“Her cover story,” Francesca supplied. “Like Fleur was my legend at The Library. We would create the entire history, including tax returns, social media presence, and even things as mundane as grocery store rewards cards. Whatever was needed to make the agent look real.”
Triumph added, “Occasionally, I was asked to do those, the more dangerous ones that needed depth beyond depth. We had to do way more once everyone’s lives went almost completely digital.”
“So how does this G fit into your emergency?” Francesca asked.
“I got a series of texts tonight on a phone I’ve had for, Christ, probably fifteen years? Ancient thing. One of the first non-flip kinds of phones. It was her. She told me that she’s stuck in South America and needs help getting out.”
“You’re sure it’s her?” Tripoli asked. “Nine years is a long time to wait to reach out for help.”
“No, it’s her. She used all the code and everything. She believes she’s been burned—otherwise, she would have reached out to the CIA, not me.”
He could almost see Francesca putting the pieces together in her head. “So regular channels are unusable, and that’s why you may have committed an act of treason against your country.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Yes. Me being melodramatic, I’m sure, but… Last I knew, she was trying to make inroads with the Colonel Cartel. Operatives always had names and numbers they would commit to memory and never write down. These were for last-ditch efforts if they got into a mess.”
Tripoli’s eyes bored into his. “Interesting that she’s attached to that mess. And you were one of her numbers? You never said you knew anyone in that world.”
Triumph had helped Tripoli and some mutual friends take down Hector Colonel almost a year ago. “She didn’t factor into our business, and honestly? I never dreamed she’d still be attached to that. Figured she would be long gone. But yes. I gave her my number unofficially. I didn’t have a good feeling about her operation.”
“She knew it was unofficial?”
He nodded. “I’m sure that’s why she called me. Knew it wasn’t an NSA channel.”
Francesca stared at him. “That’s not all of it.”
“No,” he admitted. “She’s why I left the NSA. It’s long and complicated, but basically, I questioned the ethical nature of her assignment when I should have been part of the hive mind, and it meant my walking papers. I’ve never regretted leaving. That place is soul-sucking. But I did regret leavingherwith no one in her corner. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do. She had my number, but I didn’t have hers.”
“You’re a hacker.”
“Yes, but she had already refused my help, which is why I went to her superiors, so I was out of options.”
“So something happened to blow up a decade-old assignment, and she calls you?”
“I can’t say for sure it’s the same assignment, but…” He nodded. “I think it was. It explains why she thought to call me. If she was under that long, she probably doesn’t have any other contacts she feels she can trust. Even calling me is probably a Hail Mary pass at this point.”
Francesca studied him.
He felt like he was back in grade school, when his fourth-grade teacher thought he’d done something naughty, so she’d just stare at him until he confessed. He felt his face flush at the scrutiny. “G was… There was something about her when we talked. Don’t ask me what. I’ve never met her, so it wasn’t like we were friends or anything.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t move. Just kept staring.
“What?” he asked.
Tripoli, his eyes never leaving Triumph, leaned his head toward Francesca’s. He grinned, and his fake whisper sealed Triumph’s doom. “See his face? That’s his I-just-got-caught-with-crumbs-on-my-shirt look, and somewhere there’s an empty cookie jar. We always knew when he was holding back on us when he got that look.”
“Asshole,” he muttered. “Gonna start telling your secrets soon.” He looked at Francesca. “Fine. I liked her. She was funny. Irreverent. Sarcastic.”
“Those are all Triumph triggers,” he whispered again. The jerk sounded like he was one of those journalists on a nature show, keeping his voice low so as not to spook the videographer’s subject matter.
“I was in a dark, digital cave sixteen-plus hours a day. Her voice was easy to listen to.”
“So she gave good phone?” Now there was a twinkle in the man’s eye.
What the ever-loving fuck? “Now you’re being twice the asshole. It was ten years ago. She’s been the girlfriend of a cartel jefe. That’s got to have her all kinds of jacked up mentally. While I’m willing to help her get home, I am not getting involved in someone else’s trauma. Not doing that again.”
“Maybe if you said that a little louder and a little more forcefully, all three of us would actually believe you,” Tripoli sassed.
The trio fell silent, and he violently shoved thoughts of Tilly out of his head. Not now. Not the time.
