. If he planted Scarlet, he did it thirty years ago—which would still make it legit. She’s definitely a real NOC asset.”
Rhett’s grip on Blondie’s shoulders tightened briefly at the thought of the Scarlet in his life thirty years ago. A wild possibility popped to mind, but Rhett pushed it away, told himself he was being paranoid and there was no way, she was dead and gone, he was crazy to even think it. It was just a codename, and the Agency often got cute with NOC codenames. It was just a coincidence. Especially if Blondie insisted it had been there for a while, wasn’t planted by Benson just to fuck with Rhett.
That made sense, Rhett thought as he relaxed and stroked Blondie’s neck with his thumb. Benson had been out of the CIA seven years now. The chances that Kaiser would give him access to CIA NOC files were slim—even if Kaiser did have a way to get in there, which Rhett highly doubted after that Congressional hearing where Kaiser had perjured himself by declaring under oath that there was no NOC program of which he was aware.
Which meant Scarlet was real, and she was available for immediate deployment. The name was a startling coincidence, but one that seemed to be working for Rhett, not against him.
Rhett hesitated as he pondered the decision. “Scarlet’s name disappears from the database once we activate her, right?” He generally knew how the NOC system worked—NOC assets who were already deployed on operations wouldn’t show up until they were done with the current mission and available for a new job. He waited as Blondie checked something, then nodded back at him.
Rhett exhaled heavily. This next choice was the point of no return. He could still conceivably step back away from this whole thing, distance himself and see how it played out. Maybe Kaiser would lose his nerve and have O’Donnell killed anyway. If Rhett stepped back now, maybe Benson would lay off, just let it go. After all, Blondie had made it so there was no electronic trail, no verifiable link between India O’Donnell and Rhett Rodgers, nothing that could possibly implicate Rhett in this whole thing. Even if Kaiser decided O’Donnell was being set up, nothing would lead to Rhett. It would just get covered up and swept away, business as usual in the CIA.
Except Rhett didn’t want business as usual to continue.
Not if it meant Martin Kaiser would still be in charge.
This was Rhett’s shot at the brass ring, the top spot, the ultimate seat of shadowy power. He had a chance here, but the window of opportunity was closing. Senator Robinson was leading in every poll. Americans on both sides of the political divide liked the man. Once in the White House, Robinson would form his cabinet, appoint his own favorites to the powerful positions in Justice, Treasury, and Intelligence.
Which meant Rhett had one shot to make damn sure he was Robinson’s favorite to head up America’s premier intelligence agency.
And he was going to take that shot.
Fuck you, Benson, he thought viciously. You’re a has-been, a lunatic, a madman. You’ve always been that, but now with this Darkwater crap a lot more people see that you’re off the rails. You’re done for, and so is Kaiser for covering your ass all these years.
“Do it,” Rhett said sharply. “Activate Scarlet. Confirm that O’Donnell is the target. Wagner is the patsy. Doesn’t need to hold up in a court of law. O’Donnell just needs to die under mysterious circumstances while Ice Wagner’s with her. Enough ambiguity that Robinson can’t be certain that Kaiser and Benson are innocent of calling in the hit. Best not to use explosives or guns, but give Scarlet free rein to use her judgement. If she’s survived thirty years as a ghost, she’ll figure out the best method.” He watched as Blondie typed out instructions, attached O’Donnell and Wagner’s files. He scanned her instructions, then nodded. “Good. Send it before I change my mind.”
Rhett’s breath caught sharply in his throat as Scarlet’s name flashed on the screen, then disappeared when the encrypted message launched itself into the ether. He held the breath for a long moment, his heart thundering behind his sternum, his morning mixture of caffeine and testosterone making his blood boil hot.
He stood in silence behind Blondie, glanced down at her slender neck. He knew what came next. It would take barely a second. He’d do it quick and clean from behind, make it as painless as he could. Blondie wasn’t a target, after all. She was just collateral damage.
Now Rhett placed his palm on the back of her neck, stroking upwards beneath her hair. She moaned and arched her head back, looked up at him upside-down like a cat, even purring a little as he brought his palm around and cupped the front of her throat.
Rhett closed his eyes and took a breath, slowly brought his other hand up behind her head to give him the two-sided leverage that would snap her neck like a chicken, turn out the lights quick and clean. Then he’d wipe down the apartment and leave her there until nightfall. Come back with an unregistered truck, take her body out to Chesapeake Bay, weigh her down with metal plates, then drop her into that deep spot off the shore where the crabs were big and hungry this time of the year. They’d tear open her flesh so fast the body wouldn’t have time to bloat up with gases from the stomach and intestine. Within a couple of days Blondie would be a skeleton, and last time Rhett checked, bare bones don’t float.
Now Rhett’s hands were in position, left palm cupping her throat, right palm flat around the back of her head. He took a breath, steadied his heart for the viciously quick moment.
And suddenly a phone rang.