Payback

108

Deep Black missions were debriefed in a special area of the underground complex devoted to supporting Desk Three missions. Called the squad room by the ops, the facility looked like an oversize living room, and the process itself was designed to be as painless as possible for the ops. When the mission was complete, the agent took a small digital video camera and recorded the details in one of the two cubicles down the hall. They were outfitted like studies and reminded Charlie Dean of what a doctor’s or lawyer’s private office might look like; the books in the bookcases were English translations of classics, such as Plutarch’s Lives.

In the past, Dean handled the reports with the briefest possible accounts. He thought the famous “We came, we saw, we conquered” report delivered by Julius Caesar to the Senate after he defeated Pharnaces too long by a third. But this time Dean gave an especially detailed account, including the part where he left Karr and went to find and help Lia.

He’d spent the flight from Lima thinking about what he was going to say. What truly bothered him wasn’t the fact that he had made a mistake, but that even now he didn’t feel as if it were a mistake. His head said it was, but his gut didn’t agree.

And that, he decided, was a major problem.

“Mr. Rubens wants to see you,” said Montblanc when Dean handed the recorder to him.

“I want to see him, too.”

Montblanc’s mustache bobbed. “He’s up in his office. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

Rubens was still struggling to get through the mountain of paperwork that had piled up over the last few days when Dean knocked on his door. He had Dean wait while he folded the gray blanket over the papers on his desk. Then he called the op in.

“I was really surprised at you, Mr. Dean,” Rubens started as soon as Dean had sat down. “We do have a certain procedure and chain of command, and when we’re in—”

“That’s all right,” said Dean, putting up his hand. “I was wrong. I know it. I’ve written up my resignation.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if this is the right language to use,” he added, taking a folded letter from his shirt pocket. “I can adjust it if you want.”

“You’re quitting?”

“I can’t trust my judgment.”

“Charlie. Wait. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

Dean stared at him dispassionately.

“You just need a rest,” Rubens told him. “A few days. You’ve been under considerable strain. A great deal of stress. On this mission and the others. You should take this under advisement.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Think about it.”

“I have.”

“You’re tired, Charlie. You’ve just come back from an exhausting mission. We push you all too hard; I realize that. But you shouldn’t—”

Rubens stopped, unsure of what words to use. “My family has a small cottage on Martinique. Why don’t you take two weeks off and have some fun there? Just yourself. The servants will see to your needs. You need a real vacation.”

“Trying to bribe me?”

“Bribe you?”

“I’m only kidding.” Dean got up. “Thanks anyway.”

“Charlie — take a few days off,” said Rubens. But Dean was already out of his office.

“How are you, Charlie?” said Montblanc when Dean went in to see him. “I hope Mr. Rubens didn’t come off too harsh. He thinks the world of you. That little confusion about your assignment isn’t going to affect you long-term. I’ve seen these things blow over time and again. Operatives are expected to use their own judgment — that’s why you’re here. Conflicts are inevitable.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean wasn’t sure how much of Montblanc’s manner was genuine and how much was intended to be therapeutic. He was a psychologist, and his job was basically to seem as reassuring as possible to the Deep Black ops. In a way, thought Dean, he was a bit of a rat, pretending to be your friend and then probably filing reports behind your back.

“You know, you’re due a lot of time off,” said Montblanc. “And it happens that I have some tickets to Disney World.”

“You, too?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Thanks. I’m a little old for Mickey Mouse.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised at how much fun it can be. It’s very relaxing.”

“Thanks. I am taking some time off,” Dean told him. “Friend of mine has a hunting lodge up near the Delaware, couple of hours north of Philadelphia. I’m heading there.”

“Excellent,” said Montblanc. “Very good. Of course, you do have to check in with me every twenty-four hours. There’s a number to call, and we need to be able—”

“Yeah, I know the drill. Don’t worry. I have a cell phone. Listen, there’s something you ought to know. I’m quitting.”

“Quitting?”

“Desk Three was supposed to be a temporary assignment. I have other things I have to do.”

“Wait a second, Charlie. Charles — you can’t just quit. That’s not the way it works.”

“I’m not walking right out. I know I have to go through discharge or whatever the procedure is. I just want you to know, I’m giving notice.”

“No, you don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t?”

“Charlie—”

“I’ll be back in a week. We can talk about it then, but my mind’s made up.”

Dean started to leave.

“Is it hunting season?” said Montblanc, his voice wrought with frustration and confusion.

“Depends on what you’re hunting.”