Callie’s Last Dance

11.

ANNIE LORBER’S SMOLDERING eyes and angry expression tell me all I need to know about the support I can expect from her. And the way Emerson’s patting her wrist to calm her down tells me their relationship has progressed beyond the boardroom. So that’s two who’d say yes to killing me, should it come to a vote.

The others are harder to read.

Emerson speaks up.

“Mr. Creed, Annie’s father and mine were murdered years ago. You just informed us Tara Siegel was involved.”

To the committee he says, “Have any of you heard the name Tara Siegel?”

It appears not.

Emerson continues. “Tara was the Donovan Creed of the east coast at one time, meaning she worked for Sensory in that area. It’s easy to piece together what happened. She wanted to take over the program back then, the same way Lou Kelly wanted to take over recently: by killing the top people. My point is this: No one in this room has heard of Tara Siegel, and Annie and I only heard of her very recently. And she’s been dead for years. Killed, apparently, by another of our Sensory operatives.”

I try to maintain a poker face in all business encounters, but that comment nearly raises my eyebrows. Because other than me, only five people in the world are supposed to know who killed Tara Siegel.

And two of them are dead.

“So?” I say.

“And none of us knew who Darwin was until Lou killed him.”

“So?”

“I think this proves we need more transparency in the agency. We’ve got trained killers running around all over the country. We’re responsible for the actions of this agency, but don’t have the slightest idea who’s working for us.”

“That’s the nature of the committee, Emerson,” Sherm says. “If we knew their names, we’d be targets. Our families…would be targets.”

“I’ve heard that all my life. But I don’t understand it.”

Sherm starts to say something, but I wave it off, saying, “Allow me.”

I look at Emerson and say, “Transparency’s a two-way street. If you know that John Smith is working for us, killing terrorists, John Smith will know who you are, and where you live. And if he gets caught and tortured, you can bet he’ll give up your names and addresses. The terrorists would gladly target your families, relatives, and friends. And of course, they’d kill you as well.”

“You have all this information about us,” Annie says. “What keeps you from giving us up to a skilled torturer?”

Sherm says, “You read the report.”

Annie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Donovan enjoys it.”

“Enjoys what?”

“Being tortured.”

“You’re saying our family’s lives are dependent on this man’s ability to withstand torture?”

“Not just our families,” Sherm says. “The whole country.”

“That’s a bit hyperbolic, don’t you think?” she says.

“Again, Annie, you’ve read the reports. Darwin’s operatives have prevented more than twenty catastrophic events from occurring, any one of which would have crippled our capacity to function normally. And Creed recently killed more than fifty terrorists around the world with the single press of a button.”

“Your point?”

“My point is, this agency works. It has protected our society, our way of life, for many years. I’m sorry about your fathers. I’m sorry about Darwin and Lou Kelly. But Creed’s been with us from the inception. He’s had access to all our personal information for all these years, and no one’s been hurt as a result.”

Mooney bangs his gavel again, seeking attention.

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever heard. You’re trusting America’s security to a psychotic killer who enjoys being tortured. And giving him full reign over a team of computer geniuses and psychotic killers whose names we’re not allowed to know.”

Sherm shrugs.

Preston says, “I want it on record I strongly oppose Donovan Creed’s appointment. I consider him unstable, unethical, and a serious threat to society.”

Everyone goes quiet until I ask, “What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve got the job,” Director Scott says.

“I thought I had to be approved unanimously.”

“You were.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“What about Mr. Mooney? Everything he just said?”

“That’s him covering his ass. Isn’t that right, Preston?”

“I’m done with this,” Mooney says.

“Thanks for your vote, Preston,” I say.

“Don’t speak to me, Creed. You don’t exist in my world.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mooney.”

An hour later I’m sitting at my desk at Sensory Resources, when my cell phone buzzes.

It’s Preston Mooney.

“How’d I do?” he says.

“Perfect. You even had me convinced you’re a toad.”

“You think they bought it?”

“That we’re enemies? Absolutely! They’ll want your blessing before trying to kill me.”

“Which means I can warn you,” he says.

“Unless you’re in on it.”

“Surely you trust me!”

“I trust no one.”

He sighs. “So you say.”

“Give my regards to the President.”

“Will do.”

I hang up and call Callie.

“What’s the good word?” she says.

“I took the job.”

“Shit. Now I’ll never see you.”

“Lucky you,” I say.

She says nothing.

I say, “How’s it going on your end?”

“It’ll be dark soon. I’m good to go.”

I want to tell her how I feel.

“Callie?”

“Yeah?”

I pause. How do I put into words I love her, without having her laugh in my face?

She’s waiting for me to say something.

I chicken out.

“Let me know when you’re done,” I say.

“I always do.”

She pauses.

“Donovan?”

“Yeah?”

She pauses some more. Then says, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Okay then,” she says, and hangs up.

My security monitor beeps. I glance at it and see the young guard, Tommy Cooper standing outside my office door. I press the audio button.

“You’re early for that drink, son,” I say. “Are you coming to kill me after all?”

“No sir. I’m here to escort you to Geek City.”