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5

CONOR

YES - COLDPLAY

PRESENT DAY

CIA HQ was something I’d mostly only seen in episodes of The Blacklist . Thus, the fear I was about to be murdered kicked up a notch.

A part of me was certain I was about to be taken to a black site, only I wasn’t. I was guided down a multitude of empty hallways and led into a large office where a group of ‘engineers’ were strumming away at their keyboards as if they weren’t making code, but music.

If noxxious didn’t exist, then this was my favorite kind of track to listen to.

The office housed around thirty technicians. Each of their faces glowed in blue light, their attention fixed on their screens and not on what was happening in the rest of the room.

These guys weren’t the usual white-collar morons I dealt with.

They didn’t dress in grocery-store suits and look like they were dealing with the aftermath of a wedgie. They were like me. Regular me. They wore jeans and had tattoos on show. One kid had a green mohawk; another appeared unsure about the year of our Lord because she thought being emo was in fashion.

A challenge, then.

That was my first take on the situation.

The second was that maybe my ego was bigger than I thought.

Said ego had been bruised by Star’s repeated invasions into my code, yet as a result, my work had never been tighter.

It was true that only when your mettle was tested did you know what you were capable of.

And Star was the benchmark by which I measured everything.

She was my peer.

My equal.

My fucking everything.

The thought had my jaw clenching with irritation.

Love was supposed to be nice.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

Absently, and of my own volition, I rubbed at my chest. That was when Black clapped her hands and shouted, “Team, we need Eagle’s Claw live in five minutes for testing. Are we still on track?”

The emo kid called out, “We are.”

Black, folding her arms across her chest, nodded and fell silent so I did the same, except I leaned against the wall and studied the group.

Then, much as if a school bell had sounded—most of these fuckers seemed young enough to belong in high school anyway—they got up five minutes later and traipsed out.

As one, they all flicked a glance at me.

That was an interesting experience.

Some looks were covetous; others were heated. A few were bitter, and a couple were competitive.

“You’re their criterion,” Black informed me once we were alone.

I arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

“The OG asset,” she mused. “The first of their kind.”

Clearly, I’d been slow on the uptake. “They’re like me?”

“Yes. Turned to Uncle Sam to get out of jail sentences. The program worked so well with you, Mr. O’Donnelly, that we decided to expand our team.”

“Why let me in on that secret?”

“Because it isn’t a secret and it’s good to know that you’re not irreplaceable or unique.”

“I never said I was either.” I smirked at her. “If anything, every time I get a call from Riggs, you define me as such.”

She tipped her chin to the side. “Star said you were annoying.”

My smirk died as I straightened up. “You know Star? Star Sullivan?”

She matched my earlier smirk and topped it with… silence .

My left eye flickered at the clever tactic.

Rather than engage her in a topic she’d used to snare me, I demanded, “Why am I at Langley? The Secret Service isn’t overseen by the CIA.”

“I’m merely your courier, Mr. O’Donnelly. I was told to bring you here, and bring you here I have.”

Here was a distinctly unimpressive workspace. I’d have preferred the usual non-entity office the NSA set me up in. At least there, I got windows.

Instead, a whiteboard covered one wall where, in a regular room, there’d have been some escape from the sea of blandness. In front of the whiteboard was a desk, which she pointed to.

“I assume you wish to use your own rig?” she questioned, watching as I walked over to the desk.

I dipped my chin in agreement.

On the surface, I found an envelope with my name on it. Without awaiting further instructions from Black, I tore it open and uncovered a note.

Dear Mr. O’Donnelly,

Operation: Eagle’s Claw functions under the highest security clearances.

You are, by this point, aware that your family will pay the price if you decide to:

A: Defect;

B: Sell proprietary information belonging to the United States government to a foreign entity;

C: Manipulate any code you see here and use it for your own purpose and/or gain.

The rules of the game have not changed, Mr. O’Donnelly.

Yours faithfully,

Sheridan Reinier

Director of the Central Intelligence Agency

Below, there were details of the comms platform that had been developed by Langley and my task ahead. I scanned them, but my attention returned to the signature.

Reinier—I mentally sneered— as if I bowed to him anyway.

The piece of shit was a New World Sparrow, so I didn’t know where he got off pretending that he was working to ‘secure’ the president. And that shit about using or manipulating their jackass code for my own purpose when he was selling his agents as sex slaves if they didn’t behave? Where did he get off on that?

Still scoffing, I cast a look at Black. “I’d like to make it known that the rules of the game have definitely changed.”

For the first time, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

I waggled the letter at her. “Your boss. Mr. Reinier. He wrote that, ‘The rules of the game have not changed.’ That’s a lie.

“This relationship was established between the NSA and me. Not the CIA.”

“You serve at the government’s pleasure, Mr. O’Donnelly.”

My top lip quirked up. “Thank God I don’t or I’d be wearing a shitty suit like yours as well.”

Though irritation flashed in her expression, I ignored her and started going through my mission details more precisely.

With the information in hand, I cracked my knuckles twice, cricked my neck on each side, and began the process of unveiling my laptop.

When it was on the table, I waggled the cord at Black. “Make yourself useful.”

While she glowered at me, she did as asked, and once I was plugged in, a few moments of exploring my environs had me taking over the hidden speakers and microphones in the room.

Only when noxxious was blaring from the speakers at a volume that was loud enough to make my ears bleed was I ready to start playing.

Because, as the director had said, this was a game.

And whether he knew it or not, I’d already won round one.