“Do you generally have that effect on women?”
“Depends on the woman.”
“Well, to make you feel better, you ought to know that she has been under orders to have no contact with you.”
“By whom?”
“By me.” He added, “And by the Pentagon.”
“Why?”
“The same reason she was sent to Kentucky and you’ve been benched with Brad Evans for the last five months. Damage control.”
“Why wasn’t I given the same order?”
“Because I’m smart enough not to give you an order you won’t follow.” He paused. “Listen, Scott, a lot of things went sideways in the Mercer case, but as far as I’m concerned you successfully completed your mission, and you both almost paid with your lives in the process. That’s not lost on me, and that’s not something I forget. You—and Taylor—also made me look good, and I don’t forget that either. But you discovered things you shouldn’t know, and there are a lot of people still nervous about that. So for your own good, and for good optics and for other good reasons, I suggested to those who were worried that you and Ms. Taylor should be separated.”
Which, thought Brodie, was better than being terminated with extreme prejudice. He asked, “And now?”
“And now I need you. Both of you. And you need this.”
Brodie processed that. He and Taylor knew the CIA’s dirty secrets, andspies have long memories. Was the heat off them? Was five months enough? Not even close.
Then again, what difference did it make? He should have been KIA in Fallujah in 2004. The time since then was bonus. An Army psychologist had once told him that bad attitude was a form of survivor’s guilt, and who was he to argue with a PhD? But it didn’t feel like guilt to him. It felt like a rationalization to keep looking in the face of death and giving the guy the finger, which he enjoyed.
Dombroski, who was watching the gears turning in his agent’s head, added, “If I had sent Taylor to Venezuela with someone else, they would have come home empty-handed. And if I had sentyouwith a different partner, you would both be dead.”
Brodie didn’t reply. The colonel might have a point.
Dombroski said, “Look at me, Mr. Brodie.”
Brodie looked at him.
“Do you accept this mission?”
“Berlin in January. Sounds like shit.”
“It’s a step up from Caracas in August.”
Or Quantico with Brad Evans any time of year. Brodie said, “Business class.”
“Think of the American taxpayer.”
“Extra legroom. Free drinks.”
“Talk to the travel office.”
“I assume you still need to convince Taylor to take this difficult assignment as my junior partner.”
Dombroski confessed, “I actually spoke to her this afternoon. She’s catching a flight to Dulles tomorrow, and you’ll meet her there for a night flight to Berlin.”
Many of Brodie’s professional and personal relationships had ended badly, and he’d never been granted an opportunity for a do-over. This could be interesting. Or it could be a disaster. Though disasters are also interesting. He asked, “Has she been briefed?”
“She knows what you know.”
“Actually, I now know what she knew several hours ago.”
“I had the easy conversation first, Scott. The one that didn’t require beer.”
