Chapter One A.J. stared at the short, stern man, incredulous. The patience so antithetical to her nature and so necessary in her job was sorely strained this morning, and she was in no mood for even the most absurd humor. Certainly not the ludicrous story she''d just spent the better part of an hour digesting. The tepid coffee in the unmarked black mug sloshed a bit as she raised the rim to the soft mouth thinned into a line of disgust. She didn''t have time for this . this farce.
Anger warred with good manners as she stared at the older man, curbing her tongue with effort. The morning had begun at four thirty a.m., the shrill summons of the bedside phone rousing her from a fitful sleep. She had tumbled into bed a mere three hours before, after spending most of the night in the laboratory. Bleary-eyed, she''d grabbed a plastic-wrapped suit from the closet and what she had luckily guessed were matching shoes from a jumble beneath the bed. The jet left the private hangar half an hour later, arriving in DC in time for a glossy obsidian car to spirit her to a nondescript building in Dupont Circle. Early morning meetings were nothing new to A.
J., but she had a firm policy against the unexpected. She despised the unknown; loathed surprises. Particularly those surprises that sprung up the day before the most important meeting of her twenty-five-year-old life. On Monday morning, she would have to convince thirty people that cognitive science was the wave of the future and a natural complement to their product line. The brainchild she''d slaved over in secret for more than a year would be revealed. Even more, she''d have to cajole the board of directors for one of the world''s most powerful corporations into turning over complete control of research and development to the youngest executive in Grayson Conglomerate International. A.
J. didn''t doubt her capacity to handle the job. More than anyone, she was vibrantly aware of the responsibility she sought. R&D was the lifeblood of the GCI empire, particularly its advanced computer technology. Under her command, Poppet would be the next wave in artificial intelligence. But instead of preparing her presentation to the board or fine-tuning her prototype, she was seated in a bureaucrat''s office at an ungodly hour of the morning, listening to a preposterous tale about secret agents and international intrigue. "Let me get this straight. You wake me at an unconscionable hour.
Fly me five hundred miles in a rainstorm. Whisk me to a clandestine meeting all to tell me that my cousin is James Bond?" With a withering glance, A.J. pushed back her chair and rose. "Goodbye, Mr. Russell." "Sit down, Athena," the man quietly instructed. "No one calls me that," A.
J. growled, but she sat immediately. Not that she was at all afraid of the man behind the desk. At least fifty years old, Russell had black hair sprinkled liberally with gray, a color that matched the thoroughly unnerving eyes. "The name is A.J.," she grumbled. She crossed her arms in a petulant pose familiar to her family, and pouted full, glossed lips.
"What other fairy tales do you want to tell me? That Adam and Raleigh met on a secret mission and fell madly in love?" "Well, that''s true, but beside the point." James "Atlas" Russell favored the young woman with a grin. "Of course, they broke up when she refused to save his partner, but yep, that''s how it started." The Texas drawl revealed his amusement with the story. "Damnedest romance I ever saw." "Raleigh''s a spy too?" Now A.J. knew the man was a lunatic.
Raleigh Foster, the newest member of the Grayson family, was entirely too sensible and, well, staid, to be Emma Peel to Adam''s Mr. Steed. Atlas leaned back in the massive leather chair and steepled stubby fingers on the jumbled desktop, with its odd ring of letter holders, files, and pencils carefully situated around the outer edge. On his left, what resembled a mangled bear claw sprawled next to a half-eaten donut. Amused by her perusal, Atlas grinned conspiratorially. "Yes, your cousin''s new wife is also an agent with the International Security Agency. One of the best." In response, A.
J. pasted on her most engaging, placating smile and again rose from the chair. She slowly inched toward the door, fully prepared to turn and run if necessary. "Mr. Russell, I don''t know why Adam put you up to this, but I really don''t have time for pranks. Please let him know that the next time he tries to pull a practical joke on me, he should pick a better time for it. Now, if you''ll excuse me." As her hand closed around the cold, metal knob, it twisted beneath her grip.
She jumped sideways to avoid a collision. Her hip rapped smartly against a mammoth globe, which teetered on its pedestal. Clutching her hip with one hand, she steadied the globe with the other. And glared when she saw who had knocked her aside. "I told you to let me tell her," Adam announced as he entered the room, his arm draped around his wife''s waist. Raleigh crossed to A.J. and brushed her cheek with a kiss.
Adam soon did the same, and he steered A.J. to her recently vacated chair. "Adam? Raleigh? What''s going on here? Who is this man? What is the ISA? Why does he know so much about GCI?" A.J. demanded in rapid succession. "And don''t tell me that nonsense about you two being secret agents." Raleigh dropped into the chair beside A.
J., and Adam perched on the arm. Raleigh spoke first. "A.J., I know this is a lot to take in, but we needed to tell you." "Yeah, kiddo. This is rather important, and you''re the only one we can trust," Adam said as he patted her hand.
"Just hear us out." Right before I kill you, she imagined happily. Then she''d hide the bodies, check in to a hotel for a few hours of sleep, and head back to Atlanta. "I''m listening," A.J. lied. Adam smiled despite the distrust. "As Atlas has told you, Raleigh and I work for an extra-governmental organization known as the ISA.
I''ve been employed by them since law school. Raleigh joined a few years later. The ISA collects intelligence and runs counterterrorism missions, among other things." "Other things?" Oh, this is just getting better and better. Perhaps she was still in bed in Atlanta, engrossed in a bizarre nightmare. She had been getting very little sleep lately, and it was bound to take its toll. With a surreptitious gesture, she pinched a length of skin exposed by her skirt. And yelped.
"You okay?" Adam asked with concern. "I''m fine," she replied, not at all convinced. But this was no dream. Adam looked at Atlas then. "GCI has a strong working relationship with the ISA. It''s primarily information sharing, but we occasionally develop technology for them." "So you''re like Q?" The legendary British gadget maker had fueled her childhood fantasies. A.
J. could easily recall marathon sessions of the 007 movies. She had little interest in the espionage, but she lived for the introduction of the newest toys. Mission: Impossible. The Avengers. Alias. She''d never dreamed of living the life of the secret agents. It was the thrill of invention that caught her imagination.
"GCI makes equipment for spies?" "Not exactly," Atlas interjected. "But we''re veering way off course here." He lifted a sheaf of papers and extended the pages to A.J. "Take a look." A.J. accepted the packet warily.
On the first page was a dossier. Name: Athena Josephine Grayson, née Calvin. Age: 25. IQ: 167. The page continued, laying out the bare facts of her life in stark phrases. "Parents killed in a train accident, subject unscathed. Responses to parental death include irrational reactions to mild exposure to fire, including candles, fireplaces, and other controlled flammable devices. Attempted therapy to overcome phobia unsuccessful.
Displays initial signs of compartmentalization. Tends to relegate upsetting or discordant aspects of life to a separate mental place-may find it difficult to assess the impact of work life on personal life. May overcompensate or disregard incompatible emotional responses." Mortified by the report and its implications, A.J. leapt from her seat, tumbling the chair to the floor. She threw the offending papers across the desk and darted to the door, intent only on escape. The weakness shamed her, and she''d tried everything to combat it.
To have her failure documented for a stranger''s eyes, and to know he''d have access to other, more personal records, overwhelmed A.J. Embarrassment galvanized her, and she blindly hunted for an escape. "A.J.," Adam began as he intercepted her at the entryway. "Wait a minute. What are you so angry about? It''s just a dossier.
They have one on all three of us." A.J. poked him in the chest, embarrassment melting into indignation. "You told him?" "Of course. I gave him your file." Adam ran a placating hand along her arm. "It''s an informational tool.
They needed to be sure we could trust you." "Trust? You bastard. Take your hands off me." The words were low, husky, deadly. Confused, Adam squeezed her captive wrist. "Sweetheart, hear me out. There''s nothing to be upset about. The information is public record.
" "Public record?" A.J. whipped her head around to look at Atlas. "You stole medical files that were none of your business. As soon as I get back to Atlanta, I''ll slap you with a lawsuit so quickly, your head will spin." She impaled Adam with a deadly glare, and Adam recoiled as though struck. "You''ll have my resignation on your desk in the morning. I''ll explain it to the family, but I don''t ev.