Page 87 of The Lazarus Protocol

Adam didn’t think his buddy was talking to him. “I can’t remember his face. But I know I saw him.”

“You were talking about the CEO of Earthnet,” Dan prompted. “And you were asking Marina about Spetsnaz, like we can just pull up a list of current and former Russian Special Forces soldiers.”

“I figured she might be able to.” Adam just couldn’t remember why the information was relevant. “Maybe looking at an image of the CEO would jog my memory.”

“Maybe it would, but you need to tell us about Kyle first,” Dan said. “Who is he and why do you need to find him?”

Adam caught Ash’s attention.

Dan twisted to the guy. “You know?”

“We’ve been working together too long,” Adam said.

“Because I can read you,” Dan said, “or because I’m hypersensitive about people I trust keeping secrets from me?”

“It’s not like that. It isn’t.” Adam lifted his hands. “This predates us, and this team. It wasn’t relevant to what we do, and I can’t talk about it even if I wanted to.”

“You sign an NDA or something?” Dan asked.

Ash said, “Or something.”

“It’s ironclad.” Adam didn’t like keeping secrets, but it wasn’t as if they sat around on chairs outside, wiling away the day with stories from their pasts. The team was about getting the job done. “And it’s all history.”

Overhead, high on the wall in the corner, an alarm sounded. A couple of loud Klaxons. Then a voice said, “Incoming aircraft detected.”

TWENTY-NINE

Baltimore, Maryland

Simon checked his mirrors constantly the whole way home, half expecting someone to open fire on him. Or leave him in his car burning in a ditch.

So paranoid.

But what else could he be when everyone at Langley was looking sideways at him. No one talked to him, but the glances? His attempts to find the person who had his life in a vice and was constantly turning the dial up, squeezing the life out of him, had turned up nothing but more questions. Eventually, it would all pop and his entire existence would explode. What a mess.

He pulled into the drive that ran alongside his house, to the back where the garage was. Busted lock. Busted door. He pulled up so the front of his car almost touched the door and got out, bringing his work backpack with him.

So stressed out he’d forgotten to pick up dinner on the way home, and there was nothing in the house except coffee. He’d have to order in.

Stupid…whoever they were. He was done.

He slammed his car door, frustrated that his attempt to get out from under this had gone unanswered. He’d messaged the internal account over and over again throughout the day.

This whole thing has gone too far.

You can’t expect me to compromise my position like this.

I don’t care what you know about me.

It’s over.

Sure, it sounded like an angry breakup text, but Simon wanted nothing to do with Division Zero, or Stephanie-Jo whatever-her-name-was. None of it. Not anymore. He was done risking his career for whoever thought they could hold his indiscretions over him.

He was going to return the money. Call his bank tomorrow and tell them that the deposit in his account was an error and it should be transferred back to whoever had “paid” him. That would kill their leverage over him. And if they retaliated by telling the government about the gambling debts he’d racked up over the years…so be it. He might get fired, but at least he’d be free of it.

Simon ignored the neighbor dog barking through the fence, snarling like he was an intruder, and headed for his sidedoor to the kitchen. Inside still smelled like this morning’s coffee, and he needed to take the trash out.

He dumped the backpack on a chair and went to take a shower. Six minutes later he pushed the curtain back and fished around for his towel. It wasn’t on the hook. The bathroom was completely steamed up, but he wasn’t blind.