And after a few minutes of trying to breathe underwater, all of a sudden it’s like I can draw in a breath for the first time when my thoughts line up together. “So this is part of it too, right? She’s really alive. The bombing wasn’t real either?” Even I find the hope lacing the incredulity in my tone pathetic, but I am holding on to threads here, and when that’s all you have, you don’t care how bad they cut you as your grip slips so long as you’re still holding them.
When I stare at Dane, I know my hope is fleeting, because his eyes well up with the tears that won’t come for me. He shakes his head slowly, sniffing his nose and clearing his throat. “I’m sorry… Goddamn it!” He pounds on the table and shoves up out of the chair he’s sitting in as he swallows back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I was supposed to be at the embassy with her, might have been able to save her,” he says, unable to look at me, “but I wasn’t slated to leave for a few days while I made sure her cover remained intact.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat, hating him for not being there to protect her once again, because if she was his partner, that was his job, and at the same time knowing that this is my anger speaking, because there’s no way to protect someone from a bomb blast you didn’t know was coming.
“I’m so confused,” I confess, using the wall for support because it’s taking everything I have to concentrate on his words and not on the pressure in my chest.
“Beaux wasn’t just a photographer. She was an agent sent to gather intel for the agency on the high-level meet. Her job was to document figures in the game, watch their comings and goings, where they met up, who they spoke to. Cause some confusion amongst some of the local contacts so that we could make sure to take the targets out without them knowing.”
“Omid.” His name falls from my lips as I recall the look on his face the first time he got a good look at Beaux.
“Yes, Omid,” Dane says. “He was sharing info with both sides. Beaux called me one night, afraid that he had recognized her when they came face-to-face in enemy territory when she was out gathering intel. She wasn’t sure if he had or not, but —”
Dots connect for me. Her phone call in the hallway that night and how upset she was. Was that all about Omid? “He sent me a text about not trusting her that made no sense at the time. I just thought it was because she was a woman.” All I can do is shake my head at all of this.
“She wasn’t sure.”
“The photos with odd time stamps, the late nights out by herself, the —”
“All missions to gather information and meet with sources,” he says as pieces start clicking into place. Now things make so much sense, and yet I feel so stupid for not putting them together sooner, but how could I? This is like a Tom Clancy novel. Who would think this shit exists even though I live in its world on a daily basis? “We cleared her room out of all of her info while you were on your way to Germany,” he explains as I just sit there and shake my head in disbelief.
“So her cover was blown?” I ask him, trying to draw connections that still aren’t clicking solidly into place.
“In more ways than one,” Dane says, and stares sternly at me in a way I can’t read. “She called me one night while you were filing your report and told me she broke her cover with you. I was so pissed at her, told her she was risking everything, including her life. It was so hard having her there with you when I couldn’t be there to protect her,” he says, and for a moment I sympathize with him because I know that exact feeling, have failed twice in fact in doing just that. “She said you guys were talking and she forgot for a moment where she was, what she was supposed to be doing, but that she told you about her parents, her past… Fuck man, that’s like rule number one, know your backstory like the back of your hand, and she completely disregarded it.”