The Ties That Bind. Cliff Ryder

out that he may have to die in order to achieve some level of success on this mission. As you said, he’s not stupid.”

      “And when he realizes that you’ve sent him on what could be nothing more than a quick trip to die?” she asked.

      “He’ll be cranky,” Denny said, smiling. “But he’ll also have to decide if there’s anything more important in his life than the mission—even something as petty as getting even with me. He’ll either die or come back a better agent for the experience. He might even come back with some actual feelings.”

      “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” she said. “But it still feels crappy.”

      He nodded. “Yes, it does,” he said. “But with another Cold War brewing and more international terrorism going on than we can even begin to keep track of, we need better agents than we’ve ever had—men and women who can find the balance between hopeless optimism and hope, who can think on their feet and decide what is more important to them—their lives or the world. We need agents who can make that choice confidently, Kate.”

      She thought for several long moments, then nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “The game is changing, I think, faster than many of us believed it would.”

      “It always does,” Denny said. “And if we don’t change with it, we won’t be anything more than dinosaurs waiting for a meteor strike.”

      “I’m not ready to be a fossil quite yet,” Kate said, laughing.

      “Nor am I,” Denny said, “despite how I look. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

      “Do that,” Kate said. Then she added, “And you look fine.” She cut the connection, her virtual avatar winking out of existence.

      Denny leaned back, then returned to the file folders on his desk. He’d already spoken to Tina Kanut and explained the situation. She was to play the native guide and nothing else. Her only job was to keep an eye on Jason and if things began to go wrong, she could step in, identify herself and lend a hand.

      Sadly, there was more going on in Room 59 than this one mission, and his attention was needed elsewhere. Win or lose, succeed or fail, there were always threats to be addressed. The threats, Denny thought, never stop. He hoped he was doing the right thing where Siku was concerned, but his agents needed to be human, as much as they needed to be effective. Too much of what Room 59 did involved making human decisions. It wasn’t all about killing. Sometimes, it was about choosing the lives of others over your own.

      And sometimes, it was just the opposite.

      3

      The flights from Minneapolis to Seattle and on to Anchorage were uneventful, and Jason spent his time mentally reviewing the specifics of the mission, memorizing his cover story and trying to determine the best way to address the challenges of trying to find a submarine in the icy waters of the Bering Strait. Of course, finding it wasn’t the only problem, though that one was a significant challenge in and of itself.

      But the biggest problem would be getting to the sub, getting on board and getting out again without being seen or captured. Even the largest submarines in the world had very limited amounts of space, and the entire crew would know one another on sight. The likelihood of capture or death was quite a bit higher than usual, and being sent on what could be either a wild-goose chase or a death sentence didn’t improve his mood very much. Denny had to have known this was not a simple mission, possibly even a suicide mission, and Jason intended to have some serious words with him when he returned—assuming, of course, that he survived at all.

      As the plane began its descent into Anchorage, Jason thought about the fact that this wasn’t going to be his usual kind of operation. He enjoyed missions where planning was almost as important as execution. The proper plans almost always led to the successful completion of an op, and in his experience, failure was usually the result of poor planning. The problem here was that no plan could possibly address all—or even most—of the likely challenges. In other words, he was going to have to wing it. It was an uncomfortable sensation for him at best.

      Still, he suspected that these kinds of missions were among the reasons that Room 59 existed in the first place. During his training period, his final test—what they called a mission assessment—was the elimination of a well-protected foreign dignitary who’d been selling state secrets on the black market. It had been an unfortunate situation all the way around. The man had a history of excellent public service to his own country and had built a network of friends within the U.S. government, as well. But he also had a gambling problem that led to a massive debt load. He turned to the only resource he had—selling secrets to both sides and funneling the profits to pay off his debts. Still, the man had a wife, two kids, a family…and he had to die. It wasn’t a situation where a slap on the wrist would do the job. His removal had to be quick and quiet.

      After reviewing the mission parameters, Jason had flown to Washington, D.C., and attended a party where the man was a guest. He’d slipped through the crowd in a waiter’s uniform and removed him with a poisoned appetizer. By all appearances, the man had had a massive heart attack and was dead long before the paramedics could arrive. It was an unfortunate end to what had been a successful career, and his family would suffer grief. Still, Jason didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t hesitate. His trainers were very pleased, and even Denny had congratulated him on doing a difficult mission without letting it get personal.

      “Why would it have gotten personal?” Jason had asked.

      “Targets are still people,” Denny had said. “The man had a family and was well respected.”

      “It wasn’t personal to me,” Jason had said. “He needed to be killed. That simple.”

      Denny had stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “You’ll find, I think, that many of our missions aren’t so simple, as you put it. Sooner or later, you’ll run into something that makes it personal.”

      Jason smiled grimly. “Nothing in our line of work, not even death, is personal. What we do is simple because it’s necessary. There’s no need to muck things up with feelings.”

      For some reason, remembering that briefing now, Jason thought that perhaps Denny had been right. Sometimes the work could get personal. Even being this close to where his family had come from, where they might still be, made him edgy. He turned his mind back to his work.

      Other than his cover story as part of a geological-survey team, Jason didn’t see a need to be overly creative with this mission. His real name would work fine and might even be helpful with some of the native people. After the plane touched down, Jason grabbed his laptop case from beneath the seat in front of him and made his way through the terminal to claim his baggage.

      Denny had arranged a guide who was familiar with the coastline and knew the native population well. Jason grabbed his bags from the carousel and took a cab to his hotel. He’d chosen the Anchorage Grand Hotel for its central downtown location since he wasn’t sure how his guide would suggest they travel up to the strait.

      He arrived at the hotel, and was pleased to find a message waiting for him from the local guide. His briefing materials indicated that she worked with a travel agency and came highly recommended. Jason checked in and used his cell phone to call her. He suggested they meet for dinner to discuss his needs and her ideas. She sounded bright and ready to work, and if nothing else, having someone along who knew the area well would be a good thing.

      He took a brief nap, then headed down to the dining room to wait for Tina Kanut. When she stepped into the restaurant, Jason did a quick double take. For some reason, he’d expected her to look more like the native guides he’d used for missions in the Middle East or in Africa—weathered, worn and hardened by the conditions of their lifestyle.

      In person, Tina looked younger than her picture, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, with the dark hair and eyes of her native Inuit people. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The photo Denny had shown him didn’t do her justice. She moved with the kind of grace usually reserved