He didn’t answer right away, wasn’t sure he wanted to. Still, she deserved to know. “Two years ago, I was on a mission with another operative. I did something I shouldn’t have. I gave up the lead. We were ambushed, and that agent was killed.”
“Because of a decision you made or a decision he made?”
“She.”
“She…Your girlfriend?”
“My wife.”
“Your-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“We hadn’t been together in a while. She’d just filed for divorce.”
He could tell she didn’t know what to say. And who would? Especially now, with history seeming to repeat itself. Ambushed.
He leaned back against his pack, closed his eyes, could almost see his wife’s face. Almost. “I still loved her. I think that’s why I let her take over, just to show her that I-” He took a deep breath, tried to shake off the anger, the hurt, the helplessness. She was pregnant. Three months, according to the autopsy. They hadn’t slept together in far longer than that, and now, to this day, he wondered who the father was, if he even knew what he’d lost…“Dumas found us. She was dead. I would have been if not for him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
They sat there for a couple of minutes, not saying anything after that, and then Sydney said, “I’m sorry about everything.”
“For what?”
“For Tex. For leading us into this hole. For everything.”
“It’s my fault. I’m the one who let this happen from the very beginning.”
“How so?”
“I knew the moment I walked into Tasha’s office, right after she called you to arrange that dinner date, that something was wrong. She was jumpy. Not like herself at all. Just like you said she was at dinner. I should have done all the things you thought about. Talked to her, found out what was wrong.”
She sat up straight, drew away from him. Silence reigned. Then, after several seconds, “You knew she had called me?”
“I just said that.”
“You
He tried to figure out what had changed, what he’d said. “We discussed this at the safe house. I told you about Tasha when you asked-”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Believe what?”
“Do you realize how long I blamed myself for her death? And Tex? The guilt I’ve carried around for the two of them?”
“Now you know how I feel.”
She stiffened. “You played me.”
“We needed you.”
“You could have asked.”
“We needed your skills,
“I would have done anything for her.”
“Would you have? Even had you known it was regarding a black op?”
She was silent. He suspected not. And perhaps curiosity finally got the better of her, as she asked, “Tasha was part of ATLAS?”
“Yes.”
“A government agent?”
“Yes.”
“Alessandra?”
“No. But her father was aware of our operations. Dumas was the voice of the Vatican when it came to ATLAS, and reported to her father. Not Alessandra’s part. Her father wasn’t aware that she knew ATLAS even existed. She was the one who insisted her father not be told. She was adamant.”
“But you’re going to tell him?”
“When we figure out who killed her, yes.”
But in the silence that followed, he wondered if he’d ever get the chance. “You’re a goddamned son of a bitch,” Sydney said.
“I think we’ve established that.”
“No. We haven’t. Nor have we established that if you’d just told me in the beginning, Tasha might have come forward with what she was hiding. Which means I might have stayed home, because she wouldn’t be dead, and I wouldn’t have spent all my time searching for the identity of a victim you already knew the identity of.”
“We didn’t know it was Alessandra.”
“Well, you suspected. I would never have gone to the Smithsonian, the guard would never have followed me, and Tex would still be safe and sound, because Adami’s damned cousin wouldn’t have recognized me at the party, because he saw me at the hotel when he came after you, because I would be
He heard her moving, was certain she’d crossed her arms. “But I’d be dead.”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
“He recognized you because you saved me. And we know Adami was searching for this third key, because you had the instinct to move closer and listen in. And what happened to Tex was my fault not yours.”
“How so?”
“I failed to convince him to follow my orders.”
“Yeah? Well whose fault is it we’re sitting in a damned hole and can’t get out?”
“Who’s to say we wouldn’t be dead if we had followed the others up the tunnel? Maybe you saved our lives. Again. Have you thought of that?”
She didn’t answer, and he knew immediately that she was thinking of the others. The shots fired, that they didn’t make it.
He reached over, found her hand, held it in his, and realized she was getting cold again. He rubbed her fingers in his, and when she tried to pull away, he said, “You need to stay warm, preserve your strength.”
She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away this time. Not that it eased his guilt any. He might have been able to do something to help the others, but somehow he’d allowed Sydney to convince him to go against his instincts. He’d placed his trust in her and he’d let the others suffer as a result. And once again came the thought that history was repeating itself.
He had no one to blame but himself.
He didn’t trust anyone else, she didn’t trust herself. They were quite a pair. “I take it you have real issues with the dark?”
When she didn’t answer, he wondered if she was ever going to speak to him again, until a few moments later, she said, “If I told you I sleep with a night-light on, would you laugh?”
“Doubt it. Why?”
“Nightmares. From when my father was killed.”
He recalled her dossier, the background he’d done on her. She’d been only thirteen when she’d witnessed her father’s murder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m afraid of enclosed spaces. Claustrophobic.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Do I look like the sort who kids about that stuff?”
“Can’t tell. It’s too damned dark.”
“The only reason I was able to climb into this hole is because it’s huge. If it was small, enclosed, you’d be on
