Mentally, I’m back in a doctor’s office, one of a dozen. The final doctor who was actually able to give me a diagnosis. Eosinophilic fasciitis. After a year of medicines that wrecked my skin and my liver, I had a choice. Continue the medicine whose side effects were worse than the symptoms they were treating. Or never run again, at least not competitively.
“Charlie!” Uncle Ollie’s voice breaks through my thought spiral. My uncle’s face is close to mine, his eyes probing, full of concern. He turns to Ian and Declan and offers his assessment. “She’s still in shock.”
“You can say that again,” I mutter.
“Got her sense of humor,” Ian responds with a nervous chuckle.
I want to snap and tell them to stop talking about me like I’m not there. To stop acting like this is just another day of business.Why aren’t they more panicked? Why aren’t they fawning over Declan who wasalsoshot at? Why aren’t the police here yet?
“Charlie?” Declan addresses me.
I gaze up into his eyes and he looks scared.Why is he scared?
“What happened?” I ask.
“She doesn’t remember.” Declan looks over to Uncle Ollie, fear written clear across his face.
I shake my head. “No, I know we were shot at. I was there,” I snap at him. “What caused this? Why did this happen?” I clarify my question.
Declan and Ian remain silent, their mouths sealed, their eyes fixed on Oliver.
I turn to the man I’ve known my whole life. “Uncle Ollie?” I say, wanting someone to just tell me already. I can see he’s holding something back. His eyes track from me to Ian, to Declan. A silent conversation, an internal debate, warring in his mind. He hangs his head and fixes his hands to his hips before letting out a sigh.
“Everyone, take a seat,” he instructs Declan and Ian.
I know that look. Whatever it is, he just decided something.
“Charlie, what I’m about to tell you is privileged under the company NDA you signed on your first day here.” I get that funny feeling. The one where my stomach is hollow and the tiny hairs on my skin all stick up at once. Like when my parents explained my childhood dog had to be put down. Or when the first doctor told me, “I’m sorry. I can’t help. I have to refer you to someone else.”
I give a nod and brace myself for what is about to be revealed. My hand squeezes the ice pack, a stress response, and cold condensation spreads across my shirt. I wiggle, the wetness only reminding me this is very, very real.
“As a spectator, you’ve experienced the front-facing operations of FIRE for years, and as a team member this past weekend. Over the past few weeks, you’ve seen how the back office runs, with marketing, accounting. I’m impressed by how quickly you’ve been learning the ropes about the business side, but it isn’t the full story.”
Declan clears his throat and I peer over at him. He is rubbing his brow. Was Declan hurt too?
Uncle Ollie’s next words call my attention back to him. “About a decade ago, we recognized the name of a notorious crime boss on our registration list. Sound familiar?” I think back to the conversation I had with him about a sleazy senator but not a mafioso. “We knew he could be a liability, so one of the team –” Oliver nods to Ian – “got on course and trailed him. He looked like any other athlete.”
Ian takes over the story. “I saw him veer off course and photographed him making a deal. Literally exchanging funds and handing it off to one of his associates.” Ian appears lost in memory, as if he were watching this crime unfold before his eyes again.
Oliver tells me the rest. “Then he finished the race. We handed over the evidence and he was convicted. When the mayor of Palma saw the headline and asked us to keep an eye on the comptroller who was planning to do our triathlon in Mallorca, I knew we could do this again. We could help. We go into these communities, bring tourist dollars, and do charity projects on race weekend. But these missions, for lack of a better word, could bring actual change.”
I take this all in. This sounds outlandish. But it fits with all I’ve seen and heard so far. Everything that just happened in the parking lot. “So you’re telling me that you’re all spies?”
Declan finally chimes in. “Not everyone.”
I look him in the eye, trying to see if he is mocking me or simply relaying information.
“A few critical team members work on both sides of the business. Strategic operations,” Oliver says, gesturing to Declan, “is our corporate-sounding name for this division.”
I take a deep breath. I can’t decide what to ask first.
Oliver keeps talking. “I know we discussed a very different job. That your role would be an entry point into the business side of sports. Give you experience so you could work your way up the corporate ladder here or elsewhere. But, Charlie, you’re too smart.”
I start to shake my head.
“Yes, you are,” Oliver pushes on. “You’ve caught on to so many details already. Identified Titus Kilbride as a potential mark. Noticed the budget discrepancies – yes, Declan filled me in. You’d be great at this. Working in secret intelligence is something you could excel at. It’s a lot of listening, taking in all the information, recognizing habits and routine so you can spot when the pattern breaks. You’re already doing that. You’re already an asset to the team in your current role. You’re sharp, you’re ambitious, and you know right from wrong. You could join us on this side of the business too.”
I stand up because I need to walk, to get some space, to get out of this room and the information within it. I drop the ice pack and wince at the sudden motion of my hip.So when Uncle Ollie said he thought someone was sharing company information, he was really saying there could be a double agent. I connect our earlier conversation with this new information.
