Fire With Fire

For the first time since making planetfall, Downing entered the suite’s living room and relaxed. Reclining in the one of the adjustable console chairs, he glanced at his secure palmtop: the “message waiting” light was flashing. Oh, bloody hell.

He listened carefully to the other sounds in the suite. Further down the hall, Trevor was audibly unpacking; further still, he could hear Elena filling the tub in the master bath. So he had a few moments of privacy, at least. He opened the communication.

It was not voice, but coded text. The encryption program worked briefly and then revealed the message.

It was Opal’s response to his pre-landing page. It began without preamble.

Downing, you have one hell of a nerve arriving on Mars and immediately repeating your instructions that I must make my relationship with Caine “more intimate.”

Right now, everything I have done with Caine is a lie-and will continue to be a lie, until I can tell him that I’m your hired eyes, ears, and guard dog.

When I can tell Caine the truth, I will-very gladly-take the next step in my relationship with him. Until then, I won’t. If that makes me a failure, then fire me.

Downing sighed, wrote back:

And what if he initiates intimacy with you?

Downing considered expanding upon that response, realized Opal was never going to answer such a poignant challenge anyway, and so simply sent that one line, which-he was fairly sure-would help erode her resolve when and if Caine pushed past his gentlemanly reserve.

Disgusted at himself, Downing tossed the palmtop down on the table. He had thought, twenty-two years ago, that the worst part of this job would be setting aside one’s own scruples. While that had been miserable enough, the worst part of it was actually coercing and compelling people who still had scruples to set theirs aside, also.

“Wow,” said Trevor, entering the room with an appraising glance at the walls. “Got enough space here, Uncle Richard?”

Downing schooled his expression into one of casual congeniality. “I hope so-because this is going to be home for all of us, now.”

“And who is ‘all of us’?”

“You, me, Elena, two security I brought from Earth, your three friends from the SEAL detachment-”

“What?”

“They’ve just become our-or more properly, your-assets. We need the very best security, and more of it.”

“Why?”

“Well, I would think that after your sister was kidnapped, you’d hardly need to ask. But there is another reason: Caine Riordan.”

Trevor nodded. “The guy we were babysitting on the sub-and who was with Dad, when-” His voice lowered, became unsteady. He looked away.

Downing watched Trevor’s jaw steady into a rigid line: poor Trev. He had loved his father-maybe too much-but they had never worked out a medium through which to exchange and share their emotions. Perhaps that was because Trevor had been the son that IRIS had orphaned. He had only been six months old when Nolan’s life became hostage to the tasks which ultimately consumed all his time and energy. The more school plays and baseball games that Nolan missed, the harder Trevor tried-as if his father’s absence signified indifference to his achievements. Would Trevor have gone to the Academy, and then into the Teams, if it had been otherwise? Downing paused: how would it be if I reached out-right now? This very second?

But the moment had passed: Trevor had turned back to face him, eyes so grave and controlled that they looked more like rectangles than ovals. “Okay, so I’m in: what’s my job?”

Downing adopted a similarly businesslike tone. “You will coordinate special security, for now. Later on, you might oversee strike operations.”

“Okay, but you still haven’t told me who, or what, I’m working for.”

“It’s called IRIS: the Institute for Reconnaissance, Intelligence, and Security.”

“Wait, I know that name. That’s your little think tank in Newport.”

“It’s a lot more than a think tank. And it’s not so little.”

“So it’s a US intel agency? What umbrella is it under? Navy?”

“Well-no. It’s not under any umbrella.”

Trevor’s eyes widened a bit. “It reports directly to the Executive Branch?”

“For the most part.”

Eyes wider, his eyebrows moved upward. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Trev, I can’t give you a detailed explanation right now. But I can reassure you that joining it is not a contravention of your Constitutional loyalty oath.”

Trevor’s eyes-and eyebrows-returned to a more quiescent state. “Okay, we’ll sweat the details later. What needs doing right now?”

Pure Trevor: always ready to act. “First, we ensure the safety of our group.”

ODYSSEUS

Halfway through Caine’s post-sparring shower, his apartment’s fire alarm started shrilling.

He stumbled on the wet tiles as he tried to make it out the bathroom door in a single long stride. He caught himself on the countertop, the fingers of one hand hooking down securely into the basin. But for some reason, he wasn’t steadying as quickly as he expected; staring into the sink, the drain swam lazily at the approximate center of his blurring vision. What the-

O² leak? CO² concentration too high? But no-there was also a new smell, slightly medicinal. Like-gas! Christ-assassins. Again.

Grabbing a towel and sticking it under the shower’s spray, he dropped to the floor…

MENTOR

Downing handed the rest of the group’s dossiers to Trevor. He glanced at them, then asked, “So, am I Riordan’s only security?”

“No. Primary overwatch is assigned to another former sleeper-Opal Patrone. Captain, US Army.”

“What’s her story?”

“On the surface, she’s simply a security asset that we can be sure is not a double agent.”

“And beneath the surface?”

“She’s close security for Riordan. He doesn’t know. And neither do you.”

“Understood.” Trevor looked sideways at Downing. “‘Close security,’ huh? Just how close is she?”

“Yes, you have the idea. But there’s no intimacy-yet.”

Trevor shifted in his seat. “Christ, Uncle Richard, what do you use to check up on them? Hidden cameras?”

“No, her reports. Yes, I know: it’s a beastly thing to monitor, but it’s imperative, in this case. If she doesn’t become intimate with Riordan, then she has no plausibly deniable reason to remain with him almost constantly. Which is the kind of overwatch that we need to maintain on him.”

“Why?”

“Because, before Parthenon, there were at least three attempts on his life.” Trevor sat up straighter. “That’s why your father had you babysit him a mile under the Atlantic.”