Clark frowned. “Better lovers than traitors.”
“Were you followed?”
“Of course not.”
Greg Hicks smiled and pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. “We only have a few minutes before someone comes knocking.”
“Did you meet with Eric?” Clark said.
“Yes,” Hicks said.
“And?”
Hicks tilted his head. “I think I remain unconvinced.”
“You said you needed to speak with him in person,” Clark said. “Why can’t you make a decision?”
Hicks shrugged and pulled a bag from his pocket. “Jerky?”
“Damn it, Greg. You’re stalling.”
Hicks sighed. “I said I’d speak with him and I did.”
“You were leaning toward trusting him.”
“I said that I’d like to trust him.”
“Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?”
“We’re talking about the future of humanity,” Hicks said calmly. “I have to be absolutely certain. There are protocols.”
“You said we’re on the verge of failure.”
“I believe we are, and you believe it, too, or you wouldn’t have joined us.”
Clark’s stomach burned. “You came to me, remember?”
“I gave you a choice,” Hicks said. He chewed on a piece of jerky. “The burden of knowledge for the chance to save the human species. You chose us.”
Clark shook his head. “I didn’t understand.”
“I don’t hold it against you. The simple truth is, I don’t know if Eric is going to be any better than Fulton Smith.”
“They’re good men. Great men.”
Hicks threw the remaining jerky into the trash next to the sink. “The problem isn’t about good or evil. It’s about survival. They have an impact, and the math can’t account for them. If we’d understood the true impact of Smith’s actions, we would have killed him.”
“Do you really think Joe Wise would have killed Smith?”
“If he’d known just how fragile the world would become,” Hicks said, “Wise would have done it with his own hands.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“I do,” Hicks said. “Our… wishes don’t matter. Life matters. We must continue.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not betraying your commanding officer. Hell, I’m betraying my friends.”
“They used to call it pruning,” Hicks said, his voice barely audible. “Did you know that?”
“What?”
“Such an antiseptic word for such a terrible thing,” Hicks mused. “I don’t think it’s fair. Or even forgivable. It’s terrible, but if killing one man will save the species, then I’ll do it. If I thought killing myself would save the species, I’d do that, too. Nothing else matters.”
Clark felt like he might vomit. “I can’t keep doing this.”
Hicks spun on his heel and glared at him. “You will. You’re not a coward. That’s why we chose you. Get back to the base. Without you, we’re blind.”
“What will you do?”
“These new revelations haven’t been accounted for. Too many unknowns.”
“I just don’t see how things can be worse than they were during the Cold War.”
There was a knocking at the door, and a gruff voice called out, “You almost done in there? I gotta go!”
“Hold your horses,” Hicks called out. He leaned in close to Clark. “Nuclear bombs could wipe out all life on this planet, but what Nathan Elliot cooked up? Mind manipulation? Nanotech? It’s just as dangerous.”
The bathroom door shook. “Seriously, I’m dying out here!”
Clark stuck his hands under the faucet and washed his hands. “I can’t…”
“You must,” Hicks said. “If the math doesn’t work out, we’ll need your help.”
Clark dried his hands and took a long look at himself in the bathroom mirror. “If Eric knew his grandfather was one of us—”
Hicks shook his head. “I don’t believe it would make a difference.”
The winter wind sliced through Fulton Smith. He shivered and pulled his trenchcoat against him, but the wind chilled him to his core and made his knees ache with each step. His knuckles, already stiff, turned to unfeeling claws that fumbled against the fabric. He glanced over to Melamid, who looked as miserable as Smith felt. “We are too old for this, Vasilii.”
Melamid stopped and stared at him. The streetlights cast long pools of light against the nighttime sky. “You are sure of this? We are out in the cold.”
“I’m sure,” Smith said. They turned a corner, and he pointed to the snow-dusted park bench. “Besides, an old bear like you shouldn’t mind a little cold.”
Melamid shook his head and lumbered to the park bench, wincing as he settled on it and waited. Smith paused and inspected the streets. A few cars and trucks rumbled by, and he could barely make out a pedestrian trudging through the snow two blocks to the north.
A plaque covered in snow and pigeon droppings sat behind the bench. Smith bent down and brushed the snow from the rock that lay next to the plaque. The rock was light, and he twisted it as he had so many times before. The bottom opened along a nearly invisible seam, and he stuffed the envelope from his coat inside the hollowed-out space.
The bottom slid shut with a satisfying click, and he placed the rock back on the ground and joined Melamid on the bench.
“A dead drop,” Melamid said with a scowl. “You’ve been using dead drops.”
“Yes,” Smith said. “Alex thought it was the best way to avoid an electronic footprint.”
“She picks them up?”
“No,” Smith said. “She has a third party. From there, I have no idea, but somehow she gets them.”
Melamid snorted. “All this time. So simple.”
“Oh, it’s not simple. I have dozens of sites around the city, each used according to a strict schedule.”
“How often?”
“Every other month,” Smith said, “and only what I may fit into an envelope. It’s not the best way to maintain a relationship.” He took a piece of chalk from his pocket, dusted off the snow from the park bench, and made an X on the edge.
“We go now?”
“No. We have to be seen.”
“There are eyes on us?”
“Don’t bother trying to spot them,” Smith said. “She employs the best.”
“What happens when they see us?”
“When she gets the note and her agent reports we delivered it together, she should be convinced enough to call the number in the envelope.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of traffic. Finally, Melamid asked, “Does Alexandra know how her daughter…”
Smith bit back a sharp reply. “I have no idea, Vasilii. The drop is one-way.”
“You’ve never received word from Alexandra?”
“I haven’t heard from her since she left,” Smith said, unable to hide the bitterness. “No calls. No notes. The packages I leave are picked up.”
Melamid’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Fulton. I didn’t know.”
“Why do you care?”
“You knew better,” Melamid growled. “Both of you. She betrayed her country. She betrayed me.” He slammed his fist against the bench. “None of this… is not fair that I should feel guilt. I did what was right!”
From Melamid’s point of view, that was exactly what had happened. “I’ve blamed everyone, even you, but it was my fault. I knew a young woman like her… was too good to be true. I fell in love, something I promised I’d never do.”
“She loved you,” Melamid said. “More than her country. More than her mission.”