bigger than we thought.
“We’ve been suspicious of Shrike, but we haven’t been able to pick up any solid intel that they were operating against anyone other than Iran. Mostly cyber, analytic, and atmospheric stuff. Definitely no meat-and-potatoes spy shit, from what we’ve ascertained.” Hanley’s voice deepened. “Unfortunately, Violator, you are bringing out no proof, and you are bringing out no Clark Drummond.”
Court rubbed his tired eyes. He felt like he had the flu, and he knew his infection was cooking inside him. But he shook off the feeling and said, “You need to get someone infiltrated into Shrike Group.”
“Really, Violator? Is that what we need to do?” Hanley snapped. “No shit.” He added, “I already have an asset on the inside.”
Court nodded, then cocked his head. “Hopefully it isn’t someone from Berlin station. Drummond said PowerSlave was up and running in Berlin. If Shrike is associated with the work Drummond was doing, then they would be able to peg your asset before he ever got near any intel.”
“It’s not someone from Berlin station,” Hanley replied.
Court picked up on this. “Who is it?”
“You should know better than to ask me who—”
Court had been hunched over, but now he bolted up in his chair. “You can’t send any official Agency assets, which means you are probably sending an off-book agent. Another Poison Apple agent. As far as I know, there are three of us. I’m right here, and Zack is in a prison twenty miles from here, so that means there is only one person who could be in Berlin right now.”
Hanley sighed into the phone. In an almost reluctant tone he said, “You are correct. Anthem is in play in Berlin.”
Court closed his eyes and squeezed the phone hard. There was so much wrong with this. Anthem was Zoya Zakharova, the Russians wanted her dead, and Court was in love with her.
His heart began to pound.
He chose his words carefully now. “Matt . . . listen carefully. The team sent here last night after Drummond. They came in hard and ruthless. They knew their shit. They might have been American, definitely ex–special operations forces. If Zoya is working over there in Berlin, without a net, in deep cover, and if all this shit is, in fact, tied together, then she is very much in danger.”
“It’s a dangerous occupation, what you all do.”
“What is her cover? Drummond described a well-run intelligence organization. If Zoya gets made by the oppo, then you know she’ll be in extreme—”
“She’s been made,” Hanley barked. “That’s her cover.”
Court held the phone even tighter in his hand. Forcing calm into his voice, he said, “I’m going to need you to explain that.”
“We wanted her to be ID’d as a rogue Russian intelligence asset. A woman without a country, desperate for work. That’s the only way we can be sure Shrike Group would trust her enough to bring her into their black side.”
Court waited for a new cluster of diners to pass him on their way to a table on the other side of the deck. When they were out of earshot, he said, “Matt, I don’t have to explain this to you, but I will anyway because it seems you have lost your fucking mind. If these bastards running this shady private intelligence shop realize Zoya Zakharova is there, in Berlin, then it’s just a matter of time before the Russians get wind of it. And when the Russians do get wind of it, it won’t be any time at all before they send hitters to Germany to deal with her. I don’t care what crazy errand she is on for you; she won’t be able to do it because she’ll either be dead or on the run.”
Hanley repeated himself. “It’s dangerous work, what you do.”
Son of a bitch, Court thought. But he just said, “Let me go help her.”
“Denied. Look, Berlin station is working this on the periphery; they don’t know about Anthem, but they have eyes and ears on the operation. At the first sign of any compromise of Anthem, you know I’ll pull her out of—”
“Who’s handling her? Let me do that, at least.”
Hanley laughed now. “You? You’re a field asset, not a desk jockey.”
“I know her capabilities. I know the threats. You can get me up to speed on the op.”
“Denied, Violator. She already has a handler.”
Court closed his eyes and rubbed them with fingers wet from the condensation on the beer bottle. “Brewer? Brewer is running her?”
“Affirmative.”
“How’s that going?”
Hanley hesitated before replying. “’Bout