Black Duty

By Jade Hannah

In this heart pounding thriller set in the year leading up to 9/11, James Grant is on the front lines of counterterrorism.

James Grant has no one. The way he likes it. As part of a special forces group inside the CIA, all he needs is a gun silencer and a green light. Coming home never bothered him.

But when Grant is assigned to a domestic intelligence mission, he meets a whole new set of challenges. Fellow officer, Jia Page, suddenly has him questioning everything. Is she the one to pull him out of the dark cycle?

When the mission moves from the desk to the field, Grant has to make a decision. Who knows if he’s coming home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798369494172

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Copyright © 2024 by Jade Hannah.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/08/2024

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1   The Debrief

Chapter 2   New Year’s Eve

Chapter 3   Jester On The Move

Chapter 4   The Summit

Chapter 5   Foxtrot Down

Chapter 6   The Clerk

Chapter 7   A Rosebud

Chapter 8   A Brittle Surface

Chapter 9   The Safehouse

Chapter 10  M.I.A.

Chapter 11  October

Chapter 12  Sleight Of Hand

Chapter 13  The Fallout

Chapter 14  A Familiar Comfort

Chapter 15  The Chill

Chapter 16  The Breaking Point

Chapter 17  Confrontation

Chapter 18  Dissonance

Chapter 19  The Open Window

Chapter 20  A Clandestine Liaison

Chapter 21  The Trail

Chapter 22  Juxtaposed

Chapter 23  Driver’s Seat

Chapter 24  Catch-22

Chapter 25  The Border

Chapter 26  The Proposition

Chapter 27  The Silence

Chapter 28  The Box

Chapter 29  The Kick

Chapter 30  New Normal

Chapter 31  Second Agenda

Chapter 32  The Cycle

Chapter 33  Blanks

Chapter 34  The Watchlist

Chapter 35  The Timeline

Chapter 36  The Darkness

Epilogue

About The Author

PROLOGUE

B etty’s diner was never this quiet on Sundays. Standing out front, James pulled out a smoke pack from his jeans pocket. He slid a cigarette through his fingers and lit it with his other hand. He leaned back against the jagged bricks and closed his eyes.

Spare me a smoke? A kid around James’ age tapped him on the shoulder. James’ eyes snapped open; he sized up the kid and said dismissively, Get your own.

The kid was taken aback and quickly became aggressive. Oh yeah? My guys got a bet that I can’t beat your ass. I got a bet that I can. The kid’s face contorted with anger.

Look, I don’t wanna fight. Just get outta here. James shook his head.

Course you don’t wanna fight. You’re that runaway kid. All you do is run away. You’re too scared to fight. The kid taunted.

Not scared, just not stupid, James replied dryly.

The kid stared at him for a moment before he threw a punch to James’ left cheekbone. James dropped his cigarette and ducked the kid’s second punch and kneed him in the gut, hard. The kid fell to the ground.

Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on out here? A middle-aged man approached them, with a stern look on his face, Break it up, will ya? Geez. He shook his head, grabbing the arm of the squirming kid on the ground, yanking him to his feet. Scram, the man said to the kid. As the kid ran off, the man turned to James. What’s your name, son?

James frowned. Tom, he said. He often gave people a different name when he didn’t trust them. It wasn’t far from the truth, though. His middle name was Thomas, and he’d often gone by Tom or Tommy as he hopped through foster homes.

The man’s face cracked into a slight smile. No, it’s not, he said. Don’t lie to me, kid. I know when someone’s lying. It’s my job.

James said nothing. The man finally shrugged and gave up. Okay, Tom, are you hungry? Come on in, I’ll get you something to eat.

James shook his head, knowing better than to follow strange people into places. I’m good, he said.

The man insisted, You look starved. At least have a coffee.

James narrowed his eyes curiously. There was something about this man that separated him from other strangers. The way his speech ran off his tongue in a gravelly drawl struck a nerve with James. This man held himself with sophistication. A charming finesse. His plain button-up shirt was covered in a suit jacket, and his hair was combed back neatly. His long face ended in a chin beard, a handful of grey hairs sticking out amongst the prickly chestnut fur. He was a man of authority, James sensed that much. But not threatening—a dynamic unfamiliar to James. Authoritative, but not threatening. It was strange.

Intrigued, James followed the man into the diner, and they sat in a window booth.

What’s your story, Tom? Do you live around here? The man stirred his coffee.

I don’t really live anywhere, James replied, shrugging. The man looked up with a quizzical face, urging James to continue.

James obliged. My current fosters live down the street. So, I guess I live there, he said, bluntly.

The man went on to ask more, What school do you go to?

None, I dropped out, James replied, as though they were batting a ball back and forth.

Didn’t like studying?

Didn’t like the people.

You get into fights often?

Only for a good reason.

What would you say is a good reason?

"What would you say is a good reason?" James challenged him.

The man narrowed his eyes briefly as if he was piecing James together with each bit of information obtained—a thin, intrigued smile never leaving his face.

There are a lot of good reasons. That guy back there, he looked like an asshole. I’d say that’s a good reason, the man replied.

James hid his surprise with a blank stare as a waitress put his burger on the table in front of him.

Do you know what I do, Tom? the man asked.

James thought for a moment, Yeah, you said you catch liars or something.

The man shook his head with an amused smile. That’s one very small part of it. What I do is something I would like you to be a part of. But you must accept my offer wholly before I can tell you.

James frowned. Why would you want me to be a part of it?

You have a very specific set of skills, Tom. Useful skills. I have heard a lot of things about you. I was curious to see if they were true, so I came to this diner today.

James sat up straighter. Who the hell are you? he said defensively, in a tone of voice he’d used for his entire life.

The corner of the man’s mouth turned up. I’m Don Roy, and when you finish that, come with me and I’ll show you what it is I do.

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1

THE DEBRIEF

DECEMBER 29, 1999

J ames Grant walked into a room he’d been in many times before. Sliding his shoes over the ridged carpet, he assessed the area for familiar faces. His boss and director of the CIA, George Nette, had summoned him, along with a handful of other officers, to an urgent mee ting.

Almost immediately upon entering the room, Grant noticed he was the only officer from his sector present, which wasn’t totally surprising given the esoteric nature of the black operations sector. Grant had worked for the black operations sector of the CIA under Don Roy for seven years now. The position was not for the faint-hearted, and Grant was routinely assigned to dangerous missions with high-level targets. He either operated alone—which he preferred—or with ‘The Team’, a nickname for the top few Special Forces officers in the agency, and Don’s favourite door to knock on come a tough mission. Grant was the best at what he did. That didn’t go unnoticed, especially by George Nette, who’d always been envious that Grant had chosen the covert operations route rather than being able to utilise his skill set for ordinary intelligence work.

Grant took his seat on a wooden chair, just like everyone else in the room. He sat up straight when Nette walked in and switched on the projector at the front of the room.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed your Christmas. Now you’ll enjoy coming back to work after a nice break, said Nette.

Grant hadn’t taken a break. Most of the officers had spent time with their kids or travelled to their parents’ houses for Christmas. Grant didn’t have any family. He’d worked throughout Christmas, as per usual.

I’ve gathered you all here to discuss an urgent matter. Nette opened a laptop, and a picture showed up on the projector. It was a man, clearly Middle Eastern, captured on what looked like a security camera.

This,—Nette pointed to the man’s face—Is Usman Abdallah. Most of you will recognise him from your case studies as one of the leaders and founders of the terrorist organisation, Al-Qaeda.

Grant frowned as he curiously looked closer at the face on the projection. He had seen this man before, but he couldn’t pinpoint where.

Nette continued, Th—

The door opened, interrupting him. All heads, including Grant’s, turned to the back of the room, where a young woman—slightly flustered—entered.

Her dark hair bouncing along halfway down her back behind her, she grimaced. I’m so sorry I’m late, she said, slipping into a seat near the back of the room next to a lanky looking guy with glasses.

Grant took a moment to gather his thoughts, finding his brain momentarily fogged over. His frown lifted slightly, and he folded his arms against his chest.

Don’t let it happen again. Nette gave the girl a stern but reasonable look. She nodded grimly and put her bag down in front of her, the blazer on her shoulders looking uncomfortably tight as she tried to catch her breath.

When she raised her head, her gaze met Grant’s for a split second. There was an entrancing quality about her eyes, mirroring the shade of a hazelnut’s skin, pupils wide with curiosity.

Grant quickly drew his own eyes away and turned back around, shaking the thought from his mind as the debrief continued.

We have reason to believe Abdallah is planning to attack American interest. Possibly even our land, said Nette, with no trace of his usual smile beneath the black stubble on the chin he rarely had time to shave.

Grant let his thoughts wander around the possible targets. Al-Qaeda was infamous for the mass murders of innocent civilians. There was always terrorism and conflict somewhere in the world. This particular threat had to be significant for Nette to give a full debriefing on it himself.

The operation will be led by Bill Griffiths and will commence immediately following this meeting’s conclusion. We are following these two targets, who have been identified by Saudi intelligence during a meeting in Riyadh, Nette flicked to another slide, and two faces appeared. Nette pointed to the first face. This is Nabeel al-Hashim. He is a close friend and a known associate of Abdallah. Twenty-three years old, born in Saudi Arabia. Nette stepped to the other side of the projected picture and pointed to the other face. This is his younger brother, Salim, also born in Saudi Arabia.

He turned the projector off and stepped forward. The NSA has just informed us that there is to be a meeting in Malaysia about possible attack plans. Nabeel and Salim are both expected to be present, Nette told his officers.

We need to find out when this meeting is happening and locate its whereabouts, so we have eyes and ears on the whole thing.

Nette had assigned the operation to a room on the ground floor. Grant quickly got to arranging the two suspects on one of the pinboards, writing their names on their respective photographs. Underneath that was all the information the CIA currently had on the two men, which wasn’t much. Grant put his hands on his hips and took a step back to scan the board.

James Grant? A low, husky voice came from behind. Grant turned his head to see a man he recognised as Bill Griffiths. Mousy brown hair, flopping over his head with streaks of grey running through it, indicating his age of at least fifty. Bill smiled, wrinkling the skin beneath his warm brown eyes. Grant matched Bill’s friendly smile and stuck out his hand. Mr. Griffiths, sir, Grant said with a nod as they shook hands. Bill shook his head. Please, call me Bill, he said politely.

Bill stepped closer to the board and pinned up a third suspect beside the al-Hashim brothers. This name read ‘Kadar al-Marwan’. Bill glanced at Grant’s narrowed gaze knowingly. The request to surveil Marwan has been denied. They refused to put him on the watchlist. I know he’s an essential part of this attack plan.

Refused? Grant was puzzled. If he’s a known associate…

Bill shook his head like he’d asked that question one too many times himself. Fuck if I know, Bill said, moving his hands to his hips. Shit like this keeps us two steps behind, and we can’t afford to be behind. Not with this kinda threat.

Grant nodded. So Nette doesn’t know?

Bill shook his head again. No. I’d like to keep it that way. Word on Marwan doesn’t leave this room, understood?

Grant answered with a silent, single nod.

A tall man appeared at Bill’s side. Sir, when will we be needing surveillance? the man asked casually.

James, this is Lenny Harmon, said Bill. Lenny was lanky and pale, and his shirt was wrinkled and half untucked. He struck Grant as the kind of guy whose work came before anything else. Similar to Grant.

Lenny gave Grant a polite nod and stretched out his hand. Grant quickly shook Lenny’s hand before he returned his gaze to Bill.

Immediately, Bill said, before walking off towards a younger-looking guy sitting at a computer with a troubled look on his face. What is it, Scott? Bill asked as he walked away. Lenny followed soon after Bill.

Grant turned back to the board. Suddenly, a second pair of hands reached toward the board and pinned a list of addresses underneath Marwan’s name. Grant turned to look at the person; it appeared to be the young woman who was late to the debriefing. She was slightly more put together now, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, sleeves rolled up over her wrists. Grant had noticed her bitten fingernails as she had reached up to the pinboard, another thing that made him curious about her.

James Grant. Grant stuck out his hand for the young woman to shake.

She smiled warmly and took it in hers. Jia Page. Nice to meet you, James. She turned back and frowned at the board. Why don’t we have any more info than this? she said as if thinking aloud. I thought we at least had a date of birth for Nabeel.

Grant peered closer at the board and noticed that they had no birth dates up there. That photo had to have come from a passport. Maybe you oughta check the file again, Grant said, shrugging.

Jia turned to him. Are you one of the analysts? she asked.

Apparently, Grant replied.

Apparently? she repeated, with an unconvinced look on her face. Grant gave her a slightly condescending smile, harmlessly teasing, and then went back over to the files on the other side of the room.

After searching through the papers for two minutes, Grant found a copy of the photo they had of Nabeel. He noticed a faded date of birth printed in the corner, which had clearly been cut off.

He walked back over to the board and wrote, ‘8/9/76’.

Now we just need one for the other two, Grant said to Jia, who looked at him with folded arms. She nodded in agreement.

Surveillance is up and running. We have eyes on Marwan right now. He’s in his home in Yemen, said the guy Bill had called Scott.

Do we have audio? Grant asked.

Not yet, said Lenny, before turning to Scott on his right. Scott, we got audio?

Coming, just give me a sec, Scott replied.

Grant glued his eyes to the screen. Kadar al-Marwan appeared to be sitting down to dinner with his wife and three children. The audio came on, and Marwan was speaking in Arabic to his children.

We got a translator in here? Grant asked Lenny.

We got two, though one’s currently in the field. Lenny wheeled back his chair. Karima, over here. He waved one of the other officers over.

Karima had long, wavy, dark hair that fell over the shoulder of her blazer in a braid. She picked up an earpiece and squinted for concentration. Lenny and Grant turned their attention to her.

Marwan says, ‘Son, how was your day at school?’ Karima translated, The son replied, ‘It was good, father, we learned the alphabet like you said we would.’

Alright, it’s just dinner conversation. Just listen for now, try to pick up anything other than small talk, Grant said with a nod.

He turned around to see Jia giving him a strange look. I thought you said you were an analyst, she said.

No, you said that, he said facetiously, before walking past her back towards the board.

Lenny? Grant called out from the board. Do we have a name for the wife yet?

Negative. None for the kids yet either, Lenny replied.

Could we put her through facial recognition, please? Bill added, walking through the room.

On it, Scott said.

As Bill walked past the board, he tapped Grant on the shoulder. Good work, James. Then Bill went over to Jia, and they started talking in hushed voices.

Later that afternoon, Bill gathered everyone to dismiss them. Good work today. We’re on the track to something big here, I know it, he said. James, Lenny, you’ll take the first night shift. The rest of you, I’ll see you in the morning.

Apologies, sir. Wife needs me home tonight, Lenny said, packing his stuff up. Jia put down the bag she had recently slung over her shoulder. I’ll stay, she volunteered.

Done, Bill said. See you both in the morning. His eyes darted between Jia and Grant, who briefly exchanged a glance.

Grant settled in front of the monitors, digging into a box of takeout he’d had left over from lunch. Scott had cleverly programmed English subtitles onto the screen, so neither Karima nor Samir, the other translator, needed to constantly be present. Marwan seemed to know no English whatsoever, or at least had no current use for it.

Jia sat down on the desk chair beside Grant and sighed, pulling half a sandwich out of her bag. Grant turned back towards the monitor, and they both sat eating in silence. The whole Marwan family was sleeping.

Grant found his sudden occupational change of pace intriguing. It had been quite some time since he’d kicked back in a desk chair for a night shift. He was used to having his knees in the dirt, rifle on his shoulder, ready to pop the first thing that moved out in the desert.

So, Jia piped up, eating just as hungrily as Grant. If you’re not an analyst, what are you doing here? she pressed.

Grant raised his eyebrows. All hands on deck, I guess. They told me they needed someone from the black ops sector, so here I am, he said, plainly.

Jia frowned. You’re one of Don Roy’s guys?

Grant, evading the question, gave Jia only a smile in response. He figured this would tick her off.

She rolled her eyes. You’re really something, you know that?

Jia looked down, balling up her now empty sandwich bag, attempting to stifle a smile. Anyway, I’m gonna go over these files again, you have fun watching Marwan lie horizontally. She got up, moving to a nearby desk, covered in piles of paperwork.

Grant shoved more food into his mouth and sat back in his chair, content.

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The following morning, Grant and Jia were relieved around 6am. Lenny strolled in whistling, much to Grant and Jia’s annoyance.

Lenny, I don’t even tolerate show tunes when I’ve slept, Jia said, promptly cutting off the whistling.

Each to his own. Lenny shrugged. I wonder if Marwan is a fan. He sat down, with a facetious smile as he fixed his headset on.

Jia shook her head. I’m not waiting to find out, she said, gathering up papers into her bag. Grant picked up his jacket off the back of a chair and threw it on, picking up his own shoulder bag.

Don’t forget about the meeting at noon, Lenny said to Jia as she and Grant exited.

Shit. Thanks for the reminder, Jia called out behind her as she passed through the doorway.

We have a meeting at noon? Jia asked Grant when the door had shut.

Grant shrugged. News to me.

Brilliant, Jia said, sarcastically.

Grant nodded as they headed for the glass doors. See you at noon.

Jia shot him a smile as they parted ways, heading for their cars.

The meeting was about a man called Hiram, Marwan’s father-in-law, who was possibly giving them a meeting place in Malaysia for an attack plan.

Party just got one bigger, get to work, Bill had announced once he’d gathered everyone together.

Afterward, Grant walked over to Jia, who was standing back, taking in the entire pinboard.

He stood with folded arms, watching as she ruminated over something.

Seems like this thing is a family get-together, she remarked after a moment.

Bit more elaborate than a picnic, Grant added.

Jia breathed a laugh before shaking her head. We should check over the dialogue. See if there’s any travel plans.

Grant nodded and crossed the room to print the translated script from the surveillance.

Together, they went through the dialogue, sharing half the pile of pages each. Yemen was commonly mentioned, whether in the context of interest or not, and Jia and Grant proceeded to highlight any times Yemen had been mentioned by Marwan in past instances as well.

As they were finishing up that evening, Grant’s second phone rang. Only Team members called him on this phone, so he stepped outside to take the call.

James, Don Roy’s familiar voice rasped on the other end. I’m glad I caught you. The flight’s a man short, I need you tonight. We’ve located some known associates of Fazul Mohammed involved in last year’s embassy attack in Nairobi.

Grant frowned. He was needed at Langley too, but he’d never said no to Don before.

Nette’s got me involved in an operation at Langley, Grant informed Don.

I remember. Since when does that come before the Team? Don asked, sharply.

It doesn’t, but it’s all hands on deck, Grant said, scratching the back of his head.

Must be important, Don said, struggling to take the inclined ‘no’.

We’re onto something. I might be needed in the field here, Grant said with hesitation. The only person he ever hesitated in responding to was Don. However tough and immovable Grant’s demeanour was, Don’s was more so and had been ever since Grant had known him. Sometimes, Grant still felt like a reckless street kid talking to him.

If this hadn’t have come straight from the top, you’d be on that plane tonight. Let this be the last time, Don said sternly over the line.

Will do, Grant said, before hanging up.

The truth was, Grant wasn’t sure how long it would be until the operation moved out into the field. He had found himself enjoying being behind a desk for once, not being shot at. While he loved the covert operations, it had been wearing him down lately and it was nice to have a break. He hadn’t realised it until now. Not until Don’s demanding tone came through the phone speaker.

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Grant got home shortly after 9pm. An early finish, something he wasn’t used to. He walked inside his empty apartment, throwing his keys onto the small, bare table in the dining area.

Pulling out a frozen meal, he grunted as he tossed it in the microwave, envying the days when he had the time and resources to cook an actual meal.

Having not slept since the morning before wasn’t new for Grant. His endurance on lack of sleep was remarkable. As long as he kept up the momentum, he could go for days at a time, a week even. He’d been forced to on missions before, and his relationship with sleep was a strained one to begin with.

Since Somalia, Grant hadn’t quite settled into a deep sleep. He was always one level from consciousness, alertness, ready to stand up and run with a second’s notice.

It didn’t bother him too much. He kept busy and pushed the thought from his mind. The nightmares weren’t so frequent now if he ever slept long enough to actually dream.

He choked down the unevenly heated casserole, sitting in front of his computer screen, scrolling through as much content as he could find on Marwan and Nabeel—the eldest Hashim brother—which wasn’t very much.

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2

NEW YEAR’S EVE

J ia was exhausted. Stumbling through the door at 10pm, she threw her clothes in a heap on the floor and fell into bed with a groan. She always put her entire energy into her work, at the cost of usually having nothing left after a long shift. She hadn’t slept in two ni ghts.

She’d been on her way to have a nap before the meeting earlier that morning when Andy’s car had broken down. Sometimes she felt more like his mother than his girlfriend.

Countless times she had told to sell that damn car, knowing it would only break down again and cost him more money that he didn’t have. She knew it would end up being a case of him ‘borrowing’ money from her to fix it. She guessed that was just what you did for the people you loved.

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Early Friday morning, Jia drove up to Bethesda to visit her brother Wen. She would have to be at work until late that night and thought it better to deliver the news that she couldn’t attend his fiancée’s New Year’s Eve party in person.

Parking her Volvo in the driveway, Jia walked up the stone steps to the front porch of Wen’s newly bought home. Wen and his fiancée, Macy, had picked a three-bedroom house with a white picket fence. They planned to start a family as soon as possible. It made Jia feel strange to think that they were only twenty-five, two years her senior. She still felt so young. Kids weren’t even in the picture yet, though she would love to have them in the future.

Jia wouldn’t be surprised if Macy was trying to get pregnant already. She just hoped the wedding dress still fit, as it had been Jia and Wen’s mother’s.

Having detected someone in the drive, Macy opened the door with a huge smile on her face.

Jia! She threw her arms around her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Hey, how are you doing? Jia asked with a gleeful chuckle.

Macy pulled back, keeping her hands on Jia’s arms. You’re not coming tonight, are you? Macy narrowed her eyes with curiosity.

Jia sighed. I’m so sorry, I know how much effort went into planning it…

Macy’s face fell as Jia continued, I wouldn’t be working unless I absolutely had to… Jia rubbed her forearm, grimacing.

Macy nodded. I understand. Thank you for coming all the way out here. I’m so glad I at least got to see you! The bright smile returned. Come on, your brother’s in the kitchen burning toaster waffles, Macy ushered Jia in through the hallway.

Jia followed Macy into the kitchen. Still got the beard I see, Jia poked, watching her brother fiddle with the toaster.

Wen looked up and scratched his dark beard, Keeping it just for you, baby sister. He went back to fumbling.

Jia rolled her eyes playfully as she and Macy took seats on the bar stools at the counter.

Macy slid her notepad over and set it between the two of them. Since you’re not coming tonight, I better show you this now… Macy flipped over the first page.

Just as long as she doesn’t miss the wedding, Wen piped up, not at all surprised that Jia would miss that evening’s celebration. He was used to Jia’s chair being empty at family gatherings.

Jia shook her head. There’s no way I’ll miss it. Even if I get shot and have to be dragged there, she joked.

Macy and Wen’s faces looked slightly concerned.

Jia dismissed it with a wave. Kidding, she blurted.

Jia sometimes forgot how different her world had become in recent years. She was always so ensconced in her work that there was little time for anything else. That left a bit of an awkward buffer zone when it came to casual conversation sometimes. There wasn’t much left between the things she couldn’t talk about, and the offhanded comments that only her co-workers would understand. She couldn’t even talk about it with Andy. He knew where she worked, but not any more than that. As was with all her immediate family.

Sometimes it made her feel ostracised, which only drove her to work even harder. Her closest friend, Lenny, worked alongside her. She couldn’t see it being any other way. How could she maintain a close friendship in the outside world if she could barely hold a simple conversation without hiding something?

Macy had wanted to show Jia the final seating arrangement for the reception, and get Jia’s help with double-checking the hotel bookings. Jia was Macy’s maid of honour. Macy didn’t have any sisters, and she had been close with Jia since they were teenagers. Wen and Macy had met the first year out of high school when they were eighteen and had pretty much been inseparable since.

Jia was thrilled for the two of them. She loved them both very much… but she couldn’t help noticing a tiny niggling feeling in the back of her mind.

When she looked at them, she saw a real, raw connection between two people who knew absolutely everything about each other. She had often seen it in couples around her. The thought that resided amongst these observations was the fact that her own relationship didn’t seem to mirror what she was seeing.

Perhaps her expectations were too high? Perhaps she was too insecure about herself? She didn’t know. But she desperately wanted to feel as happy as Wen and Macy looked.

She was happy with Andy, she told herself. Maybe she just needed to be more grateful for what she already had.

On her way out of Wen’s, she phoned Andy, but he didn’t pick up. She had tried calling him that morning before she left also, to no avail.

When she’d told Andy she had to work on New Year’s, he hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

I thought we were supposed to go to your brother’s place, Andy had protested the day before, standing in Jia’s living room.

I know, I know, Jia had sighed. I wouldn’t be working if it wasn’t urgent, you know that.

No, you know what? I don’t know that, Andy spat. I don’t even know why the fuck you spend so much time there in the first place.

Jia frowned. It’s my job. You know, you should get one.

I’ve got a job. Andy looked angry.

A proper job, Andy. Something related to your degree. Not just a part-time cashier at the grocery store, Jia said, feeling slightly deflated.

Oh, there you go again, throwing it in my face that you’ve got your career all sorted out. Andy rolled his eyes.

That’s not what I mean! Isn’t it time you spread your wings a bit? You’re capable of so much more! Jia said, tightening her jaw.

That’s just a polite way to tell me to get off my fucking ass. Andy looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

Don’t fucking twist my words, Jia said.

I’m not twisting your damn words, Jia. This always happens. I’m sick of it! We make plans and you have to bail out at the last minute because you have to fucking work! Andy was yelling now, And then you put me down just because I don’t have a ‘proper job’ in your eyes.

God damnit Andy, I just want what’s best for you. You hate working at the store. You tell me how much every day! If you hate it so much, then do something about it! Jia was yelling too now.

I am doing something about it! I filled out some job applications last week! Andy shot back.

Jia breathed out an airy laugh in disbelief, No, you started filling one in, and then when I didn’t know where your licence was, you left and went to the bar with Chase!

Andy scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. Get off my fucking back, will you? He shot her a look of disgust. This isn’t about me anyhow. It’s about you!

Jia rolled her eyes. Well, there’s nothing I can do. I have to work.

Andy was staring at the wall, shaking his head dismissively as Jia spoke.

Are you even listening to me? she said.

Yeah, I’m listening. He looked at her. I just don’t think you wanna spend time with me.

Jia looked at him blankly, wondering how in the world he could come to this conclusion. She thought about yelling again, but then stepped back and took a breath. Obviously, we can’t seem to figure this out right now. I’m going to Wen’s first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll call you before I leave, Jia resigned.

Andy had picked up his jacket from the hook by the front door. Fine, he’d said, putting on his jacket.

I’m sorry, he’d said much more softly after a long pause, slumping his shoulders. I promise I’ll finish those applications.

Jia had nodded with a sigh, walking over to kiss him goodbye.

As she drove back down from Wen’s, Jia thought over how Andy had made an awful lot of empty promises to her in the past several months. They were growing more frequent, too. She believed his heart was in it when he made them, but when push came to shove, he didn’t have a lot of follow-through anymore. He’d also been getting a lot angrier. She could stand up for herself usually, but not when he’d been drinking. That was another empty promise. The promise that he’d stop drinking.

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It was early afternoon when Jia arrived at Langley. She would be working until late, while most of her colleagues went home to their families.

All the energy was being focussed on the recent development—a sooner meeting in question about the attack.

Scott was chattering away to Samir, and Bill was standing at the board beside Lenny.

Jia walked up to a desk, pulling a pile of paperwork towards her to continue from where she had left off the night before.

She and Grant had gone through all the transcripts, and now Jia was going through them again, analysing the highlighted areas in context.

Rough night? A body sat down opposite Jia.

Jia looked up to see Grant, who had noticed her late arrival. The sleeves of his blue button-up were rolled to his elbows and his hair was sticking straight up.

No, I went to see my brother, Jia said in a neutral tone, noting something down as she spoke.

Grant picked up the papers in a sorted pile, glancing over Jia’s fresh notes.

Jia continued, He’s up in Bethesda. I was supposed to see them tonight for New Year’s, but I didn’t imagine we’d be finishing up at any reasonable time.

Grant nodded. Not now. Every second is vital, he said, plainly. Especially ‘cause the deputy won’t pull his head out his ass long enough to realise who we should be watching.

Jia’s face cracked into a smile. I guess we better read fast, she said, returning her attention to the papers in front of her.

Grant looked at her and let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth while she wasn’t watching.

The CIA had indeed refused to officially place Marwan on the watchlist. As a result, the surveillance had to remain secret. Not even Nette could know.

Bill was determined to put his job on the line to catch the real bad guys, even if he looked like one in the process to his superiors. Jia seemed to support him unconditionally, which nagged at something in Grant. He admired their loyalty to the mission, not succumbing to the political shit that often zapped the actual ability to make a difference away from the guys on the ground.

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It was approaching 1am. Grant, Scott, and Jia pulled up in the parking lot of a local bar. Samir and Karima were inside already.

Bill had given them the green light to knock off for the night, wanting to go home to his wife and kids. Lenny had followed suit, his own wife most likely waiting with a dripping baby at home.

Karima had ordered drinks for the whole table. Jia noticed she already had three empty glasses next to her when they approached.

A few rounds in, and Scott, Samir, and Karima had migrated to the couch area to watch the live musicians. That left Jia and Grant still seated at the tall, round table.

Jia felt Grant’s eyes on her as she sipped her drink. She was still working on her second drink of the night.

Not much of a drinker? Grant piped up, resting his neat scotch on the table, keeping a hand around it.

Jia shook her head. Not particularly,—she turned her body towards him—why, did you have me pegged as a boozer?

With what Jia came to realise was his signature nonchalant tone, Grant said, I didn’t really have you pegged as anything. He ran a quick hand through his hair.

Jia took a moment to eye Grant up and down. She figured he must own copious amounts of button-ups, all with creases up the sleeves. She wondered if he bothered to brush his hair in the morning with the way it stuck up in every direction at once. It was somehow untidy without looking sloppy.

Good to know, Jia replied, taking a sip from her glass.

So, she continued, swallowing the harsh liquor, how long have you been with the agency? I haven’t crossed paths with you before.

Long enough to know how it goes, Grant answered vaguely, drinking from his own glass.

How what goes? Jia asked, cocking her eyebrow.

The secrecy, the corruption. You know, the whole game. Grant shrugged.

It’s not all corrupt. Jia shook her head.

Grant nodded. Oh, I know. It’s just the way things are done around here… irks me sometimes.

Grant had noticed just how things worked where men in suits were concerned. His job until now had mostly consisted of firing rifles in the desert at fast and narrow targets. He hadn’t needed to know where or how things happened, he just needed to make them happen. His role was purely missionary execution, never needed behind a desk. Until now, when everyone was required to cover all the bases to have the best chance of figuring out what the fuck was going on. He wasn’t going to turn that down—the safety of his country came first.

Don had mentioned his intention to put Grant in a more long-winded, high-ranking operation. As it was an on-the-books assignment, this meant it started with a desk. Though Grant knew that this particular operation would surely progress into fieldwork.

His thought process was interrupted when Jia’s pocket rang. He watched as she flipped up her phone, read the name, and declined the call.

Now you decide to ring me, huh? Jia spoke under her breath.

She had tried several times that day to call Andy. He hadn’t picked up once. Then, around 12am, he’d texted and asked if he could borrow some money to fix up his car. No mention of yesterday’s argument.

Grant frowned briefly as Jia shoved her phone back into her pocket and took another swig of her drink.

Brother? Grant asked, remembering Jia mentioning her brother earlier.

Jia shook her head as she swallowed. Boyfriend. She sighed, lowering her glass. Needs some money to fix up his car, she said, the alcohol starting to blur her verbal filter.

She had known James Grant for half a week. What the hell did he care if her boyfriend needed money? Jia attempted to retract her statement with a single sarcastic laugh. It’s not important, she said.

Grant sat up straighter. He do that kinda thing a lot? He surprised her by showing interest in the conversation.

Jia raised an eyebrow, peering at him curiously for a moment. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite his stony exterior.

As she spoke about her troubles with Andy, she eyed James up and down, struggling to work him out. She had pieces. Elements of a person. Though they didn’t quite seem to fit together yet.

Nevertheless, Grant listened intently, commented politely, and matched Jia’s dry wit that, by most others, could be so easily received as plain negativity.

Jia found herself thoroughly enjoying their conversation. She wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the company. But she seemed to be