Chapter 1

The lights clinked and popped as they blinked to life, filling the cold hallway with a jaundiced glow.

Emery hurried down the corridor, hugging the painfully small pile of files to her chest. She had hoped for more evidence. Unless her prayers were answered, these wouldn't be enough.

The fluorescent bulbs continued to light her way at intervals until she reached the exit and climbed out of the archival dungeon that had imprisoned her for the last four hours.

Back in the office, she held her breath as she crossed the nearly empty bullpen to her supervisor's room where she found the door slightly ajar. Clearing her throat, she waited at the threshold.

Sylvia Gardener, whose tight bun emphasized the shape of her square face, looked over the rim of her glasses and smiled. Or it could have been a grimace. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, unwilling to give up on the email she was writing until she knew the nature of the disruption.

"Is there something I can do for you, Miss Chapman?" Gardener said.

Emery hesitated before taking a step inside. She was always hesitating. As it was, she should have brought the files to Gardener days ago. Now, it might be too late.

"It's about the mission," Emery said.

Gardener relinquished the keyboard, dropping her hands into her lap. "You mean the one the task force is executing as we speak?"

"Yes." Em looked down at her files and almost bit her lip but knew it would look unprofessional.

"Did you have something you wanted to show me?" Gardener said, impatience edging her question.

"If you have time."

"I don't, but you've obviously gone through a lot of trouble." Gardener held out her hand and took possession of the files. "You may as well sit."

Emery did but remained perched on the edge of the chair. "I had some concerns."

"Concerns?"

"Yes."

"About the mission that is in progress as we speak?"

Gardener always made Em repeat herself when she was irritated—as if hoping Em would catch on without an explanation being required. "And you didn't feel like sharing them before now?"

"I should have. But it was more of a gut feeling, so I talked myself out of it."

"What made you talk yourself back into it?" The look that Gardener gave her over her glasses was more of a glare this time.

"I couldn't get it off my mind. I know it's almost too late, but I had to try."

"I hope your interruption means you have more than discomfort to base your concerns on."

Em gave her an apologetic smile. "I hope so too."

Gardener flipped through the first folder. "This is the Bashar file?" She glanced across the first page, then turned several and read for a minute.

"Yes. And Darwish and Bilal. And a few more from before my time here. I couldn't find as much as I'd expected. I, uh…" She almost apologized for wasting Gardener's time and excused herself. "I thought I remembered there being more."

Gardener reached across her desk and picked up a large Hanuman statue she'd brought back from a recent trip to Cambodia. It was poised and ready to strike. She placed it on top of the files, holding them in place.

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you," Gardener said. "Because from where I'm sitting, there's nothing to constitute any concern beyond a danger level all of those agents are accustomed to and trained for."

"It's not their training I'm worried about. It's the information we received and how it came about. The way the other ops were handled."

"If you have a problem with the team?—"

"No. It's not that. I'm not the only one who's found this entire operation over the last year unusual. We've had so many problems we've never faced before."

"The world is changing. We have to adapt. That's normal."

"And the intel we're receiving? It isn't coming through the usual channels. Everything is so quiet, and then out of nowhere we get this lead."

"You're concerned because we've had a breakthrough? Luck doesn't exist on this task force. Everyone here has been working their butts off to catch these guys. And you know that whenever we get information that may lead us to the truth, it gets taken apart and put back together. We look at everything and weight it up. The assistant director was confident to move on this, and the deputy director agreed. If you believe you know better than them, perhaps you're in the wrong job."

This time, Em did bite her lip. "But we found it so…easily. That's what bothers me."

"I wouldn't call the way we gathered that intel easy. It was messy. Very messy."

"I know. But if you look through the files…or…I was hoping you'd see the connection. There's not much, but it's there."

"Have you considered that you're seeing a ghost because you're desperate to see it? There's nothing in here to support anything you're saying."

"But it was there—" Em jerked straighter in the chair. "—I mean…"

Gardener leaned forward an inch, and her face hardened. "What was there?"

"The information. I remember?—"

"Then where has it all gone?"

Emery's mouth remained open as she tried to find a fitting response. "I'm not saying someone removed it."

"I should hope not. Or if you do, you had better bring me something more than a gut feeling."

"No, I know." She squeezed her hands into her lap. "I don't think anyone's done anything with it. I must have remembered wrong. In fact, I've spent the last several hours in the archives proving that I remembered it wrong. I just can't explain how or why. I don't know how I've put together what I have in my head."

"You didn't overhear anyone speaking? The other agents? Lawson?"

"No. I don't like to eavesdrop."

"Then maybe it's like I said. You had a bad feeling, and you had to justify it."

"But what if I'm right? What if our team is heading into a trap? If something happens to them, and I did nothing, I'd never live with myself."

"So, that's what brought you to my door in the end."

"Yes."

Gardener squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Emery, while I appreciate your passion for your job, you are an analyst, not a soothsayer. We need facts, not intuition."

"I know. And I tried to bring you more."

"Even if you found what you were looking for, what course of action could we take?" She looked at her watch. "The operation will likely be over in a few hours."

"We could pull them out."

"You'll definitely need more than this." She tapped the files. "Without probable cause, there's nothing we can do. There have been countless man-hours put into this. You really think Lawson will call it off because you have a bad feeling?"

Em dropped her eyes to the floor. She was desperate to shake her head and walk away, but she was determined to see this through to the end. "We could try. It would mean more coming from you."

"No offense, but I'm not willing to lose face on your hunch. You're a great analyst, and I like you, but I won't die on your sword."

"No. Of course."

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. In a job like this, you can't be thin-skinned."

"I'm not hurt. I completely understand." Em stood. "But I had to try."

"For what it's worth, I know you did your best. You were thorough, as you always are. I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Thank you. I won't take up any more of your time."

"Would you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"You said you spent hours in the archives. I've been down there. I know what it does to you. All that frustrated searching you've been doing would have blown your fears way out of proportion and twisted you in knots."

"I came out with the same concerns I had going in."

"Be that as it may, I want you to take a walk and clear your head. In a few hours, the team will return, hopefully with more answers. And your fears will be alleviated."

"I'd rather get back to work."

"Then I'm ordering you to take a break. Go get a coffee. It's a beautiful day. Take it in. Refresh. I don't want to see you back here for at least an hour."

Em wanted to protest, but the fight had gone out of her. "Yes, ma'am." Her legs were stiff as she walked to the door.

"Oh, and Em?"

She spun. "Yes?"

Gardener was holding out the files. "Take these with you. I don't envy you putting them back."

"Thanks." She collected the pile and hugged them to her chest again, this time in defeat.

On her way out, she stopped at her desk long enough to drop the files there before walking to the elevator. Her eyes remained locked on the floor until the doors opened, and she looked up to see a man in his early sixties give her a once over because she stood in his way. His lips pursed in their usual frown.

"Assistant director." Em nodded as she shifted sideways to give him room to exit the elevator. "Wait." She quickly added.

"Yes?"

"Uh, it's—uh—the mission. I'm worried about it." She got the words out before she could chicken out. "I think the information we gathered was too easily come by. I'm worried it's a setup."

He crossed his arms. "Aren't you an analyst?"

"Yes, sir."

"I read Gardener's report. I didn't see any issues listed. Not that it's the analyst's job to identify operational concerns."

"No, I've…I've only brought this up now. I wanted to put together more?—"

"Have you spoken to Gardener?"

"I have, sir."

"And what did she say? Was she as concerned as you?"

"No, sir. But I believe?—"

"How long have you been with us?"

"Over eighteen months."

"Do you know how many successful operations Gardener has been with us for?"

"I don't know, sir, no."

"Seven years' worth. Mostly successful. If you're telling me all you have is conjecture, I will take her conjecture over yours every day of the week."

"I understand, but I?—"

He walked away without another word.

It took Em a moment before she could breathe again. No part of the day had gone how she'd expected it to. She jammed her thumb into the elevator call button several times, willing the doors to open so they could swallow her up. When she finally climbed inside, she sighed back against the railing, holding back tears all the way to the first floor. Maybe Gardener was right. Maybe you couldn't have thin skin in this job. But she did. Being an analyst shouldn't require a hard exterior. Some of the information they assessed had details that weren't easy to read, but they were always easy to compartmentalize. Having those you worked with closely dismiss your concerns was much harder. So too was ignoring the gnawing knot in her stomach.

Before the doors opened, she pressed on her face to massage away the emotion and sniffed back what was left.

She smiled tightly at the guards she passed, then hurried out the large glass double doors and down the broad steps to the sidewalk before pulling out her phone.

Lifting her face to the sky to absorb the warmth, she made a call and counted off the rings until it was answered.

"Shouldn't you be working?" the woman on the other end said.

"Hi to you too."

"Don't get me wrong, Em. I love to hear from you, but when you call me during work hours, it freaks me out a little. I'm always the one calling you. So, tell me there is nothing to worry about."

"There is nothing to worry about, Aunt Carla. As I've said before, being an analyst in the Terrorism Task Force isn't dangerous."

"First of all, I have told you a million times to stop calling me ‘aunt'. We're all adults now. And second, that's not true. I've seen the movies. I know they can bust in there and shoot the place up."

Em could hear the amusement in her aunt's voice. "If that happens, then I will use my unrealistically impressive movie skills to take them all out by myself."

"Good for you."

"That's not to say I didn't just have the single most mortifyingly embarrassing encounter of my life. I'm contemplating running away to join a convent. Or a circus. Whichever I can find first."

"We're all idiots now and then. What makes you so special?"

"You don't understand. This is next-level humiliation."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I walked into the wrong classroom?—?"

"This is different."

"All right. Tell me what happened. I take it you still have a job?" Carla said with a hint of wariness.

"Barely. You know how you're always saying I should be braver and stick up for myself? Speak up more?"

"Hang on, you're pinning this on me?"

"No, I'm creating context."

"Okay. Continue."

"You say I should stop making excuses for not acting when I feel a strong conviction, right?"

"Yes."

"You were wrong."

Carla laughed. "Oh, really?"

"I did that, and now I'm completely embarrassed and utterly humiliated."

"Utterly?"

"I'm baring my heart and soul, and you're picking on me?"

"I'm trying to lighten the mood. I'd ask for more details, but I'm guessing you can't tell me?"

"It's classified."

"Of course it is."

"But I felt strongly about something, and I brought it to my supervisor, who thought I was losing my mind, then I brought it to the assistant director, who?—"

"Hang on, you went above your boss to her boss? That probably wasn't the best idea."

"What was I supposed to do? No one was listening to me."

"Are they listening now?"

"You're not making me feel any better."

"I'm your friend, but I've raised you since you were ten years old, so I'm kind of a surrogate mom too. That means I have to give it to straight when it's in your best interest."

"You are my mom. You're the only real one I've ever had."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Sarah did the best she knew how to do."

"Don't make excuses for her," Em said as she dodged through a crowd of tourists.

"I'm not making excuses. She and I had a hard upbringing. Not everyone handles trauma the same."

"You turned out okay."

"That's because I dealt with my baggage."

"She could have too."

"It's harder for some people."

"So you are making excuses."

Carla sighed. "Not to change the subject or anything, but I got another postcard from your sister."

"That is changing the subject."

"She's in Phnom Penh, apparently."

"What's she doing in Cambodia?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. It says the same as the others, ‘The world is so big. I wish you could see it.'"

"Charming."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"I have forgiven her," Em said before smiling an apology to a woman she'd bumped into. "That doesn't mean I have to be impressed that all anyone in my family cares about is themselves."

"Ouch."

"You know I don't mean you."

"Look, you've had a bump in the road, and it's made you grouchy. Tonight, we'll get all dressed up, and I'll take you to that Indonesian restaurant you love. Then I'll make weird faces at you until you can't stop laughing, okay?"

Em let her tension out in one long breath. "Thank you for still looking out for me, even though I'm a grown woman."

"We all need people in our lives who care about us."

Em glanced at a TV in the window of the shop she was walking by. "Yes we?—"

"Yes we what?" Carla said. "You still there? Em? I think I lost you."

"No." She stared at the screen. "I'm here. It's just…"

"What is it?"

Em read the ticker running across the bottom of the screen as the news item continued.

"There's been an explosion," she said, her voice struggling to rise above a whisper.

"Where? Are you okay?"

"Not here. It's on the news."

"Oh. Is it bad? Does it have to do with your work?"

"I've got to go. I'll call you later." She stumbled backward, turning for the office.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"It's bad. I don't—pray, Carla. Just pray." She hung up before her aunt could ask any questions and ran as fast as she could in heels.

She'd been right, but she hadn't done enough to stop it.