“Yeah, the old slippery slope,” he added.
Houston soldiered on. “Before things were legitimized, this was all illegal. Ethics is one thing, and many in the CIA don’t care whether you approve of what they do. But legal is another story, because it can get your ass tossed in jail. That’s why this elaborate cover-up. That’s why they buried it so deep.”
Lopez stood up, suppressing a groan. When he stopped moving or stretching, even for a few minutes, the next movement was always stiff, painful. He stared outside the window into the drab parking lot. “I don’t know, Sara. I think I’m falling on the side of things where you don’t deliver people without trial into the hands of butchers, whatever safety you think it buys you.” He reached his hand through the opening of his shirt and pulled out the arrowhead. With his other hand, he looped the leather strip holding it over his head, and held the artifact in his palm. “It’s a pact with the Devil.”
Houston stood up and walked over toward him, stopping behind his right shoulder and staring down at the pendant. “I’ve been meaning to ask you since you were hurt, Francisco. What is that? You were a little delirious, I think, but you wouldn’t let me take it off you, even for a sponge bath.” Lopez grimaced. “I’m sorry for the breach of privacy, but you needed a nurse.”
“No, it’s not that.” He held up the pendant as if it were some magical amulet. “Miguel and I found this in the Tennessee mountains as kids. A bunch of other things, too — some pottery, bones, things we couldn’t identify. A crime to keep it from the archeologists, but it was our secret. Indian mojo. We didn’t have many links to our ancestors. The North American Indians, well, they were the closest we could get. We imagined ourselves warriors.”
Houston moved closer to him. “Yes, that was almost my thought when I was tending to you.” He arched an eyebrow. “Well, Francisco, you’re a solid man. If I didn’t know you were a priest, I would have guessed heavyweight boxer. You didn’t wake for hours, and you lay there like some statue of an ancient warrior, strong, with this war pendant resting on your chest.” Her eyes seemed to look him over. “Made me wonder about it.”
Lopez felt his breathing deepen. He had never felt the admiration of a woman like this, so close, so real. He wasn’t sure how to respond.
He returned his attention to the arrowhead. “When I found his body, found Miguel, it was lying on the ground close by.”
“And you’ve been wearing it since then?”
Lopez nodded. “Seemed like a sign to me. Now I feel like throwing it out the window. Sara, how could he have done these things?” I’m a priest! Miguel, how do I forgive you?
Houston reached over his arm, her skin brushing against his. It felt warm and alive, the milky whiteness contrasting strongly with his dark copper. She touched the arrowhead with her fingertips but said nothing. Tears were in her eyes, and seeing them, he felt an overwhelming need to comfort her. They had both lost Miguel and now, in some less tangible way, had lost something else of him with these revelations.
But he saw that her pain was deeper. She was losing part of the America that she had devoted herself to, that she loved and served with all her heart. Her agency directed these atrocities. Her entire belief system was collapsing.
“I’m sorry, Sara,” he said, reaching over to put a hand on her shoulder.
Suddenly, her arms were around him. She embraced him tightly, holding on for dear life, like a shipwreck victim to a life preserver. The arrowhead was pressed between them, Lopez still clutching the leather loop and unsure how to react. Her body shook with silent sobs. She seemed to be suppressing as much as she could, trying to stay in control. Lopez simply held her. Her pain seemed to burn inside of him as well, tearing at his heart, and he wished he could pour himself into her, fill the terrible emptiness her tears revealed.
After half a minute, an alert tone rang on her computer. She suddenly let go, wiped her eyes, and turned away from him to stare at the screen.
“Finally, Fred deigns to reply,” she said hoarsely. Lopez could see her scanning the message, communicated, he knew, through a labyrinth of security walls and cloaked identities. Fred Simon was no rookie, and he took his own precautions. “He wants to set up a video conference call. In an hour.”
“That’s great!” said Lopez. Finally, they could involve someone else in this awful discovery. And we need some help. It was obvious to Lopez that they were getting in way over their heads.
Houston grunted. “Not all is great. According to Fred, the CIA now has me listed as a top-priority catch. And if you can believe it, I’m coded ‘GADAHN.’ You’re listed as a possible accomplice, if that makes you feel less left out.”
“What’s ‘Gadahn’? Accomplice to what?”
“Adam Gadahn, the first American indicted for treason in more than half a century.”
Lopez was stunned. “Accomplice to treason?”
Houston shook her head bitterly. “Fred says we’re fucked.”
32
“Basically, you’re fucked,” said the floating head of Fred Simon on the monitor.
His pixelated image showed little emotion. Lopez and Houston sat close together in front of the screen listening to the parade of bad news. It was worse than Lopez could ever have imagined, even given what they had done. Their theft of CIA documents had crossed a line in the Agency neither Houston nor Simon knew existed.
“They’ve mobilized a manhunt locally and internationally. Civilian law enforcement has been involved, and APBs are out for both of you in the area. Meanwhile, they’ve labeled you radioactive, Sara. It’s a hell of a smear job — basically you’re a double agent who slept her way across one hundred bedrooms at CIA, grabbing a stash of secrets each time. They’ve released a bunch of compromising photos and recordings. The story is starting to pop up on the national news and online rags. It’s damn ugly.”
“Jesus,” said Houston, her face tightening. “I’ll check them out. I’ve been focused on other things.”
“They can’t make a charge of treason stick, of course, but that won’t matter for the manhunt. That charge has multiple government agencies prowling around for you. My sources even sounded frightened. The Agency wants you locked up and silenced.”
“What are our options, Fred? Realistically.”
Simon laughed bitterly. “Surrender.”
“Like hell,” barked Houston.
“Sara, these guys aren’t playing around. You can’t expect to evade this dragnet for long. Turn yourself in before some wild chase ends up with both of you dead.”
Lopez leaned forward and spoke into the camera. “We aren’t going to give up, Fred. We’ve come too far in this search for my brother’s killers, the killers of many of those in your organization. Sara and I now know what the CIA has been hiding. Secretive missions of an illegal nature that connect all the murders.”
Simon looked concerned. “Sara, what is he talking about?”
“Rendition, Fred,” she answered.
“Rendition? So the hell what? That’s not news.”
“Rendition of American citizens. Snatched over the last ten years in multiple missions. Snatched on American soil.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Lopez interrupted. “No, we’re not! The records we got from the CIA computers — that have us now in hot water — prove it without any doubts. My brother was part of more than twenty of those missions.”