Dr.
Alex Morrow was dead.
Samuel Hatch feared it all the way to his sixty-year-old,
ulcer-riddled gut.
The aging operative bolted back breakfast in his office, two
antacids with cold coffee. His job as the Director of ARIES came
with countless rewards and endless holes in his stomach. Since
Hatch had created the top secret section of the CIA, ARIES had
become his family, his agents the children he and Rita had never
been able to conceive.
Now he suspected he’d lost one.
Restrained tension hummed through him, stringing him as taut as
the twine he worked to twist around the wilting plant behind his
desk. He aimed the sunlamp with meticulous care, grounding
himself in the ritual while he plotted how best to utilize his
unlimited resources.
One day’s silence he could accept, especially given the unstable
climate in European Holzberg and neighboring Rebelia. But three
days and Alex’s tracking device inactive…
Every inch of Hatch’s raw stomach burned after ten years of
worrying about his pseudo-offspring. Yet their mission was too
important to abandon. ARIES operatives embraced assignments no
sane CIA agent would touch.
Their country owed these silent knights countless debts that
could never be acknowledged.
Hatch anchored the stake on a struggling strawberry plant he’d
grafted from home. He mentally sifted through Alex’s final
transmissions like the soil through his fingers as he looked for
the proper texture to bear fruit. Heaven help them all if Alex
fell into DeBruzkya’s hands. The crazed Rebelian dictator under
investigation was a sick bastard.
Heaven help Alex.
His fingers twitched, snapping a limp stem off the plant. He
wouldn’t let even one of his operatives, especially this one, go
down without unleashing the full arsenal at his disposal. Hatch
clutched the crumpled leaves in his fist and turned back to his
office.
And what a mighty arsenal it was, compliments of the
government’s blank check.
Large flat screen monitors lined one wall, glowing with
everything from CNN to satellite uplink status. Computers hummed
from his desk as well as along the conference table where
laptops perched in front of eight seats. Electronic cryptology
boxes littered the workspace for encoding and decoding
transmissions.
In the midst of it all, he relied on an old fashioned map of the
world with pins marking locations of his operatives. The cover
of each agent’s private sector identity offered the freedom to
travel anywhere undetected. Already, he’d alerted European
operatives to begin searching, but without a narrowed field,
there was only so much he could expect.
He needed focus, someone to pull together the minuscule threads
of information left behind in a handful of transmissions from
Alex. Hatch rubbed the bruised leaves between his fingers like a
talisman as he studied the map. Slowly two pins on the board
paired in his mind.
The perfect duo for finding answers to the questions left in
those last transmissions. Logical Kelly Taylor would balance
well with Ethan Williams, a rogue operative who thought so far
outside the box he invented his own rules.
And their personal baggage?
They would either have to work through it or ignore it. He
didn’t need any fireworks drawing unwarranted – and potentially
deadly – attention to this mission.
Hatch reached for one of the seven phones on his desk and
punched a three-digit code. One ring later, he carefully placed
the mangled leaves on the soil at the base of the struggling
strawberry plant. “Taylor, Director Hatch here. I need you to
locate Ethan Williams, then meet me in my office with his
after-action report from Gastonia.”
Her affirmative barely registered. Hatch studied the sole
remaining plant from Rita’s garden that hadn’t been killed by
his black thumb. Since Rita’s death, that plant and ARIES were
all he had left, and by God, they would bear fruit.
Hatch packed the soil around the base of a new sprout and
refrained from reaching for the antacids again. Williams and
Taylor would find Alex.
Assuming there wasn't - as his roiling gut kept telling him - a
Judas in their ranks.