Page 5 of Fated for his Flame
To be a part of my world, it was imperative to not be caught by surprise, and if you were, recover swiftly. I was already analyzing what the presence of so many senior members of the intelligence community must mean.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. And either they thought I had done it or …
“There’s a new mission,” I said slowly, glancing around the cabin, confident I was right.
“There is,” Kennedy responded, glancing over at Rutledge to see if he wanted to explain it, but the DNI just waved at her to continue. I was her asset; he was just along to convey the gravity of the situation.
“You know I don’t like leaving things unfinished,” I said with as much irritation as I dared let show. Robert and Carl, I could lay into. They would take it and give it right back if they felt it necessary. They were my regular contact points, given the nature of the missions I was often inserted into.
But Kennedy was different, and Rutledge’s presence meant it was officially sanctioned by the president himself. Whatever it was, it was big.
“This is bigger,” Rutledge said, finally interjecting. “Much bigger. And you offer the unique approach of being perfectly suited for the job.”
“Since you know I don’t give two shits about having my ego inflated, I think it’s safe to assume you aren’t referring to my skills. Which means you need a woman.”
“The best woman,” Kennedy said tightly. “But even then, this might be too much.”
“Have I failed you yet?” I asked, wondering if she was doubting my skills or the mission. I’d long ago stopped trying to read Kennedy. She was a blank wall. Better at controlling herself than anyone else I knew. Myself included. She had to be.
“This is different,” Kennedy continued. “It’s likely one way.”
I licked my lips. “A suicide mission. Is that what you mean?”
My interest was piqued. But I had no desire to die. The chance of being killed and tortured to death was a constant comrade, of course. But that was if things went wrong. The way the director was talking, it seemed a given.
“Not necessarily. We’re just unsure if we can extract you. Perhaps ever.”
I shrugged. “I can get myself out. You know this.”
“Not from here,” Rutledge said. “This is unlike any mission you’ve been on before, Chloe.”
It was odd to hear my real name after spending nearly six months going by another.
“How?”
“We have no advance recon. No potential extraction, as Director Kennedy mentioned. No prior intelligence, no knowledge of our enemies’ capabilities. We would be sending you in completely and totally blind.”
“How is that even possible?” I said with a snort. “The billions you, the NSA, and about six other organizations spend on satellites and communications monitoring, there isn’t a country on the planet you aren’t on top of. I know because I’ve seen it.”
“Not here,” Rutledge said, leaning forward, staring down his long nose and through his thin-rimmed glasses at me. “It’s kind of impossible to listen to conversations when they don’t have phones. And even harder to use our satellites when they can’t see where you’re going.”
“Am I going underground?” I asked, confused.
“No,” Kennedy said. “You’re going to the home of the dragons.”
I sat back against my seat with an audible thump of the cushion. “You found it?”
The war had been raging for eight or nine months, and I knew it wasn’t going well for our side. The celebrations of our imminent demise had been held near daily in the streets while I worked. But as far as I was aware, nobody knew where the hell the dragons had come from. Had that changed? Why were they sending me and not just nuking the bastards?
“No,” Rutledge said, pushing his glasses up and sitting tall, crossing one leg over the other. “Quite the opposite. The dragons have offered us a ceasefire.”
“Terms?”
“Simple, actually,” Rutledge said. “We send them eight eligible women as tribute every year.”
“They want slaves?”
“No,” Kennedy broke in with a glance at her boss. “They want mates.”