DarkWeb (TEASER ONLY)

Chapter 2

"I have to sleep with him?" Revulsion crept up my throat.

"Absolutely not. This assignment is about developing a social and trustworthy relationship with the target. Gain access to his personal property."

Warily, I eased back in my seat. "What do you want to know about this guy?"

The heavyset agent with "CIA" on his badge said, "Ever heard of the deep web?"

When I shrugged, he said, "Well, there's the regular internet— all those sites you can use a search engine to find. Then, there are websites not documented by search engines, places you have to already know about to get to. Like a private party, right?"

He pulled his chair closer to the table, face animated. "Now, some of these sites are harmless. A Facebook page set to private, eh? But some are not. This deep web is where grey and black market items are bought and sold. Drugs, weapons, prostitution... and worse, I'm afraid. Hit men, illegal adoption rings, sex trafficking. We have reason to suspect Mark Donahue may be involved in running a site like that called DarkWeb." CIA straightened his tie and let that fact sink in. "Being something of a computer genius, Donahue's too knowledgeable and well-protected for us to get to using traditional technology. He's always a step ahead of our latest spyware."

Around the room, some faces were eager with interest, others wrinkled with frustration. Easy to see they admired Mark Donahue's skills even though they thought him a crook.

Tribecca broke the spell, saying, "That's where you come in. All you have to do is be physically in his presence, or at his residence. Whatever your notions of what an informant might have to do, forget them. You don't have to get Donahue to say or do anything, other than let him be near you. We have items we can secure to your person that will do all the data acquisition."

From the flat screen, Mark Donahue stared down at us. He seemed terribly sad, as if he already knew I would agree. I chewed my lip. "You must have someone who does this kind of thing for a living. Why do you need me?"

The second NSA scoffed, his breath coffee-tinged. "You think we haven't tried? Mark Donahue is the shrewdest sumbitch there is. His whole damn house is a Faraday cage. He's already—"

Tribecca flashed a look that silenced NSA, then smiled at me as if we were old friends. "This is why we need you."

The image on the screen flickered. The new photo showed a much younger, happy-faced Mark Donahue standing in front of a light bulb-lined marquee that read "CHAPEL OF LOVE," his arm around a woman in a white mini-dress, a birdcage veil in her dark hair.

No one at the table asked if I knew her. That would have been a grotesque joke. The bride in the photo looked exactly like me— same heart shaped face and upturned eyes, same high cheekbones, same slightly fuller upper lip.

Standing next to Mark Donahue, her face glowed the same pink mine got after a brisk horseback ride. I didn't have to be her doppelganger to know she was deeply happy in that photo.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Johanna Bixby-Donahue. Married to Mark Donahue five years. She died in a car accident three years ago."

My skin went too cold, even though I could smell myself sweating through my clothes. Hard to escape the sudden fantasy that instead of my parents dying, I'd peeked into an alternate world where the death had been mine. I forced the idea out of my head. It was only a gruesome coincidence.

The CIA agent said, "This Friday, Mark Donahue will be at a gala for the Olympic riding team. You will attend, joined by Agent Jones. If Donahue doesn't express interest, we'll put in a good word with the parole board on your brother's behalf and our transaction is finished. If you are able to establish communication with the target, we'll officially sign you on as a Confidential Informant. Agent Jones will debrief you, and you will gain credits for Jason's early release. How much time will be based on any continuing interaction with the target. Understood?"

Jason's early release.

"Will I be safe?" I asked. Perhaps they'd overlooked Mark Donahue's sketchiness, or the fact I had no training in whatever ninja self-defense skills FBI agents acquired.

Tribecca's tinkling laughter implied my question was both charming and a bit naive. "It's an upscale event in a public setting. I'll be by your side all evening, and a second agent will shadow us."

On the desk under Tribecca's elbow lay a manila folder with my brother's prison photo carefully clipped to the front. I knew she meant me to notice it, to manipulate me. Even so, the image seared itself on my heart.

Her face softened. "I read up on your brother, to help make the case he should be considered for early release. Jason was nineteen when your parents died, right?" She opened the file and skimmed the papers inside. "He dropped out of college, took legal custody of you. His signature's on all the bills, all your school records."

Tribecca Jones kept talking, but I drifted away. Her list would never include the things that mattered most. How Jason had stayed home, passing on dates and parties so someone would be there when I woke up sobbing from the nightmares. In my memory, he'd been a capable adult. His mugshot revealed him to have been hardly more than a boy.

"We have a deal," I said, too loud.

Tribecca blinked as if surprised. "Good. It's a black tie function. I'll pick you up, eight o'clock sharp."

The rest of the team gathered their things, our discussion at an end. Tribecca gave me a pursed lipped up-and-down. She tch-tched under her breath, disapproving.

"Let's lighten your hair before Friday. I'm thinking ... honey and gold. I'll put you in contact with the stylist." She winked. "On the FBI's dime, of course. You're going to have to go at least two shades blonder."

"Why?" If anything, my hair was already a touch lighter than the photos of my dead doppelganger. The other agents filed out the door.

"You're too much of a dead-ringer. Let him notice you look like her on his own." She stuck out a hand to shake. My fingers trembled, but I took hers.

What had I gotten myself into?