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She shakes her head. “I want to go where you go. I want to…” She hesitates as if looking for the words. “I want to be what you are.”
In The Guild, this is the moment we all wait for. The moment that never happens. And now that it has, I wish it hadn’t. Kid has no idea what she’s asking for, what will be required of her, but rules are rules. If they ask and show any kind of real promise, they get to try.
“Get in the van. A woman with red hair will be at your destination. Her name is Gracie. Tell her what you told me.”
“And she will let me do what you do?”
“She’ll give you a”—I almost sayshot—”chance.”
Cee’s fiery brown eyes, prematurely set to suspicious, appraise me. With a nod, she decides to trust me, climbs into the van, and drags the door shut.
I hit the door twice and the van pulls away, trailing a cloud of exhaust.
When the taillights fade away, I slip into the driver’s seat of the black rental, next to the elephant in the room. Tony. Every inch of his five-foot-eleven frame looks ready to pound me to a soft, mushy pulp.
Instead, he rips off his hat and gloves, then runs agitated fingers through jet-black, wavy hair. It’s damp with sweat, causing it to stand on end.
Starting the car, I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. He’s got a lot to say; I can feel it. Time to pop this cork. “Stop pouting.”
Tony hits the dash hard—and then again. “Yougottaget over this cowgirl,Kill Billbullshit. Why not send up a signal flare telling the Brothers Grim we’re after them?”
The wheel spins through my fingers as I turn the corner, flick on the headlights, and accelerate onto the highway.
“Tone, if I’d known when I first saw you”—a twelve-year-old runaway scrounging for scraps—”what a pain in the ass you’d become, I never would’ve begged Momma to adopt you.”
The first boy adopted into a large family of adopted girls.
He flings himself back against the seat and lets out a long breath. “We don’t bust into a place like some eighties’ Schwarzenegger movie. You think this won’t get back to the brothers? Raise their suspicions?”
True. I fucked up. The Spy Makers Guild is designed for subtlety. Mostly, it’s the velvet hammer—negotiations, forums, and charities that support women. Sometimes, it’s the chainsaw of assassination, deceit, and violence. That’s where I come in. “Sorry, Tone.”
He makes a sound of dismissal, before stripping off his jacket and bulletproof vest. The navy-blue tattoo on his right arm, half of the family motto,One for all, screams at me. That tattoo says all anyone needs to know about how seriously Tony takes his responsibility to our family.
The first half of that plagiarized motto—let a bunch of kids choose your motto and that’s what you get—is tattooed over his heart. ThatAll for onetells more about me. That’s why I do this. For one person. For Hope. That’s why, despite what he thinks, I rescued Cee and jeopardized the mission. Because one person matters to me.
2
SANDESH
Dust and debris lace the hot, oppressive Syrian air. The explosive remnants cling to my body almost as thickly as the village mud to my combat boots.
Eyes watering and ears ringing from the barrel bomb, I hold steady, cradling the child in my arms as delicately as possible.
Not delicately enough. She lets out small, injured sound, and I try harder to keep her peeling and damaged skin from rubbing against my Special Forces uniform.
Barrel bomb chemicals inflict burns reminiscent of napalm.
“Heads up, Sandman,” one of my rangers says, pointing toward the sky.
“Thanks,” I murmur. I think. Everything sounds muffled to my ears, even the whir of the approaching Black Hawk.
The helo passes overhead, sending dust spinning into the air. The girl in my arms writhes, her eyes spring open.
“It’s okay, dear one,” I whisper. Though… it’s really not. My chest is tight with a fist of anger.
The Syrian government attacked its own citizens, injuring bodies, hoping to also injure minds. It’ll probably work. Violence usually does.
It was only a coincidence—at least I hope it was—that my Rangers and I were in the area. On the record, we’re not here. Our mission is supposed to be outside of Syria, supporting the Free Syrian Army with training and weapons. But someone higher up wanted a better take on Assad’s chemical profile.
