Sonata (North Security 3)

“Hell. I spend over two million a year on security. Not to mention the pomp and circumstance. If there wasn’t some upside it would be unbearable.”

“Considering my company accepts much of that two million, you could say I benefit from your title in multiple ways.”

A low laugh. “The US government lost a brilliant strategist when they let you go.”

I walk to the window and look out, crossing my arms. They didn’t want to let me go. I was more than a strategist. I was an operator, an assassin. I was anything they needed me to be. A weapon made of flesh and bone. It was only Samantha who got me out. She felt like a responsibility to bear. Something I had to do out of guilt. Instead she’s become my salvation.

“You’re upset this isn’t more resolved,” Frans says, his voice low so the women still bubbling with friendly chatter and laughter don’t hear him.

“There’s more at stake than political corruption and the future of the world,” I manage to say in a light tone. “Samantha won’t be at peace until her father’s actions are fully revealed.”

“It takes longer than six months to take apart a conspiracy that’s been decades in the making. And I wouldn’t be so sure about Samantha not finding peace. The women. They’re stronger than us that way. They make their own happiness.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I am a married man.”

“For what? One month now.” My amusement fades. “I do wish you well.”

“And you, my friend.” He puts the tablet in front of me. Buried off the front page is a small piece that describes how two men of unknown origin have been taken into custody. Officially, information is being withheld in the interests of national security. The article resorts to innuendo with surprising accuracy. The diplomatic community is in an uproar. Russia demands the release of the two men. The United States claims no knowledge of their activity. Security clearances everywhere are being evaluated, as it becomes common knowledge, if only in the intelligence community, that a massive conspiracy has been perpetrated. How high does it go? the article asks at the end.

Frans is right. I might wish it was completely resolved, but with roots this deep in the political landscape it will take time to pull them out. “In two weeks the statement we pulled from those men will be leaked to a US newspaper.”

A pause. “Understood. I’ll tell my contacts they have that much to get their house in order.”

The important thing is that Samantha is safe. I leave the library to find her waiting for me on the front drive. Already the clouds have cleared. The events of that night are public kn

owledge in private circles. Reporters already connect her father’s actions to the attempt on her life. They’re digging through his travel dates. They’re looking at his contacts. Rather than silencing Samantha, they’re trying to distance themselves from the whole debacle now. It won’t work. Already men who were interns and lackeys ten years ago are coming forward. Demanding immunity. They don’t want anything to do with the old regime, and they’re willing to sell out their former bosses to ensure that they won’t be connected.

The important thing is that Samantha is safe, and that has to be enough for me. What did Frans say? That the women made their own happiness. Yes. That does describe her. Her eyes shine with relief and anticipation of a lifetime to come.

I’m helpless in the face of her hope. I always have been.

I lean down to press a kiss to her forehead. My eyes close—in relief and anticipation of a lifetime to come. My eyes close in hope. “Thank you,” she murmurs, as if I saved her two nights ago. How did I ever think I could walk away from her? It wasn’t a question of love. I loved her since I held her in my arms, her small body ravaged by poison.

It wasn’t even a question of lust.

It was warfare, plain and simple. A war that I fought for as long and hard as my soldier’s heart could bear. Like most wars, it wasn’t lost in a single battle. There were losses along the way—following her in the apartment in Nantes, taking her to see the sights in Paris. Fucking her on the balcony. It died a little at every battle, the part of me so determined to be alone. As if that made me stronger.

She’s the winner in combat, the warrior, the one to whom I wave the white flag.

Surrender. It’s never seemed like a sign of strength until now.

Samantha

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The cold water seeps through my skin. It sinks into my bones. The blackness closes around me until it’s hard to breathe. Panting fills the air around me. Mine. The faint slush of the water sounds painfully loud to my sensitive ears.

There’s no relief. It’s endless. Forever.

“Samantha.”

Is that Liam? He seems far away. He won’t know that I’m down here. If no one finds me I’ll spend my last days in this pool of freezing water. I’ll spend my last hours here.

“Samantha.”

Liam. I try to call out to him, but it feels like I’m paralyzed. I can’t move my lips, my tongue. I can’t make a single noise. What if he’s too late? What if I’m already dead? He would find me lying here eventually. I know he wouldn’t give up.