Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

The discovery of Section Five was like manifesting all of the worst possible outcomes into one horror story. The department I’d worked for was Section Five. A division that seemed to exist only in the tabloids and debunked online rumors and legends. Every once in a while, a meme got started, sharing some bullshit story that was quickly discredited.

Or even if it wasn’t discredited fully, it was dismissed by the general populace leaving only the most paranoid of conspiracy theorists. Hell, at one point, I’d even thought it would make fun material for a book or Netflix movie. Conspiracies were all the rage, but this…

If the department had actually been a part of Section Five, it made so many of the things I’d done while working for them worse. Government funding coupled with no oversight for an operation that shouldn’t exist made this worse.

And McQuade’s father was involved with it? I wasn’t even sure what to do with that. After the initial shock wore off, I spent the next few days truly digging down on all of it. I need confirmation.

Just turning up Section Five in a deep dive could have been a distraction. Something to stir up the conspiracy nuts so they would cloud the issue for the next several weeks to months.

Internet chatter was a great way to farm information. It was an even better way to spread disinformation. Recent studies indicated that more than fifty percent of the populace got their news from social media. More than half of all social media users out there sharing the latest breaking news or posts about politics did so without verifying the facts.

They said they did. Everyone claimed to be an informed source who had done their research. I wasn’t really sure if the lies they were telling were to themselves or to the people that followed them. The numbers of people who believed broadcast news, no matter what actual bias it might have, was scarier still.

Just because the name Section Five came up, and my heart fell all the way to my toes, didn’t make the information accurate or actionable. The fact that all three men knew exactly who I was talking about didn’t make me feel better. Far from it.

We need confirmation. Confirmation had to come from at least two unrelated sources without awareness of what I was looking for. Otherwise—what? I just triggered a trap they set into play for all the conspiracy theorists out there.

Worse, I sent us chasing after the wrong people. The biggest question was how did we verify a super secret organization? It started with a trip to the dark web, and arranging a meeting in Detroit.

Locke was against me going at all, particularly because it involved leaving the house. McQuade, surprisingly, seemed to be on my side and stressed that I would never be alone.

Remington was Switzerland.

“The person you’re meeting has no idea what you look like, right?” Locke confirmed. We’d formed a circle around the island in the kitchen where I’d briefed them. It was—a strange way to do a briefing. Usually I used files and had a headset on.

“She already told us they don’t have physical confirmation. That’s why they are using objects to identify themselves.” McQuade leaned against the other counter, his arms folded and his expression neutral. Despite saying he backed my plan, he didn’t give off the strongest vibe of support.

Locke had his hands flat against the counter, his expression far more grim. “Then it doesn’t have to be you,” he said, pinning me with a look. “I can play your part. They don’t know you at all. You could be male, female, non-binary, it doesn’t matter?—”

Technically correct, however, I shook my head. “It has to be me, because the conversation is not something I can just talk you through. If they ask specific questions that I need to answer then I have to be the one there—and before you keep arguing…”

It was my turn to cut him off before he could launch into his lists of reasons. I got it, I really did. But it was important that they all understood I wasn’t making this call lightly. His teeth clicked together and he straightened. I held Locke’s gaze until he finally blew out a breath and motioned for me to continue.

“If I were setting this meeting, which I am, I would make sure the meeting took place in a very public area where it’s hard to knife someone but also where signals are scrambled to avoid anyone listening. That means, even if we have comms in, there’s a very strong chance you would have to wing it on questions that I should be able to answer easily. The same is said for them.”

“I don’t like it,” Locke grumbled and I smiled. The worry in his voice and his eyes weren’t manufactured. He really didn’t like the idea of me being out there.

“Not sure I like it either,” I admitted. “I’m going to be out in a public place with a lot of people. After the last several years of being on my own, you guys are almost too much sometimes.”

My nerves jangled with the very idea and my pulse raced.

“I have two choices, I can keep being scared of everything or I can put myself out there again. We need confirmation. I can’t—make any kind of action or work out an infill and exfil without being dead certain of who we are dealing with. You thought it was a mercenary outfit. You found information on where I was being held because you broke in and stole hard drives.”

“All that matters is it worked.” He waved off their choices which led to my rescue. “We were getting it one way or another. That opens up another question, if it is Section Five, would they have hired mercenaries?”

“Yes,” McQuade answered before I could. “It gives them credible deniability. It also means any trail that’s picked up leads to them and not Section Five. Hard to be a secret organization if you’re trackable.”

He wasn’t wrong. I shifted so I could straighten. I was still sore. Most of my bruises had faded. The scars on my arms weren’t going anywhere. I just had to keep them covered. My feet were healing the slowest of all, but they were healing. One problem at a time, that was all I could do.

“Do I want to take the risk of meeting my contact? Not really. A part of me just says, dig in and dig deep. Wait, play the long game.” That part of me gestured to every move I’d made more than five years ago to get out. The plan worked. I’d been safe.

The rest of me, though, wholeheartedly rejected it. How much deeper could I bury myself? I’d have to cut all ties to the world, including these guys. Of all the options, I found that one to be the most abhorrent.

“You don’t want to play the long game anymore.” The one statement was the first time Remington contributed to the conversation since I presented the plan. It wasn’t a question. He dropped his chin as he studied me.

“No,” I said. “I don’t. If they had never come after me, I’d still be in my house in Estes Park. I’d locked myself in that cell and threw away the key. I stayed there, a very comfortable prisoner. My work was all I really had and I didn’t even allow myself to get a cat because what if something happened?”

I shook my head.

“Five years. I spent five years of my life staying off the radar and out of sight. They still sent people after me. They want the files. They want all of it. Whether the they in this equation call themselves Section Five or the department or the division or the damn greenhouse, I’m tired of running. That plan failed.”

“It kept you alive,” Locke reminded me.

“We still don’t know how they found you,” McQuade said. “That’s a door that still needs to be closed.”

“If we can close it, great. If not—that means I’m still hiding with no guarantee they won’t find me again. It also means I never come out of hiding.” Head back, I stared up at the ceiling. “I mean, I suppose we could do that. It might take time to set me up so I can still be your operator. Though to be truthful… If I cut everything again, I should cut my work as your operator too. That connection could have been the thing that compromised me.”

Whether through a contact, a job search, something. I was careful, painfully so, but maybe I’d missed something. Something so innocuous that I wouldn’t identify it now.

“I don’t want a different operator,” Remington said finally. “You don’t deserve to go back into a cell no matter how comfortable.”

“You’re voting with them,” Locke said abruptly and there was no mistaking his disappointment. He scratched at his jaw.

“So are you,” Remington countered and I jerked in surprise. “None of us want a different operator.”

The three men stared at each other. All the crackling tension of that morning when I’d made the discovery seemed to boil up to the surface.

“Then let’s plan,” McQuade said. “Every angle covered.”

“Agreed,” Remington stated and then they both looked at Locke who stared at me.

Did he want me to let him off the hook…?

“Promise me if one of us calls it, for whatever reason, even if we don’t have time to explain, that you will drop everything and walk away. We’ll cover your exit, and get you out.”

That was a huge ask.

“Agreed,” McQuade said. “If you told me to drop everything and go, I would.”

That wasn’t fair.

“Same.” With Remington’s agreement, all three were firmly on the same side again.

“Usually when I do that, it’s because I can see what you can’t,” I said and that was when I saw their point. They might see or notice something I didn’t. Surrendering operational control was not my favorite thing, but I wasn’t going to be behind my computer for this one. I would be out there, in the field, taking a risk.

I really had lost my damn mind.

“Fine, done. If any one of us calls it. I’ll walk away.”

Their relief sent a dagger of guilt plunging through me. They were doing a lot for me, this was the least I could do.

“Okay, coffee and planning.” McQuade pointed at me. “Possible locations, I want us to control the where, so whatever deal you strike, make sure that’s on our side. Let’s start with where you were thinking?”

The tension ballooned again but this wasn’t with the same violence as before. No, it bubbled with anticipation and anxiety. I was really going to do this, which meant, we needed to go over everything.

“Go over the plan again,”McQuade said from the front seat as Locke drove. We’d left well before sunrise, the drive to Detroit was going to take several hours. I’d set the meeting for a little after two. Well past the lunch hour and before the evening crowds would fill the area.

Open, and public, but not so dense with people we risked anyone getting hurt. An icy heat kept sweeping over me each time I thought about the fact I would be meeting face to face with someone I had only ever spoken to online.

That apprehension would probably have been present when I met these three, had circumstances been wildly different. The only objection Remy had made initially had been related to the fact the mobile unit wasn’t quite ready for this operation.

Still, it should be a simple meet and greet.

Should be.

“Meeting location is the coffee shop near the clocktower. We will make contact at the clocktower and enter the coffee shop together. Tiffin—my contact—will be wearing a navy, orange, and white hat with a sports logo on it.”

“Detroit Tigers,” Locke said over his shoulder. “Stylized D.”

“Does it matter?” I countered. “It’s a sports logo, I know the one to look for.”

“Aren’t you the one who usually reminds us that preciseness is important?” McQuade’s teasing tone stroked over me.

“Yes, fine. Navy, orange, and white cap with the stylized D for the Detroit Tigers. In addition to the cap, he will be wearing a black hoodie and carrying a denim backpack. If he has taken off the hoodie or is dangling the backpack rather than has it on his back, the meeting may have been compromised. Back off.”

Tiffin and I had spent an hour working out the details. It was complicated and as much as it might seem unnecessary, it was far from it. Tiffin and I had contact for years via the dark web. He’d always been a reliable resource. For this—for this I needed face to face before I read him into what was happening.

No way I’d drag a relative innocent into the possible crosshairs of some shady, disavowed government conspiracy. It was insane if I tried to think about it too closely. How was this my life?

“I’m wearing this dark purple ‘Get a Life’ sweatshirt. My hair will be pulled back into a braid and I have a pair of sparkly sunglasses.” They were the most ridiculous things. Locke had found them at a service station about seven miles away from the house. They were shaped like stars and sparkled in the sunlight.

Gaudy as hell.

I loved them.

“If something is worrying me, I’m to push them up onto my head. If something feels off or is wrong, take them off entirely. If I want immediate extraction, pull my braid free.” It was a lot simpler than Tiffin’s outfit.

“Locke and McQuade will be in the crowd,” Remington said. “I’ll have overwatch. Whoever is closest is the one who gets you out when extraction is called.”

“And if comms don’t work or it’s too noisy?” Because that was the biggest reason I would be taking the meeting instead of letting Locke play the part of Patch.

“In the event of communication failure, I’ll move to your line of sight,” Remington said. “I’m better at a distance, but I’ll be where you can see me and I can get to you. They won’t be far.”

“For the record,” Locke said. “I don’t like this plan.”

“Neither do I,” McQuade agreed. “But it’s the best of a shit situation. You’re wearing the body vest, right?”

He’d strapped it on me before I’d pulled the loose sweatshirt over my head. So the question wasn’t for him, it was for Locke and Remy.

“Yes,” I said. “Still not sure it will protect me from a headshot.”

“Me neither,” McQuade said, exhaling. “This is a risk. We can still call this off and do it another way.”

“I thought you agreed with me that they wanted me alive, so they wouldn’t go for the headshot?”

Sweat slid down between my shoulder blades and it took serious concentration to not start panting. I curled my fingers into my palms. The anxiety was there when they were the ones on the ground and I was at the keyboard.

This was a whole new level.

“I said it wasn’t in their interests to shoot you,” McQuade muttered. “I don’t want them to get stupid abruptly.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Remy said, the steadiness in his gaze stabilizing me. “You have us. We have a plan. We have three separate extraction routes planned. If necessary, we can come up with more on the fly.”

“We got this,” Locke added. This was my plan, but they were comforting me.

“Should we go over it one more time?”

McQuade grinned at me over his shoulder and Remy covered my hand with his and I clasped his gratefully. I wasn’t the only one who needed comfort.

“Okay, we’re meeting…”