“So whoever’s writing those outlines for Caleb has access to the archives,” Leo said.
“Or they are the Archivist,” Sasha said softly. “I stopped by Linda Morrison’s apartment this afternoon to beg her to help me with the gala. And guess what?”
“What?”
“First of all, she has about a million plants.”
“Plants are good for the environment,” Hank observed.
“And second, her spare bedroom is set up, well, like an archive. The room is literally filled with archival document storage boxes. Ceiling to floor.”
After a moment, Leo offers a plausible explanation. “She’s writing a book on the post-Cold War transition among intelligence agencies. Historians work from primary documents.”
“I don’t think you understand how many boxes of documents I’m talking about. Plus, interesting topic for a book, isn’t it?” Sasha shoots back.
“She’s the right age,” Leo allows. “And she does work at a school with connections to the intelligence community.”
“But why use Caleb? If she wants to make the records public, now after all this time, she can put it in her book,” Sasha asks.
“Maybe she’s scared, or being threatened. Or she’s not the Archivist,” Hank posits.
“But if she is the Archivist, even if she’s not involved in the Turkey attack, there’s someone else who knows exactly what operations the Lighthouse buried,” Leo points out. “Not an external threat. Not a rogue ex-CIA operative working alone. Someone inside the Lighthouse.”
Sasha’s voice is quiet. “We wanted it to be external. Ex-CIA. A foreign intelligence service. Anyone but internal.”
Leo stands. “We’re speculating. We need evidence.”
“We need to search her apartment,” Sasha says. “See what’s actually in those boxes.”
“That’s breaking and entering.” Hank’s voice is careful. “your mission is complete. Caleb Rye doesn’t know anything. He’s not a threat. Our orders were to verify that and report back. You’ve done that.”
Leo challenges him. “And stopping the attacks?”
“Isn’t in my orders.” Hank meets his eyes through the computer screen. “Or yours.”
Sasha throws up her hands. “So we walk away? Let the next attack happen because it’s not technically our problem?”
“I didn’t say that. I said it’s not in your orders. What you do off the books is your business.”
The implication is clear. Official channels end here. If they want to pursue this, they’re on their own.
Leo stares out the window, working his jaw.
“We’re not walking away,” Sasha says.
Hank nods. “Then we go off the books. Completely.”
“Off the books,” Leo says to Hank. “We pursue Linda. We try to stop the next attack.”
“I didn’t hear that. And I won’t ask what you find unless you tell me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ruth lets herself into Linda’s apartment. Linda, being Linda, never asked for her key back when they stopped being … whatever they were to each other. And Ruth has never wanted Linda to know she has it. She’s been inside before—checking files, verifying that Linda still has the archives, making sure nothing’s been moved or copied. But if Linda’s home, she always knocks.
Tonight, though, she needs Linda to be startled, knocked off balance. It’s the best way to find out if she’s telling the truth. So she settles into the armchair by the window and waits.
It’s funny now, but she finds the abundant plant life comforting, peaceful even. Before, when they were together, it annoyed her. All the time Linda spent talking to her plants instead of Ruth.
