Chapter 109

**Emilia POV**

“Insertion was a success?”
“Slick like butter,” replies the automated voice of the text-to speech AI program that Calum set up before his surrender. A way for him and to maintain covert communication whilst he’s within enemy lines.
“Almost too well. Assimilation was more difficult than I thought.”
I continue dressing with the laptop perched on the desk.
“I know you felt some type of way about how she sprung this on you. Tactically, it’s a good plan.”
“A plan that keeps us apart is never a good plan.”
A fresh flush stings my cheeks. “I know, but I don’t know Hadassah as intimately as you, but I trust in her skills. She knows how to get the job done, even if the methods are a bit scrupulous.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
I pause, moving my hair so the front laps over to one side. “What do you mean? You question her methods?”
“And that translated in our most recent conversation… argument.”
“How so?”
A silent moment of rendering before the voice trickles back in.
“It brought up feelings that I thought I had gotten over.”
“You snapped at her something?”
After a long pause, the voice speaks up again, “Something like that. Hadassah, she’s a hunter, she goes for the kill every time. Instincts you can’t teach but were honed by her upbringing and what she went through that thrusted her towards this line of work. Those unresolved issues… these cases are her coping mechanisms.”
I shrug on a black jacket, nodding understandingly. “I read her file. I know about her dad. And about Markov.”
“And after that, every criminal like him was him. It’s why she just locks in with every target. And why Orian Moon being so elusive haunted her. He was untouchable, and that frustration and sense of helplessness reminded her of that time when she lost her dad because of a man like him. It’s why I don’t hate her—*I could never.* I just wish she had healthier outlets. I’m more mad because these suppressed traumas have thrown her into danger. And she’s running out of lives.”
I exhale, looking up thoughtfully. “I’m not the best person to give advice about repressed traumas. I have my own demons that I’ve been fighting with, and grief and guilt are my biggest ones. So on some wavelength, I get her. Look, we just need to focus on getting through this alive and we can talk about group therapy after.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” says the robotic voice with unnatural pauses that makes it even funnier. “What are you planning on doing?”
“Meeting my former handler from my agency.”
“Won’t they just turn you over to the CIA?”
“After what I did, it’s quite possible but in a war, you need allies and we just have a lot of enemies. I have to take the risk.”
“You don’t have any back-up.”
“Never needed it. What about you? You have a lead on the master key that Torin has in his possession?”
“I think I might have a way to track him. To explain it without cyber terminology, he obviously changed his information, like turning off the GPS but still having the same vehicle with the same VIN number. That make sense?”
“Car talk, yeah that was so clear,” I say back sarcastically. “I gotta go. Keep me updated.”
I lean over to shut off the program.
“Wait, I need to know one thing.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’d prefer you on all knees.”
My hand hovers above the keyboard with a jaded expression. “What do you want to know, Mr Taylor?”
“What kind of panties you wearing?”
I terminate the call with a goofy smile.
I leave the underground room, climbing up the ladder to screw open the hatch as I clamber out and seal it back close. I use my boot to shove a random box over the entrance. And I leave the backroom to enter the dimly lit bar populated with early drinkers, some spending their lunch time, still dressed in dull suits or super-tight pencil skirts. The bartender, Arlo, a contact of mine, catches sight of me. He clasps the arm of his colleague, signaling for him to take over before he makes his way to me.
My burner phone buzzes, and I flick it out to check the single address sent to me.
Out of nowhere, a random man wearing suspenders approaches me.
“You look like you need a drink.”
“It will just end up in your face.”
Arlo laughs as he comes closer. “Piss off, Oscar. She's way out of your league.”
He chaffs angrily and walks off, so then Arlo stands in front of me.
“Rent due, baby girl.”
A frown strikes my forehead. “We paid like seven months in advance.”
“This is prison tax like I could go to prison for aiding and embedding a wanted fugitive. The authorities are turning up the heat with patrol cars tightening the search grid, warding off my…special clientele.”
“Fair enough. We can even add interest to the rate as a personal thank you for your selfless service.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Just doing my civic duty for my fellow criminals.”
I raise a warning finger. “Watch your mouth.”
His hands fly to his shoulder in mock surrender. “You know, the first time we met, and you arrested me, flipping me to be your informant. I never thought you would be on the other side of the barrel.”
I shoulder past him. “Well, that’s life.” I spin back around with a sudden thought. “If it’s true, and the cops are scrutinizing this area—we may need to make an early relocation.”
“Being on the move is a good move for wanted fugitives,” he whispers back irksomely.
***
The address sent to me leads me to a random sidewalk. A normal busy city street with cars flitting past and people meandering by. My neck is on a swivel, my eyes darting to every face in my field of vision—anyone that looks at me for too long. Any vehicle that’s idling strangely. I’m way too exposed out in the open like this. And they're already several minutes late and that is a tardiness that someone like me can’t afford to risk. Just as I’m about to leave, a news cable van swerves sharply into the parking spot in front of me on the curb. I nearly break into a sprint until the van door slides open.
“Ready for your exclusive?”
“You’re an asshole.”
William lends out his and I grab it before he pulls me in and Sophia, his partner, shuts the door closed. Aside from the integrated tables cluttered with various pieces of surveillance equipment. I crouch over and hobble to the bench and the working pair sits opposite me as William pounds his fist on the metal surface and the driver takes the cue to drive onwards, initiating our mobile meet.