Exit Strategy. Kate Donovan

Kell really teach it to you?”

      “He taught me the breathing part. I added the movement. For me, that definitely enhances it. The more you practice, the sooner you’ll find the right combination that works for you. Learn to recognize the sensations—the flow—so you can get there without consciously trying. Then it’ll last as long as you want.”

      Miranda bit her lip, wondering if he knew he was beginning to sound like every sex manual she had ever consulted.

      “The trick is, don’t rush it,” he continued, his voice low and reassuring. “Sure, you want to get there, but the idea is to let it happen naturally. Relax. Enjoy the movement. The breathing. When it’s time for it, it’ll come. And it’ll definitely be worth waiting for.”

      “Good to know,” she said, cutting him off before her cheeks got any hotter. “Now what about the Brigade? Are you going to help us or not?”

      His chuckle acknowledged the abrupt change in mood. “I told you, SPIN can do it on their own. This is just Kristie’s scheme, and I’m not falling for it. You shouldn’t, either.” His smile warmed. “She’s a good friend and I care about her. But she needs to respect my wishes.”

      Miranda wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not, but Ortega’s attitude actually did seem more centered. More balanced. Had the breathing routine really mellowed him that easily?

      In any case, there was no doubt that she was feeling unusually calm. All of the anger and hurt that usually accompanied any thought of him had dissipated, and she was able to respect what he was trying to say. Trying to do. Yes he was flawed—more flawed than most, or at least, his flaws were more dangerous—but he was trying to minimize the danger, both to himself and to others.

      “Maybe it would help if you gave Kristie a timeline for when you’ll be ready to talk to her again,” she suggested carefully. “She misses you, Ortega. She says you taught her everything she knows. You’re practically a hero to her.”

      “Kristie doesn’t just want to talk. She wants to drag me back into the intelligence racket. But that environment is poison for me. I’ll never go back to it.”

      “Which means there really isn’t any way I can convince you to come back with me and head up the anti-Brigade team?” Miranda squared her shoulders. “Can I ask a different favor then?”

      “Sure. Anything.”

      “Can you at least talk to me about the time you spent with Kell?”

      “I was thoroughly debriefed. Haven’t you seen the file?”

      “I read every word, but I still have questions.”

      Ortega seemed about to refuse, then he said, “I’ll get us a couple of bottles of water. Then you can ask me whatever you want. Then we’ll eat. Then we’ll go through the routine again.”

      She tilted her head to the side, trying to fathom why he wanted her to stay for such a long time. Guilt? Loneliness?

      More manipulation? No, that didn’t seem to be it.

      Settling on loneliness as the most likely culprit, she murmured, “Do you really stay here alone all the time? You never go into Reno or one of the smaller towns?”

      “I go down the hill about once a month. To stock up mostly. And to remind myself there are other people in the world. I’m trying to get centered, but not self-centered, so socializing with strangers fits right in. And I haven’t completely cut myself off from friends and family. We keep in touch by e-mail. The problem with Kristie is, she doesn’t just want to keep in touch. She wants me to return to my old life.”

      Miranda smiled. “She thinks you’re lonely. If she knew you were socializing, especially with women, she might be less obsessed with rescuing you.” She grimaced then asked, “That’s what you meant by socializing, right? Women?”

      “Yeah,” he confirmed with a laugh. “That’s what I meant. But you’re the first woman I’ve had here at the cabin. And the only woman I’d want here.”

      Miranda eyed him coolly. “Did you say something about a bottle of water?”

      “Yeah,” he said, dropping the flirtation without protest. “One bottle of water, coming right up.”

      They sat under a pine tree, sipping water and munching on apple slices, while Ortega told her the story of his adventure in South America with Carerra and Kell. In some respects it tracked the information in the file almost word for word, but occasionally, she got a glimpse into the ordeal that no file could ever effectively convey.

      “The most important thing to remember about Jonathan Kell is that life dealt him a bizarre hand. A brilliant scientist who wouldn’t hurt a fly and only wanted to do good. Yet so plagued with fear—fear of virtually everything—that it paralyzed him socially and professionally. That allowed the drug company to take enormous advantage of him. To use his brilliance, but when Kell needed them to pay the ransom, they just cut him loose. His greatest fear—abandonment—was confirmed that day. Abandoned by his employer and associates. And also abandoned by his country.”

      “His country saved his life. You were CIA and you came through for him.”

      “Kell knew I was there on a completely different mission. He was grateful to me personally, but not to the U.S. It infuriated him on my behalf that they didn’t send someone to rescue me. I tried to explain to him that they couldn’t do that, since my op didn’t exist officially. I also told him they figured if I was still alive, I’d find a way to escape on my own.”

      “Small comfort when they’re torturing you daily.”

      “I was trained for that. Kell wasn’t.”

      “That’s one of my questions,” she admitted. “I get why they couldn’t break you. But why didn’t Kell—a civilian with phobias—just answer their questions?”

      “He did. They thought he was holding out on them, but he wasn’t. He tried to tell them about his research, but they were interested in something else that his company was rumored to be developing. Believe me, if he’d known about it, he would have given them every detail. But he says the rumors were just that. Rumors. Or maybe it was another company doing it. There were dozens of little research groups in the rain forest in those days, looking for million-dollar cures.”

      “Poor guy.”

      “They’d bring him back to the cage convulsing with fear. It was chilling. They used electrodes on him, and whips, but it didn’t take them long to realize all they had to do was come near him and his brain exploded with images ten times worse than anything they could imagine doing to him.”

      “Do you remember what the other project was? The one in the rumors?”

      Ortega nodded. “They called it Night Arrow. Something that made arrows fly straighter, according to Carerra’s men. Not a product you’d ever need,” he added admiringly.

      She smiled. “Not much call for that in modern warfare anyway, is there?”

      “Right. Unless they could apply it to bullets or torpedoes or whatever. It always sounded like a pipe dream to me. And to Kell. Benito Carerra claimed there were legends of warriors who anointed their arrows with certain magical potions that made them superior or invincible, but aside from the numerous poisons available down there, most potions were just religious concoctions designed to give confidence to the warrior and create fear in the enemy.”

      “So they kept torturing the poor guy.”

      “It was brutal. Carerra was such an asshole. I mean, torturing me was one thing. I came after him. But anyone could see Kell was harmless.”

      “You didn’t just come after him, you used his wife to do it.”

      “So he was the victim?” Ortega laughed. “I guess that makes sense from your point of view. You probably wanted to torture me yourself after what I did