The Shadow Protocol

  “No, you shouldn’t,” she replied, but lightly. “Although there’s another reason to stay other than just being forced to by a loathsome old man.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Adam.”

  “You want to help him?” She nodded, and Albion smiled. “You know, there’s still hope for the world yet. As long as there are people like you in it, rather than everyone being like Harper.”

  “Thanks. Although sometimes I feel extremely outnumbered.”

  “One good deed can outweigh fifty bad ones. So how do you want to help him?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’m sure the real Adam Gray is still in there somewhere, underneath this … this robot they want to turn him into. If I can help him find those memories …”

  Albion appeared unsure. “Be careful, Bianca. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that Adam wanted to have his memory wiped. Getting them back might not be the best thing for him.”

  “But he lost all his memories,” she countered. “That can’t possibly be what he thought he was signing up for. He doesn’t even remember his parents, for God’s sake. Was erasing everything a deliberate part of the process?”

  “I don’t know. I devised the drug, but I wasn’t involved with the actual procedure.”

  “Who was? Oh, let me guess,” she said, before he could answer. “Kiddrick.”

  “Afraid so.”

  She huffed. “That man is an absolute arse.”

  Albion laughed. “Oh, you noticed?” He became more serious. “That said, he might be an arse”—he rolled his tongue around the British pronunciation—“but he’s not stupid. And he has connections. And he’s petty and vindictive. So, again, be careful.”

  “I’ll watch out for him. Anyway, I have to get over to STS.”

  “So where do we stand?” Albion asked. “Are we still okay?”

  “We’re still okay,” she replied.

  Bianca was expecting a joke, but instead he said, “I’m glad. Thank you.”

  She gave him a smile. “See you soon.”

  From the frosty reception she received in the Bullpen, the staff of the Persona Project had obviously received the email Tony had mentioned the previous night, and figured out that she was part of the reason for it. “So,” said Kyle loudly as she walked past his workstation, “anyone want to go bowling tonight? Oh wait, we can’t. That’d breach protocol.”

  Tony looked up from a discussion with Levon. “All right, knock it off. Bianca, hi. Glad you’re here.”

  “Hi. Where’s Adam?”

  “In the Cube.”

  She started for the door, but Tony called her back. “Martin needs to see you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see if I can guess why,” she said with a sigh as she reversed course.

  Morgan was in his office—along with Kiddrick, who had postioned himself next to his desk like some sort of twitchy henchman. “Good morning, Dr. Childs,” said Morgan. “Please, take a seat.”

  She did so. Kiddrick remained standing. “You’re not going to sit down?” she asked him. “Run out of Preparation H?”

  The scientist bridled, but Morgan preemptively raised a hand to silence him. “Dr. Childs, that’s enough. Now, we need to discuss last night’s … incident.”

  “You mean when two goons aggressively interrupted a perfectly innocent conversation?”

  “That’s hardly what happened,” Kiddrick sniffed.

  “Oh, were you there? Funny, I didn’t see you.” She turned back to Morgan. “Look, what happened was—”

  “Adam already gave me his account,” he interrupted. “And Spence and Fallon gave theirs. I think the best way to deal with this is to say that both sides overreacted and escalated the situation unnecessarily, but since nobody was hurt beyond the odd bruise, the matter is now considered closed.”

  She was taken aback, not expecting it to be concluded so quickly. “Okay …”

  “That’s far from the end of it, though,” said Kiddrick, glaring down at her. “We’re going to—”

  “Dr. Kiddrick,” Morgan interrupted. Kiddrick reluctantly fell silent. “However, as a result of this incident, all members of the Persona Project have been given a reminder to adhere to the USIC black-agency rules and regulations on social interactions, to the letter. Normally, this is an area where I personally would allow some leeway in the interests of team morale, but a directive has been issued by the director of national intelligence, and it will be followed. By all team members. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” she said, not hiding her disapproval.

  “Since you didn’t go through the standard STS orientation and training, you’ve been sent a copy of the relevant regulations. I’d recommend that you read them. To avoid any future problems.”

  “I see. Is that all?”

  Kiddrick was unable to stay quiet any longer. “No, it’s not all,” he said, stepping forward. “As of now, you are not to talk to or communicate with Adam except for strictly work-related reasons.” His head jerked forward with each emphasis, reminding her of a strutting chicken.

  “Well, excuse me,” Bianca shot back, “but I think that Adam’s mental well-being is work-related.”

  “That’s not your concern!”

  “It should be everyone’s concern! Without Adam, you don’t even have a project.”

  The tendons on Kiddrick’s scrawny neck stood out as his anger rose. “You’re only here to work out drug doses for the PERSONA subjects. That’s all! Adam’s well-being is my responsibility, not yours. If he has any problems, I can handle them.”

  “Like the great job you did for Tony?”

  She knew the moment she said it that she had gone too far. Kiddrick looked to be on the verge of exploding with fury, but Morgan swiftly rose to his feet and slammed both palms flat on the desk. “All right, enough!” he barked. “Both of you. Dr. Childs, for now, keep any interactions with Adam to nothing more than what you need to do your job. Understood?”

  Face tight, she stood, refusing to allow herself to be physically intimidated by Kiddrick. “I understand what you’ve said, yes. But I don’t understand the reasoning behind it.”

  “You don’t need to know,” Kiddrick growled. “And just because you’re temporarily standing in for Roger, that doesn’t give you—”

  Someone knocked on the door. Before Morgan had a chance to respond, it opened and Tony leaned through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said urgently, “but we’ve got something.”

  “You know,” said Bianca, yawning, “I think I’ve spent more time on planes in the past week than the entire ten years before that.”

  “Too bad you don’t get frequent flier miles on US government jets,” Tony replied as he sat beside her. He gave her a bottle of water. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She cracked open the cap and gratefully glugged down several mouthfuls. The dry air in the cabin of the Bombardier Global 6000, a large long-range business jet in an anonymous white-and-blue livery, had left her dehydrated and groggy during the long flight across the continental United States and Canada, and now over the frozen wilds of Alaska. “How’s everything going?”

  “We’re on schedule—we’ll be landing in Provideniya in about an hour. Don’t forget to turn your watch forward—we’ll have crossed the International Date Line.”

  “The Russians bought the cover story?”

  “So far. To them, we’re a team of climatologists. We’re supposedly waiting for another group to arrive later in the day, which will explain why we don’t get out of the plane after we land. We’ve got full authorization from Moscow to be there.”

  “And how did we get that at such short notice?”

  “Better that you don’t know. But if they check the plane, all they’ll find—at least, unless they start unbolting panels—is exactly what they’d expect: winter gear, tents, skis. We’ve even got some weather balloons.”

  “Cool. I can use the helium to sound like a duck.”
They both smiled. “So what about Zykov? And al-Rais?”

  Tony’s face became harder. “Zykov’s due to land two hours after we do. Al-Rais … we don’t know yet. But we do know from the communications intercepts that he’ll meet Zykov in person before they buy the RTG from Colonel Sevnik. We’ve got satellite surveillance on the airport to watch for his plane.”

  Bianca looked up the cabin to where the rest of the team were sitting. She couldn’t help but feel that she had been somewhat ostracized by the mission specialists, and among Baxter’s squad of seven men were Fallon and Spence, so she had deliberately chosen an isolated seat to stay out of everyone’s way. As for the team’s key member … “So, when am I going to be allowed to talk to Adam?”

  That came out with more of an edge than she’d intended, but Tony took it in his stride. “Nobody’s stopping you now. I’m certainly not going to.”

  “Really? I thought there was some sort of executive order forbidding it.”

  “We’re on a mission, so communication between team members is vital. That’s my take, anyway. Besides, I’m not Kiddrick.”

  “Well, no. You’re a lot nicer to look at, for a start.”

  “Careful!” he said, holding up his hands in mock warning. “That might be considered fraternizing! But it’s nice of you to say so.”

  “Well, you know.” She grinned sheepishly. “I can talk to him, then?”

  “Sure. Although it’d probably be wise to keep it work-related for now. And not just because of Kiddrick—we are about to go into a mission, after all. We don’t need any distractions.”

  “I’ll keep things official. Ish.” Bianca headed up the cabin.

  She passed Baxter and his men, ignoring Spence’s glower. Holly Jo at least gave her a nod, though Kyle still appeared to be snubbing her. Adam was in the front row of seats. “Okay if I sit here?” she asked.

  He looked up at her. “Sure.”

  She sat beside him. “So. Apparently there are certain topics we should avoid.”

  “Yeah. Kiddrick’s list started at A and went right through to Z.”

  “He didn’t include numbers? That gives us some wiggle room.”

  He smiled slightly. “Did you read the file on the persona I’ll be using?”

  “Yes. Dr. Eugene Browning of the International Atomic Energy Agency.” The plan was for Adam to use Browning’s persona to make a professional assessment of the RTG’s condition, when located. If it was safe to transport, it would be loaded aboard the jet—along with al-Rais, if he was captured—and taken to the United States; if not, it would be left in situ and the Russian authorities alerted so they could send one of their own nuclear recovery teams to secure it. “Hopefully he knows his stuff.

  “If he doesn’t, I might wind up glowing in the dark.”

  Despite his joke, the thought gave Bianca a chill. She had on occasion worked with radioactive substances as a chemist, and always treated them with the utmost caution, finding the idea that something could kill people without even touching them deeply unsettling. That anyone could even consider deliberately exposing others to something so toxic was more disturbing still. “Dr. Browning is about as far from a secret agent as I can imagine,” she said, changing the subject. “What’s it like when the persona you’re using is so different from you?”

  “It can be … tricky,” he admitted. “There have been times when I’ve done something that’s so far from how the person would actually behave that it’s almost like a voice screaming in my head for me to stop.”

  “Like when you answer the test question about the person’s most guilty secret?”

  “Yeah. Only much stronger. Macao was an extreme example, actually—Peter Vanwall had a serious fear of heights.”

  “Has anything like that ever happened to you before?”

  “Not to that degree, no. Kiddrick thinks it might have been caused by stress. I was already under pressure to get to you before Zykov did anything, and then suddenly coming up on that huge drop was a shock—which triggered Vanwall’s vertigo. That started a kind of feedback loop; his fear stressed me out more, which allowed it to get even stronger, and so on. So when I was out on that roof … it was real hard not to be scared. But I managed it.”

  “How?”

  He looked at her as if the answer were obvious. “Because I had no choice.”

  “Has there ever been a time when … when that voice in your head got too loud? When it stopped you from doing something? Or made you do something else?”

  “No. Not yet, and I hope it never does. But then,” he went on, looking over his shoulder at the seats behind, “there are always other voices yammering at me to get on with the mission, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Holly Jo looked up from her laptop. “I heeeeard that,” she said, singsong.

  “What’re you doing there, anyway?” Kyle asked her.

  “I sent Levon my solution to his puzzle,” she told him. “I figured out how to get the diamond out of the vault. Just waiting for him to reply.”

  “Hey! Watch out, that might be fraternization!”

  Tony came back up the cabin. “I see that’s going to be our running joke for the next few days. What did you come up with, Holly Jo?”

  She gave him a smug smile. “It’s obvious, really. It takes an hour to break into the vault, but the guards check it every half hour, yes? So you need to come at it from a different angle—literally. Get onto the roof, start cutting through it, time it so you stop cutting just before the guards start their rounds, then start again right after they finish.” Kyle began to chuckle. “What?”

  “I think he’s planned for that,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause my idea was to go into the vault through the floor. Didn’t work. It’s a big-ass vault, so it needs heavy-duty supports—six feet of concrete, reinforced with steel bars. Can’t break through it inside the twenty-four-hour limit without making enough noise to warn the guards. So I’m kinda sure he’ll have thought of putting a camera on the roof.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  “Does Levon just make up reasons why a plan wouldn’t work?” asked Bianca. “That sounds like something he pulled out of the air.”

  “No, no—the dude’s tough, but fair,” said Kyle. “He tells us the basics of each scenario, but keeps a file on the server with a list of everything he doesn’t tell us. So if a plan doesn’t work, he pulls out the bit that explains why. And ’cause it’s time-stamped, we know he didn’t just make it up.”

  “But isn’t he some sort of super-hacker? How do you know he hasn’t changed the time stamp?”

  Kyle and Holly Jo stared at each other for a moment. “He wouldn’t,” she gasped. “Would he?”

  “He’d better not have,” Kyle replied, flustered.

  Tony laughed. “Guys, you can trust Levon. He likes to outwit you fair and square.” Holly Jo’s laptop chimed. He glanced at the screen. “Besides, I guess we’re about to find out. Although judging from the message title …”

  Holly Jo pouted as she read it out. “ ‘Not even close.’ Huh!” She opened the email and rapidly scanned through it. “Cameras on each corner of the roof, and a vibration sensor on the ceiling directly above the vault. Damn. Although I’m definitely going to ask him if he’s hacked the time stamp …”

  The pilot’s voice came over the cabin speaker. “Tony, Mr. Morgan is calling on the video link.”

  Tony pushed an intercom button to reply. “Okay, thanks.” He went to the forward bulkhead and switched on the flat-screen. “Martin, we’re here. What is it?”

  “Just an update on your operation status,” Morgan replied. “You have full approval to go ahead with a clandestine operation on Russian soil.”

  That produced questioning looks throughout the cabin. “I thought we already had it,” said Tony, mystified. “Seeing as we’re only an hour away from landing.”

  Morgan rubbed the back of his head, seeming worn o
ut from whatever meeting he had just endured. “State had a fit when they found out what we were doing. They didn’t want to antagonize the Chinese, and they want to antagonize the Russians even less. Even though the admiral authorized the mission, it still got kicked upstairs to the White House. We managed to talk Alan Sternberg around—just barely, and the admiral’s still steaming about it—and once he was on board that pretty much meant the president would approve it. Same conditions as the Macao operation, though: The US will deny any knowledge if the Russians catch you.”

  Tony regarded the screen grimly. “Understood.”

  “We’ve just been disavowed again,” Kyle muttered.

  “There’s one piece of good news,” said Morgan. “If you secure the RTG and it’s safe to transport, you’ll have a fighter escort all the way home. F-22s from Elmendorf will pick you up as soon as you leave Russian airspace.”

  “But before that, we’re on our own?”

  “I’m afraid so. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Tony disconnected, facing the others with a conflicted expression. “Well, you heard him. We’d better not screw this up.”

  “Good thing we brought all that survival gear,” said Kyle. “We might need it if we want to stay out of a Siberian gulag.”

  “We won’t need it,” said Baxter firmly. “As soon as the bad guys bring the RTG into the airport, my team will move in, take them out, and capture al-Rais. We’ll be airborne before the Russians put down their vodka. We’ll be out of Russian airspace in five minutes—and in American airspace in ten. St. Lawrence Island is less than sixty miles from the Russian coast, and it’s US territory. With F-22s backing us up, we’ll be home free.”

  “So long as nothing goes wrong,” Tony reminded him.

  A short, sardonic laugh from Bianca. “And what are the odds on that?”

  PROVIDENIYA BAY AIRPORT, RUSSIA

  The little coastal town of Provideniya was one of the most remote settlements in Russia, located at the country’s easternmost edge on the Bering Strait separating Asia and North America. Despite this isolation, close to two thousand hardy souls lived in the former military port. The town had gained an unlikely new economic lifeline following the fall of the Soviet Union, its relative proximity to the United States—and the fact that it was home to one of the very few airports in the vast Chukotka region—turning it into a gateway for Siberian tourism.