Page 11 of The Atlas Maneuver

Koger answered and said, “I know what happened. Austin called me.”

“Did she bother to say where she is?”

Koger chuckled. “You lose her?”

He was already irritated, so smart-ass comments just made things worse. “Derrick, what’s going on here?”

“We got ourselves a first-class mess. One that could turn into a world-class situation.”

He did not like the sound of that. “I thought this was a simple babysit. A quick favor for a friend. That’s what you told me. But somebody just went to a lot of trouble to take her out, and if I hadn’t been here—”

“I get it, and I appreciate it. But that’s what Captain America does, right? Saves the day?”

He heard the sarcasm the praise carried. That was Koger’s style. Just enough bullshit to keep everyone off guard. Koger was career CIA. Part of the spies-and-make-believe culture, America’s eyes and ears abroad and all that bullshit. But the agency had a long history of incompetence, arrogance, and abuse of power. In the old days, when he’d been active with the Magellan Billet, working with them was out of necessity, not desire. Until a few months ago Koger had been with special operations. Now he was European station chief, thanks to a White House promotion, and all because of what he and Koger had done in Germany a few months back. Every enterprising CIA field officer aspired to a desk at Langley and Koger was no exception. But to obtain that reward you had to match a timeline. Fail to rise fast enough and the train passed you by. Koger was more than twenty years into his career, definitely into overtime on the career clock. But a little luck had finally fallen the big man’s way when the president of the United States owed him a favor.

Their paths had crossed several times back when Cotton was active. Some good. Others not so much. A lot of people with Koger’s longevity were retired, now writing revelation books or appearing on cable news as talking heads. But Koger was still on the job and, to his credit, had turned down that desk at Langley, which had finally been offered to him, choosing to stay in the fieldas a station chief. It fit the man’s tough, no-nonsense reputation. No one who’d ever worked with him doubted his loyalty or ability. But that didn’t mean they’d enjoyed the experience.

Himself included.

“Derrick,” he said. “I’m helping you out here. The least you could do is level with me.”

“I hear you, and I want to. Believe me, I do. But I’m working with at least one hand tied behind me. Can you cut me some slack a little while longer?”

He got it. How many times had he worked a situation half blind? More than he could count. But that was when he was a full-time agent, on the payroll, with benefits. This was a freebie. One that had just turned violent. So he wanted to know, “How important is this?”

“On a scale from one to ten…” Koger paused. “An eleven.”

Overstatement was not a Koger trait. Okay. He got it. This was serious. “You have any idea who just made that attempt on her life?”

“I’m afraid I do. Which may elevate this to a twelve or thirteen on that importance scale.”

Koger’s problem, not his. “Is Cassiopeia in trouble?”

“I hope not. But I’ve got her back.”

Good to hear. “What do you want me to do?”

“Babysitting just turned into chaperoning. Can you handle that?”

“Where do you want her?”

“Bring her to me here, in Geneva. In one piece. That last part is really important.”

“Where is she?”

“You see a bakery?”

He stepped back to the end of the alley and looked around, spotting one farther down the street. “I see it.”

“She’s in there. I’m sure that perfect memory of yours will help you recognize her.”

It would. A gift from birth. Not photographic, as television and movies liked to say. Eidetic. An ability to recall an enormous amount of detailed information that never seemed to fade.

“I’m on it,” he said.

And he ended the call.

He stepped from the alley back onto the sidewalk and turned left, making a beeline for the bakery. Which reminded him he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since the two breakfast rolls he’d managed to snag a few hours ago. A bag of pastries would be wonderful.