I’m only a few steps behind him, hurrying to join him in Oliver’s office. I close the door behind me. My frustration is now directed at Ian as well. His premature comments were sloppy. There is no way Charlie didn’t hear Ian’s opening complaint.
Oliver is standing at his desk, packing his laptop, notepad, and USB drives into a FIRE-branded messenger bag. “It’s her first week; of course she’s asking questions. She’s learning the ropes around here.”
“I think you misunderstand. She’s prying. Asking about my trip to Finland. Asking about what I do here,” I emphasize to Oliver.
Oliver rebuffs my statement. “Those are perfectly reasonable questions for a coworker to ask another.”
Ian lets out a sigh and crosses his arms. The man is 6’ 4” and not one to speak up much, if at all. He is a tech guy through and through; he would prefer to communicate with robots in binary code than with humans in words. The fact that he is bringing this issue to Oliver speaks volumes, or it should. “I don’t know where you found her. We know nothing about her past. Her allegiances.”
Oliver stops his preparations to leave. “I’m sure you could ask Charlie about all of that. Her last job. Where she went to college. How fast she can run a mile.”
I put my hands on my hips. I hate to have to spell it out for Oliver. “She could be a plant from the Order! Have you stopped to consider that?” In the six months since X.C. and I were burned on a mission in Osaka, we have had multiple covert operations go sideways. Bad intel, informants tailed and bullied into hiding, and then a direct threat to one of our events. An explosive package left in the transition area of one of our triathlons, the metallurgic signature matches a known associate of the Order. It could be multiple individuals or organizations colluding against us, but it fits that it would be the Order. They clearly have a mole within our organization to keep that flow of intelligence running. We’ve swapped out security clearances, repositioned team members, and found nothing. That my mission in Helsinki was successful means that we’ve thwarted the Order’s attempts to infiltrate us. Or the mole got wise and realized we were on to them, prompting the Order to send a new informant.
Ian backs me up. “The World Games are later this summer and we are less than five months out from our Exponential Endurance Championships. We’ve got too much on the line to chance a new potential threat to our security.”
Oliver takes off his glasses and cleans them with the hem of his polo. It’s a stalling technique I’ve seen him use before, a way to gather his thoughts. “You’re right, we can’t be too careful about who we trust. Which is why I wasn’t excited about the idea of hiring someone with the espionage experience that you suggested.” He levels his gaze at me. “The last two you sent me,” he says, addressing Ian, “were keen to do all the clandestine work but couldn’t manage the calendar. Horrible executive adminsandI couldn’t trust them. Charlie has my absolute trust, can do the job, and most importantly isn’t previously trained in deception.” There is a note of finality in his voice, but my doubts linger.
“Buthowdo you know you can trust her? How can we?” I protest.
He points to the far wall of his office with the start-line quote on it. “You know the origin of that quote?The race is not given to the swift, nor valor to the brave, but to those who endure to the end?”
“Ecclesiastes,” I retort.
“Matthew?” Ian guesses, both of us referring to a biblical origin of the quote.
“Partially correct.” Oliver nods. “But the first time I ever heard it was from my college roommate. It was his personal mantra. He uses it all the time in his run coaching now.”
Ian and I are silently waiting for Oliver to elaborate further. When he does, he only gives us a name: “Tom Ross.” In my periphery, Ian’s shoulders sink, his guard dropped.
Tom Ross, Mr. Run Barefoot, coached the US track and field delegation to multiple gold and silver medals in the World Games four years ago. Best-selling author, Tom Ross. In terms of famous runners and running coaches, he’s a big name. No one outside our little niche knows who he is, but everyone inside of it does.
“And, let me guess, CharlieRossis his daughter?” I ask, finally putting the pieces together.
Oliver gives me a nod. “And my niece. I know I can count on you to show her the ropes. She’ll be on site with me next weekend in Kalispell, but when I’m out of the office, can you look out for her?”
I manage to squeeze out “yes, sir” through my tight jaw. Oliver leaves and pats Ian on the shoulder on his way out.
“Have a safe trip,” Charlie chirps behind me.
Our operation has never been more vulnerable, we are still reeling from the chaos the Order has caused, and now we are stuck with an inexperienced nepo hire of an executive assistant.
This is worse than a plant. At least that person can be dismissed with cause. Oliver’s “niece” is not going to be up to this task and we are all going to pay forherineptitude. Andhisweakness in hiring her. Best to keep my guard up. Ian turns to me and gives me a “what are you gonna do?” look before walking away.
I close Oliver’s door on my way out and avoid eye contact with Charlie as I walk to my office. I’ll be using this frustration on my ride tonight, knocking out twenty miles in an hour, easy. Maybe forty minutes.
From behind me, Charlie calls out, “You know, Ollie isn’t really my uncle.”
I turn to her, letting my pent-up frustration out. “They never are!”
It may not be Charlie’s fault that my mentor was murdered in front of my eyes. That the operations FIRE runs to keep the world safe from nefarious scum are compromised. That my instincts are all screaming to trust no one. But she is getting the brunt of it.
Her assertion that she and Oliver aren’t blood related does nothing to reassure me or make this any less a clear case of nepotism. If anything, it is the worst-case scenario. Not qualified for the job and a potential liability. The Order aren’t above bribery. If she has any student loans or debts in the family, they can use that as leverage.
Charlie cocks her head to the side and gives a laughing smile. “Did you just angry-quotePretty Womanto me?”
The most irrational response! How am I supposed to work with this?
She grabs her purse and locks her computer. “Have a good weekend, Declan.” She waves and bounces out of the office as if her presence hasn’t caused a massive disruption. I want to slam my office door. I want to tell her to her face that I think she shouldn’t be working here. I want to shout.
