Game of Dust and Ashes (Book Two in the Covert Operations series)

Six

Park Central Hotel, Manhattan, New York. January 27, 2021

I stood by the window staring out at the stars that dotted the ink-black sky. Below were massive skyscrapers that towered high into the sky. They were lit up, bright, illuminating the city that never sleeps. Despite the very late hour, cars could be heard honking at each other and in a floor somewhere on the twenty-third floor of the hotel rap music could be heard.

It was a little after one a.m. in Manhattan which meant that it was just after eight in Geneva, Switzerland. I'd stayed up later than intended given that we had a briefing with local police at nine in the morning but it had been necessary. Before I'd left Switzerland, I'd promised to call Cedric once I'd gotten settled in New York. And there I was, my duffel bag sitting at the foot of my bed, my case files spread out across the small table. I was as moved in and settled as I was going to be.

The conversation with Cedric was one I was dreading. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that he now knew that Jessie Collins was just an alias for Melanie Clarke-Briar. Not only had he had the entire day at work to find out as much information as he could, he had also had the night to stew about it and think hard about what he'd learned. I knew that he normally woke around seven a.m., went for a run, and returned by eight where he gave himself an hour to get to work for nine. If my predictions were right, then he was just getting in now.

I dialed his number on my untraceable cell and waited for the call to go through. I started pacing the room, trying to get the nerves out of my system. It didn't take long for him to pick up.

"'Lo?" He sounded out of breath.

"Hey, Ced."

A pause. Long, like he was debating on whether or not he should hang up. "You called."

"Did you think I wasn't going to?"

"It's been a weird twenty-four hours. I honestly wasn't sure what to expect, Jess—or should I be calling you Melanie?"

I hesitated and went to sit on the bed. I felt like my feet were about to give out beneath me. "Whichever you prefer."

"Hmm."

"So...you know."

"I know." There was some shuffling and then the sound of him scraping a chair back against the floor. I could picture him sitting at our kitchen table, the bowl of fruit in front of him, a newspaper grazing his elbow, and his hand wrapped around a cup of coffee. "I know everything."

"I expect you have questions," I said.

The line went silent for a moment. I waited patiently. "I don't even know where to start. You're a terrorist. I should be turning you in. There are outstanding warrants for your arrest in France, the United States, England, and Germany. You've killed so many people. CIA and MI6 agents, prominent businessmen. There's a surveillance video in your file that shows you and that guy who was in Helena's office yesterday breaking into a corporate building in Bristol and opening fire on innocent workers. Care to explain that?"

This was the major issue with my personal case file. Helena had divulged the information to me one day and it was, for the most part, very incriminating. Aside from lamenting on my parents' work connection to Scorpion, it read like a book where I was the villain following in my parents' footsteps and those who'd died as a response to my actions were all untrained civilians or innocent agents.

My file had downplayed the connections to Scorpion. Thanks to my father, there was a close circle of people who knew concretely the names of business men, like Randall Walker, who worked for Scorpion. But to the outside world, the names we had were only mere speculation so instead of helping my cause, they more accurately hindered, drafting shadows of doubt which shrouded my file.