through this crisis in Michael’s stead, playing the protective brother role that he’d never officially have with her.
“Jon,” Mara said, loosening her grip on Jon and looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “How are you doing?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. I think I’m just on automatic right now. The shock stage of grief or whatever.”
“You mean ‘denial’?”
“Yeah, that one.” Jon took a deep breath. “What about you?”
Her face tensed up like she was fighting back a flood of tears. He pulled her into a tight embrace, trying – unsuccessfully – to hug the tears away.
She sighed as she buried her face into his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Jon felt the wetness of her tears begin to soak through her shirt. “I’m glad you‘re here, too. I’m still reeling. God knows I would have probably forgotten how to hail a cab.”
Mara let out a little grunt of a laugh, her head still resting on Jon’s chest. They stood in silence, immune to the hustle and bustle of commuters around them.
Jon sighed, the movement in his chest spurring Mara to lift her head.
“So what now?” she asked.
“I’m famished. What time is it here anyway?”
“A little past nine.”
“You eaten yet? I could really go for some breakfast. My treat.”
“Not much of an appetite yet, I’m afraid,” she said, sniffling. “But okay.” Then she glanced at the bags to his sides. “Where are you staying?”
“I was gonna get a hotel. Somewhere over near Foggy Bottom.”
“No, you’re not. Come stay with me. My roomie’s gone to Florida with her boyfriend for the week. I... I could use the company.”
He sighed. “Alright. Thanks.”
“So, my place, then breakfast?” Mara asked as she grabbed his carry-on for him.
“Sounds like a plan,” Jon nodded thoughtfully, though a real plan for where to go from here was nowhere in sight. But, he reflected, even though his life may have been in turmoil, he at least had some solid company along for the ride.
Chapter 6
Langley, Virginia
In a small corner of land officially allotted by the federal government to the CIA, the headquarters of the Division sat unassumingly, just another building lost in a much larger complex. The concrete-and-mirrored-glass facade bore no sign or other indication as to what the building housed, as even the privileged few who were granted free reign to explore the campus of the CIA’s headquarters were not allowed inside the building. Fewer than a dozen people in the entire country, not including Division operatives and staff, knew of the organization’s existence or purpose. The clearance required even to set foot inside the building was exclusive to those specifically granted license by the Division’s director.
Exiting from his black Mercedes sedan, a well-built Latino man, clad in a black double-breasted suit and sporting wraparound sunglasses, his dark hair shining in the sunlight, headed toward the small, two-story building. Though his head remained set on his shoulders, facing forward as he walked at a brisk pace toward his destination, his eyes swept from side to side beneath his dark sunglasses, scanning his surroundings as he always did. No matter where he was, no matter what he was doing. Being a field agent with the Division, Enrique Ramirez had found, was more than just a job; it consumed your whole life. Which, he realized, was fitting considering how the Division quite literally had taken his old life, as fire consumes the phoenix, and rebirthed him from the smoldering ashes of his staged death.
He climbed the half-dozen stairs to the front doors of Division HQ, his sweeping eyes noting the chewing gum stuck underneath the left-hand rail, and ticking off another day in his mind that maintenance had neglected to clean it off. Enrique was glad the maintenance guys weren’t responsible for the more important parts of the operation. As it was, the Division’s fate, and thus the fate of the nation, was in much
“Jon,” Mara said, loosening her grip on Jon and looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “How are you doing?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. I think I’m just on automatic right now. The shock stage of grief or whatever.”
“You mean ‘denial’?”
“Yeah, that one.” Jon took a deep breath. “What about you?”
Her face tensed up like she was fighting back a flood of tears. He pulled her into a tight embrace, trying – unsuccessfully – to hug the tears away.
She sighed as she buried her face into his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Jon felt the wetness of her tears begin to soak through her shirt. “I’m glad you‘re here, too. I’m still reeling. God knows I would have probably forgotten how to hail a cab.”
Mara let out a little grunt of a laugh, her head still resting on Jon’s chest. They stood in silence, immune to the hustle and bustle of commuters around them.
Jon sighed, the movement in his chest spurring Mara to lift her head.
“So what now?” she asked.
“I’m famished. What time is it here anyway?”
“A little past nine.”
“You eaten yet? I could really go for some breakfast. My treat.”
“Not much of an appetite yet, I’m afraid,” she said, sniffling. “But okay.” Then she glanced at the bags to his sides. “Where are you staying?”
“I was gonna get a hotel. Somewhere over near Foggy Bottom.”
“No, you’re not. Come stay with me. My roomie’s gone to Florida with her boyfriend for the week. I... I could use the company.”
He sighed. “Alright. Thanks.”
“So, my place, then breakfast?” Mara asked as she grabbed his carry-on for him.
“Sounds like a plan,” Jon nodded thoughtfully, though a real plan for where to go from here was nowhere in sight. But, he reflected, even though his life may have been in turmoil, he at least had some solid company along for the ride.
Chapter 6
Langley, Virginia
In a small corner of land officially allotted by the federal government to the CIA, the headquarters of the Division sat unassumingly, just another building lost in a much larger complex. The concrete-and-mirrored-glass facade bore no sign or other indication as to what the building housed, as even the privileged few who were granted free reign to explore the campus of the CIA’s headquarters were not allowed inside the building. Fewer than a dozen people in the entire country, not including Division operatives and staff, knew of the organization’s existence or purpose. The clearance required even to set foot inside the building was exclusive to those specifically granted license by the Division’s director.
Exiting from his black Mercedes sedan, a well-built Latino man, clad in a black double-breasted suit and sporting wraparound sunglasses, his dark hair shining in the sunlight, headed toward the small, two-story building. Though his head remained set on his shoulders, facing forward as he walked at a brisk pace toward his destination, his eyes swept from side to side beneath his dark sunglasses, scanning his surroundings as he always did. No matter where he was, no matter what he was doing. Being a field agent with the Division, Enrique Ramirez had found, was more than just a job; it consumed your whole life. Which, he realized, was fitting considering how the Division quite literally had taken his old life, as fire consumes the phoenix, and rebirthed him from the smoldering ashes of his staged death.
He climbed the half-dozen stairs to the front doors of Division HQ, his sweeping eyes noting the chewing gum stuck underneath the left-hand rail, and ticking off another day in his mind that maintenance had neglected to clean it off. Enrique was glad the maintenance guys weren’t responsible for the more important parts of the operation. As it was, the Division’s fate, and thus the fate of the nation, was in much
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