Sean checked the chrono glowing in the corner of the holoscreen that snapped into existence between them in the air. “I just got out ofdebrief.”
He’d arrived on base Friday morning from a joint undercover mission in France that had seen him partnered with two metahuman operatives out of the European Alliance Metahuman Security Group. They’d been tasked with tracking down information on French terrorist groups and their ties to thePresnenskaya Bratvawith limited success. Sean had slipped into a different cover than the one that was compromised in June. Riley Miller, CFO of Root Source, Inc., was a burned alias and had been formonths.
He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, the length longer now after weeks without a cut. He’d kept up the dye job for security reasons and was looking forward to going back to his original brown coloring. Sean’s cover as an American member of a separatist militia group looking to expand into the power vacuum left by the Sons of Adam after Valerie Hayes died in June had been a nice selling point in France. Nationalists with nativist tendencies always made comfortablebedfellows.
Elena beckoned at him with one hand. “I have something you needtosee.”
Sean eyed his email queue and the number of red-flagged messages he needed to respond to with a sinking stomach. “Canitwait?”
“It’s about CillianHalloran.”
Sean went still, gaze snapping away from his work to Elena. “Whatabouthim?”
“Alpha Team had a mission in Mexico a few days ago. We finally managed to crack the encryption on the solid-state drives they returned with. Analysts are still going through what data is salvageable, but there are a few records thatstoodout.”
Cillian Halloran used to be a member of the Reborn Irish Republican Army before an internal schism caused him to break away and attempt a partnership with thePresnenskaya Bratva. He’d been the mastermind behind the Victoria and Albert Museum terrorist attack in London back inJanuary.
Sean’s burned alias went way back with Cillian. He’d learned in June that CIA Deputy Director Carter Bennett had most likely enabled Declan’s private military company and Valerie’s biotech lab, Vitae Neurotherapeutics, to sell Splice on the black market. Cillian had been a buyer with the Reborn IRA, later using his skills as a chemist to plant Splice bombs in Belfast in a bid to murder Sean. He’d survived, obviously, but the CIA deputy director was now under investigation by the MDF, and a secret fight between two federal agencies wasn’t going toendwell.
Sean closed down his terminal and locked it before standing up. “Showme.”
Elena led him through a couple of hallways on Level 15 to get to the main workspace that housed over two dozen computer terminals and just as many analysts hard at work. In the front of the room was an open area with a long work station that everyone sent critical data to for the supervisor on duty toassess.
Sean nodded absently at the analysts and agents around him as he and Elena weaved through the terminals to get to the front. Arrayed before him on the holoscreen was a looped CCTV video as well as holopics capturing stills from the action. Two holopics had been blown up, a facial recognition program having positively identified several of the men in the footage. The man driving the van wore a leather jacket, sunglasses, and baseball cap, but the program had managed to identify him as Cillian Halloran. Standing guard on the sidewalk was a mixed group of people, but the only one Sean cared about was DeclanWolcott.
“Where was this taken?” Seanasked.
“Mexico City,” Elenareplied.
Sean watched the short video clip of Cillian backing up a large delivery truck into an alleyway guarded by Mexican cartel members and Declan’s mercenary group of ex-Special Forces soldiers loyal to him over their country. The CCTV camera angle was from across the street, probably hidden by authorities if the security measures were still active. Any overt security cameras were always destroyed by the cartels and the people who put them up usually tracked down andmurdered.
“When?”
“April ofthisyear.”
Sean had memorized the timeline the director had shared with Alpha Team back in June that depicted all the cities Vitae Neurotherapeutics’ representatives had been present in right before a Splice chemical bomb attackoccurred.
“April 21 was the last time a Splice attack happened in Mexico City,” Sean saidslowly.
“This delivery happened a few daysbefore.”
“Of course it did.” Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. “Show me what else you’ve found so we can cross-reference it with ourfiles.”
Work came first, and with debrief out of the way, Sean let the latest problem to arise suck him under. His emails, calls to his family to let them know he was back, and getting updates on Alpha Team fell by the wayside. Sean didn’t know how much time had passed before an achingly familiar voice broke through hisfocus.
“No call, no message, no welcome-back kiss? Am deprived,” Alexei drawled from his left. “What you dotohair?”
Sean’s head snapped up and he blinked owlishly at where Alexei stood on the other side of the work table. The holoscreens weren’t layered thick enough to hide Alexei’s tired, teasing smile. He wasn’t in uniform, but the suit he wore was tailored to his body, and Sean had always appreciated how Alexei looked in a suit. For a second or two, Sean looked his fill, forgetting the task at hand in favor of standing in close proximity with the man who’d kept him company in his dreams for a long, lonelymonth.
Nothing beatreality.
“Hi,” Sean said, staring at him. “When did yougetback?”
“Whenyouget back?” Alexei retorted as he approached, waving hello atElena.
“Thismorning.”
“Is almost 1600,Senya.”
