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CAROLINE

Seven years later

The conference room door remains closed. Smoked glass walls bar any view of what’s happening inside. My job as an analyst is to read the signs splashed across newspapers and in briefings, but there are days I wish I weren’t so aware.

For those of us specializing in counter-terrorism and a nuanced global news cycle, these are fragile times. This truth feels truer with every passing day. When one works for a black ops company that takes untouchable covert assignments, closed doors are unnerving.

My friend, Sophia Sullivan, encouraged me to apply for a position at Arrow Tactical, one of many companies within her father’s investment portfolio, but one with personal ties for Sophia.

When she was fifteen, she was kidnapped, and the founders of Arrow Tactical rescued her.

Her experience put her on the law enforcement path, and as an FBI-turned-CIA operative, she maintains close contacts with Arrow, as they do work for many intelligence agencies around the world.

There was no posted open position, but she told me they could use someone like me. I suspect she saw how miserable I was working for an ogre in a position with limited growth opportunities and asked her father for a favor.

Sophia and I met years ago at The Farm, the CIA’s training program.

From what I’ve observed, Sophia has worked closely on multiple projects with Arrow Tactical.

So closely, the lines between Arrow and the CIA blur.

The company takes on projects governments won’t touch, or at least, they won’t touch without plausible deniability.

The conference room door opens, and Sophia’s gaze connects with mine, her blue eyes sharp and focused. She walks directly to me through the maze of cubicles.

Does she want to grab coffee, or does she need to speak to me about something going on in that conference room?

Banking on the former, I open my desk drawer and remove my purse.

“Come with me,” she says in a low voice, the same decibel level we’ve all been using since threat levels rose and the cubicles filled with those who typically work remotely.

I follow my friend through the stairwell door. She stops mid-flight.

“How’d your date go last night?”

The stainless-steel banister digs into my back as I lean against it.

I’m on the higher step, and the advantageous position gives me the opportunity to study my friend.

Her assessing eyes are slightly bloodshot, and small wisps of hair frame her face, evading the band she’s used to pull back her blonde hair.

Wrinkles mar her white button-down blouse, and it’s not even nine in the morning.

Her lipstick is long gone. The tilt of her head, the crossed arms, her pressed lips—she didn’t pull me out here to ask me about last night’s dinner.

My dinner date was with a colleague, and I never would’ve agreed to a date with him if it weren’t for Sophia’s urging.

Sophia and Stella, our human resources director, of all people, kept prodding me to give the tall, dark, and handsome former military man a chance.

They applied all the adjectives. Pushed and prodded. Give him a chance. You never know…

Still, Sophia’s not vested in Luke. And even if she’s curious, she could just text me—without leaving the conference room.

“You didn’t call me out here to ask about my date,” I say, insistent we get to the reason we’re in a stairwell.

“No, I didn’t,” she admits, stepping back until her back presses to the opposite railing. It’s classic Sophia. One arm crossed over her stomach, fingers still. “You know I value your intelligence and believe you are a strong addition to Arrow based on your merits, right?”

My personal history prevented me from ever being considered for field work, so from the very get-go, I focused on becoming an analyst. Does my consistent focus make me better than other analysts? No.

“What’s going on?”

She tucks an errant wisp behind her ear.

“Sophia, just say it.”

“I want to bring you in on a project. Or, well, it’s an investigation.”

“But?”

“There’s no but, it’s… You have to be okay with it, and I wanted to ask you in private.”

I scan the stairwell and the eaves. “There’s got to be a security camera in here somewhere.”

Her exhale sends a strand of hair northward. “Probably. But at least I can ask you away from the others.”

“Ask me what?”

“We’re investigating Dorian.”

My chest squeezes. It’s the only physical warning sign from the mention of my ex.

I can believe Dorian broke the law. He’s a man with a high disdain for regulation and billions to pay a legal team.

But why would the CIA care about an American breaking the law in the US?

That’s not their territory. If the CIA didn’t hire Arrow, who did?

Arrow only takes projects with a client attached.

“Why? What did he do?”

“He’s a person of interest.”

So they don’t have anything on him. They won’t find anything either. If he broke the law, he’s too smart to get caught.

Sophia’s quiet, thoughtful. Purposeful.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You were married to him. Your perspective is valuable.”

“Do you want to ask me questions?” I haven’t seen Dorian in seven years. “Or do you want me to join the project team? Is this a project?”

“Yes, it’s a highly confidential and critical project, and we want you to join the team. But I won’t mention your connection to Dorian unless you feel comfortable.”

“But if I am comfortable?—”

“Your input would be of high value.”

“How would I even join the team without—” I wouldn’t. She’s not really asking. This is my heads-up so I’m not blindsided in a room full of men.

“It’s fine, Sophia. My marriage isn’t a secret.” Not exactly. “Let’s go. Time is of the essence, right? I left hot coffee on my desk. Let me grab it, and I’ll meet you there.”

She smiles, visibly relaxed. She’d been tense, worried how I’d take her request. I climb the stairs, releasing a sigh.

What have you gotten yourself into, Dorian?

“And that date? Yes? No?” Sophia calls from behind me in her standard, relaxed tone.

“I swear. You and Stella need to find a new television series to entertain you.”

“I half-expected Stella to be at your desk this morning.”

“She texted at six.”

Behind me, Sophia laughs, the sound light, airy, and out of place, given the reason we’re in the stairwell. Some people hate their exes, but I’m not one of them. Our marriage failed, but I never hated my husband. A queasiness sets into the pit of my belly.

“You know, if things don’t work out with Luke, Stella mentioned Ethan is overdue for leave.”

Stella’s son is in Special Forces, following in Trevor’s steps. Trevor, Stella’s husband, is also one of the Arrow Tactical founders and a former SEAL. Based on the photos in her office, Ethan’s handsome. “Isn’t Ethan younger than me?”

“As if that would matter to Stella.”

Fair. Stella jokes about being a cougar, but you’d never know she’s the older spouse when looking at her and Trevor. She’s aged well, and while he’s physically fit and hot as hell, he’s got a lot of gray, especially in his beard. And he adores his wife.

“Ethan’s actually a couple of years older than us.”

“Huh.” If I’m thirty-one, and her son is older than me, how old is Stella?

I pull open the stairwell door, and our conversation stops as several people seated in cubicles, headphones or earbuds in place, look our way.

With one quick detour to grab my coffee and laptop, I catch up to Sophia before she steps inside the conference room.

Trevor sits beside Ryan Wolfgang, who is also a founding partner, and I’m his direct report. Ryan oversees mission strategy and client management, and Trevor functions as a coach and trainer to the operatives Arrow hires. All of the founders are long-time friends.

“Caroline, the CIA, NSA, and Homeland Security have granted security clearance for you to join our team,” Ryan says.

Wow. Three US intelligence agencies. What the hell have you done, Dorian?

“Welcome to Project Unity,” Ryan continues.

“Later, Sophia will provide a complete briefing. Over the last several weeks, allied intelligence services have gathered evidence that a multipronged attack is in the works. Planned timing remains unknown, as does the architect. Small-scale attacks have been occurring across Europe over the last six weeks, and we believe those are designed as tests and point to a larger, coordinated attack.”

I’m familiar with the attacks Ryan is referencing. I keep up with the news.

How would global attacks relate to Dorian? I read in an article recently that Zenith, the company he founded the last year we lived together, has the most extensive satellite network in the world. Governments are Zenith’s clients. Dorian wouldn’t attack his clients.

Ryan continues with the update in a staid monotone.

“Chemical weapons were stolen from a factory in North Korea. We’ve located the ship carrying the weapons and are tracking it via satellite to gain a better understanding of its intent before we disarm it.

Transcontinental wires on the Atlantic Ocean floor were tampered with and damaged.

Sources are telling us an EMP attack is likely.

Plans to disable GPS across the United States are being circulated online. ”

An electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, attack is a high-intensity burst of electromagnetic energy that can disable or destroy electronic devices and electrical infrastructure.

It would cause widespread power grid failure and halt communications.

Coupled with plans to disable GPS, mass hysteria might be the goal.

These days, everyone, from ambulances to delivery services, relies on GPS.

But GPS goes beyond getting around. Military operations, telecommunications, and financial systems would be impacted. They’re talking a black swan event.