6. Bad Diplomacy

The Arsonist.

The name echoed in Sydney's mind as she marched out of the room. She had been the one to suggest it for Tems, back when they'd graduated from Panacea's training program and he'd completed his first mission. It had been an escapade that ended with him setting alight an entire freight train in the middle of a midnight field, an inferno so bright that the snaking flames could be seen from space.

You should name him the Arsonist,she'd said sarcastically to Sauda. He follows orders about as well as a wildfire does.

It had stuck. And then Sydney hadn't seen him again until three years later, when they were both stationed briefly in Stockholm, Sweden, and Niall had assigned her as his partner.

They'd ended up getting snowed into their hotel for two days—days they spent in bed together.

She cringed at the memory of their affair. He'd been a good kisser—good at a lot more than that, actually—but he had also stranded her in the country by stealing her passport and altering it to use himself.

Sorry, sweetheart. Just business.

She could still remember his scrawled note, signed at the bottom with a knife through a heart.

What an asshole. She still hadn't forgiven him for it. Still, she sometimes wondered idly what Panacea had him up to. Rumors swirled about his insubordinance—that Niall had him shipped overseas for it, although the analyst never mentioned him. She'd only pieced it together after she spotted Tems in a photo on the Sapphire Cross's site, broad smile on his face as he handed out supplies at the charity's outpost in Greece. But when Sydney was in London last year with Winter, Tems had been the one who'd left a parcel for her in the Alexandra Palace's bathroom, the only evidence of his identity being that same signature.

She would have been fine with that being the only contact she had to endure from him for the rest of her life. But now here she was with orders to rescue him from his own mission.

No wonder they had kept his identity a secret from her until now. She was going to kill Sauda for this.

As if on cue, she heard Sauda's voice calling her. "Come back, Syd," the woman said in her calm, unconcerned voice. "And meet us in Sim A."

"You could have told me," Sydney snapped over her shoulder.

"Why?" Sauda called back with a shrug. "So you could throw this tantrum sooner?"

"So I could tell you to pick someone else for this mission."

"There's always a reason we choose you for your missions. It's possible your refusal could trigger a global war." She nodded once at Sydney. "And cost Tems his life."

Sydney hissed a swear under her breath and looked away at the false windows. Sauda's words burned in her mind. Global war. God damn it all. She could have been a tour guide instead—or any other job that required knowing multiple languages and where the world's salvation didn't hang on her every task.

"He nearly cost me mine once," she snapped. "We'd be even."

"Look, I get it," Sauda said. "Tems is a bit… unruly. We've had our own frustrations with him." She turned in the direction of the glass rooms lining the end of the floor. "But he's also one of our best. If you're still upset about it later, just say the word. We'll send Winter home, and try to avert global disaster. But don't begrudge our commitment to protecting our agents. We'd do the same for you—and we need him as much as we need you. So just hear me out. Are we clear?"

Sydney stood where she was for a second longer, trying to push her annoyance down. Behind Sauda, she saw Winter emerge from the dais with his hands in his pockets, his eyes cautiously fixed on her.

Then she started walking back. "Crystal," she muttered. "But this better be good. And give me several backup passports this time."

Sauda just turned coolly away and started leading them to the offices. As Sydney caught up to Winter, he fell into step beside her.

"An ex, huh?" he murmured.

His words sounded light, almost teasing, but she noticed the tightness of his jaw, the stiffness of his posture. It made her tense, too.

"Ex is too strong a word," she said coldly, without looking at him. "We had a two-day affair while on assignment. An overrated fling."

"Mm," he answered. "This mission's getting more fun by the minute."

They stepped into the first of the glass offices and entered what appeared to be an empty room. The blank door had several words etched on it.

SIMULATION ROOM A

Winter paused, as if wondering where the chairs and tables were.

"Just stand still," Sydney told him. "The room's recording your dimensions."

Niall closed the door behind them and turned to Sauda. "You do the honors," he said.

Sauda twisted her wrist in midair. A hologram suddenly appeared between them all, a map of Southeast Asia hovering in the air like a glowing lantern. She gestured at a small dot on the map. "Avalon," she said, "zoom in on Singapore."

The dot expanded all around them until a three-dimensional simulation of Singapore filled the entire room. Suddenly, they were standing in a busy intersection in the middle of a city. The sound of motorbikes and cars filled the room. When Sydney looked to her side, she saw street stalls lining open-air buildings, the vendors tossing pan-fried noodles in woks and turning skewers of meat behind curtains of steam, luxury skyscrapers and jungle foliage filling in the scene behind them. It was such a realistic simulation that she could almost feel the humidity in the air.

"I transferred Tems here three months ago," Niall said.

"Sightseeing?" Sydney suggested, her eyes following the traffic.

"Recon," Niall answered, "on an alleged plot to assassinate the US president."

At this, Sydney's head whipped sharply to Niall. "Rosen's under threat?"

"Mr. Rosen, yes. His dissenters have always had dangerous intentions, but their actions have escalated lately."

Sydney turned back to the simulation. Her hands were gripping her elbows hard enough now to leave white marks fading against her skin. She'd met the president once, at a private White House security event. She knew to distrust politicians, had too much intel on too many of them not to, but Rosen was different. He was the kind of person who inspired loyalty, who had a way of speaking that made you love him—believe in him, even. His campaign promises may have been lofty, but somehow, he made it seem possible, and more importantly, like he meant what he said. She remembered the way he'd shaken her hand at the event and the kind smile he'd given her, how he'd taken the time to quietly thank her for her work in taking down a homegrown terrorist group in Montana.

Suddenly, she understood the delicate nature of their mission. Rosen was the most beloved president they'd had in decades. If he was assassinated, the streets would explode with riots. It would be a murder of John F. Kennedy–level proportions. It would destabilize the entire globe.

"We've been tracking the threats closely alongside the CIA," Niall continued.

"Now, Mr. Rosen is scheduled to attend the Warcross gala as a celebration of how the global economy has come together over technology. Earlier this year, our analysts sniffed out a plot by a rebel group to assassinate Mr. Rosen at that gala."

The world around them shifted again, and this time they found themselves standing outside what looked like a neo-Palladian palace in the middle of the city, surrounded by lush lawns and tropical trees. Banners in the colors of the Singaporean flag fluttered on either side of the entrance steps.

Sydney shook her head. "Why target Rosen right now?"

"The rebels plan to pin the blame on China. They're hoping to trigger a war between China and the United States, with Singapore trapped in the middle as the proxy country. We believe they have an arms deal with China that is motivating them to do this." Sauda tapped the air, and the simulation shifted again. Now they were standing in the marble lobby of the gala building, the sound of other people's footsteps and voices echoing around them.

"We'd sent Tems to gather information on this rumor, which he would then pass to the US authorities arriving for the gala in order to stop the assassination attempt—without any of this information going public, of course."

"You mentioned the CIA's involved?" Sydney asked.

"Yes." Sauda made a swiping motion in midair, and the scene around them shifted to another part of the gala building—a hallway down which now walked several people in suits. The simulation suddenly froze on this scene. "Niall will be on a separate flight. Once he arrives, he'll head to the CIA's setup there to coordinate their work with our agents at the Sapphire Cross."

Sydney's stomach sank at the familiar, bejeweled cross pins glittering on the trio's suit jackets. "Can't President Rosen just say he's unable to go?" she said. "Broke a finger? Caught the flu?"

"Bad diplomacy," Niall replied. "The president won't be cowed by a mere rumored threat. Besides, the culprits will simply postpone their plans for another time. The CIA wants them arrested as soon as possible, as you can imagine. It's not much of a choice." The man gave her a dry scowl. "A bit like how we need you to rescue Tems."

Sydney wanted to snort. Bad diplomacy, indeed.

"So, what happened to your agent?" Winter asked.

"Last week, Tems was supposed to reach out to us and deliver preliminary intel he'd gathered on the assassination ahead of the gala. He never showed."

Sydney swallowed, but her throat felt like it had a rock lodged in it.

Niall nodded. "We believe he might have had his cover blown, or has someone on his trail that's making it difficult for him to communicate with us, or is in some similar trouble. He told us in his last message that he will still be present at the gala. So we've arranged secret transportation for him out of the country on that night, possibly the only place with enough security for him to be safely present. We think if you can find him at the gala, we can smuggle him out from there. But he can't get out alone. He'll need new identification and another agent to help him."

"That's where we come in, I'm guessing," Sydney said.

Sauda pursed her lips, then eyed her and Winter. "Your mission," she concluded, "is to go to the gala and get the Arsonist out of there without causing a scene. We'll tell you when and where to meet him."

Sydney took a slow, deep breath in, but her lungs were already reacting to the thought of being in the middle of a political crisis.

Beside her, Winter nodded. "So all you need from me is to get Sydney in?"

Niall leaned his elbows against the table. "You'll be putting on the biggest concert in Singapore's history a day before the gala. We can easily get you onto the gala's guest list, and you'll get Sydney in as your bodyguard."

"You mentioned you had a date ready?" Sauda asked.

"Yes," Winter answered, his voice clipped.

"Good. Name?"

"Gavi Ginsburg." Winter looked away and focused instead on the simulation around them.

Sydney tried to look nonchalant, but her mind was already spinning. So, this was the girl who had been in Winter's hotel room. Sydney knew the name, had seen it in his file and the occasional article: Gavi Ginsburg, New York socialite. She had a long, on-and-off relationship with Winter, according to the tabloids. And apparently, they were on again. She shifted her stance, folding her hands together behind her back. Niall glanced briefly at her, but she pretended not to notice.

Sauda nodded. "I ask because the gala will require her information as soon as possible. They'll do a background check on her."

Winter shrugged. "They'll find plenty in a public search."

"You won't need to do anything once you're in," Niall added. "It shouldn't even disrupt your tour schedule. Let us handle getting to Tems and ushering him out. All we need you for, Winter, is access."

"What about the president?" Sydney asked. "What about the plot to assassinate him?"

"Let me be clear. That is not your mission," Sauda replied. "Let me worry about that with the Sapphire Cross and the CIA. You worry about getting our guy safely back home." She tilted her head at Winter, then nodded at Sydney. "That is, if you're both willing to accept this."

Sydney glanced over to Winter, a thoughtful expression on his face. She recognized the look from her early days as an agent—questioning whether she'd make it out alive, whether the mission was worth doing, why she bothered throwing herself into these sorts of situations over and over. Another dangerous game in a foreign country. Another brush with shadowy groups and those hell-bent on bringing chaos into the world. Singapore was one of the wealthiest countries in Asia—and a gala in the city-state meant encounters with the world's elite. The most insufferable people on the planet—but also the most powerful. They weren't just rescuing a fellow agent. This was a political dance that could remake nations.

Winter spoke first. "As long as it doesn't interfere with my tour," he muttered. "I don't like lying to Claire, so I don't want to have a hard time explaining it all to her."

"We'll make it work seamlessly with your schedule and your performance," Sauda answered.

"That's what you said last time," Winter replied.

Sauda shrugged, offering him a grave smile. "You know there are only so many guarantees in this business. We will do our utmost, as long as you do, too." Then she glanced at Sydney. "And you?"

Sydney sighed and unfolded her arms. Her eyes wandered around the paused simulation, still stuck on the scene of the Sapphire Cross agents making their way through the gala building. There were a million pieces of this rescue mission that could go wrong—she could sense it, could feel the chaos building. Niall had to coordinate successfully with the CIA; she had to be able to make contact with Tems at the gala; the assassination attempt had to be thwarted; they had to be able to get out in time.

There's always a reason why we choose you for your missions. Sauda's words came back to her. It was why she was still here, why she put her trust in Panacea, why she had taken their oath when she was first recruited. Panacea always had their reasons, and they almost always involved the security of their agents.

Sydney nodded. "I'm in."

Sauda smiled. "Then let's get started," she said.

By the time Sydney escorted Winter back to the side entrance of the hotel, the worst of the storm had passed, but the slanting rain was still pouring a waterfall onto the glass awning over the door. The sky was pitch-black, even though it was only midafternoon.

"We can put you on a later flight," Sydney offered as Winter flipped the collar of his coat up and stared out at the rain. "Yours isn't canceled, but it won't be a fun ride home in this."

Winter shook his head. "Can't. I have a date."

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't bother answering it.

Sydney folded her arms and tried to ignore the way her heart recoiled at his words. "Well, the sooner you confirm your date for the gala, the better," she decided to say. "If she refuses, we'll need time to resubmit your date's info to the Singaporean authorities."

Winter shot her a sidelong look. "Her name's Gavi."

"Oh, I know."

He stared at her a beat longer, as if he were trying to discern the reason for her dismissive answer. As if he knew it bothered her. Her annoyance only deepened.

"Besides, how do you know she's the date I'm talking about now?"

She shrugged. "You're a creature of habit, Winter," she replied. "I just assumed it was the same person."

Winter looked at her for another moment, then turned back to the rain. His phone buzzed again in his pocket. "Well, what about you?" he said.

For a second, his question confused her—it sounded a little like he was asking whether she could be his date. She frowned at him, her heart suddenly racing. "What about me?"

"Tems. Your ex. Or fling. Whatever you want to call him." Winter nodded at the curtain of water covering the glass. "Aren't you the reason Sauda chose us for this mission? Because you have the best chance of luring him out?"

"I'm not luring him out. He's in trouble."

"Then why send you in particular?"

She put her hands up. "The hell if I know. Ask Sauda."

"You must know him well."

She snorted, ready to give a sarcastic reply. But there was an edge to Winter, and suddenly she had the urge to annoy him further. "Well enough," she answered instead. "He is… very talented."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. To her satisfaction, Winter's lips tightened, but he didn't betray more than that.

"Hope he's nice," he muttered instead.

"I only date nice guys," she said sweetly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Then I must have been a mistake."

She smiled at him. "Didn't think that counted as dating."

He smiled back. "Fair enough."

The buzz of Winter's phone cut the rising tension between them. This time, he sighed and reached into his pocket. "Claire probably wants to confirm our interviews tomorrow," he muttered.

But when he looked at his phone, Sydney saw his demeanor change. His skin paled, and his eyes darted over the same section of the screen—something had his immediate attention.

"What is it?" she asked.

Winter didn't say a word. Instead, he just tilted his phone so that she could see the white text on the screen.

CLAIRE:Winter, it's urgent. Part of the book was leaked to the press. Get ready for the headlines.