Free Dark Secret (DARC Ops Book 1) by Jamie Garrett Page A

Chuck, sounding a little too excited. “So I'm scheduling out the PR thing.”
    “For a half hour?” The Senator walked up to Mira's cubicle and knocked on the glass partition. He smiled in at her. “How you doin', darling? Okay?”
    She nodded. “Yeah, just grabbing some things.”
    “Good.” He turned back to Chuck. “Ready for Peace Corps?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good man. Now let's get out of this young lady's hair.” He plopped his heavy arm around Chuck's shoulders. “She needs her rest. By the way, you didn't get too close to her did you? She's quite sick.”
    Chuck looked confused, as if it wasn’t a completely legitimate question.
    The senator quickly withdrew his arm.
    Chuck laughed. “No. I didn’t.”
    “No? You're not getting infected over here?”
    “Nah, I wish .” Chuck winked at Mira, thoroughly curdling the strawberry yogurt she'd had for lunch.
    It was only when they finally left her alone, Chuck and Langhorne departing the office for another media event, that Mira felt real queasiness take hold at the pit of her stomach. The kind that comes just before an employee roots around their boss' personal files.
    Her first look behind the curtain was an accident, an innocent stumble into Langhorne's dirty laundry which facilitated her playing dumb to Chuck, an easy and guilt-free endeavor. But now, armed as she was with a USB stick and the flimsiest of alibis, the cold calculation of what she was prepared to do filled her with fear and exhilaration. And a suspended angst, too, as Mira would have to wait after the act to know if it had been one of treason or valor. Given the ramifications of each, Mira wasn't sure which outcome she preferred.
    She almost preferred neither, by doing nothing. And for a moment she was content. Maybe content enough to get up and leave without putting her job, life, or liberty on the line. But when she thought about Jackson, and the rest of the world that would doubt her abilities—but mostly Jackson and that gorgeous, patronizing smile which followed her reading of the decrypted text—she suddenly warmed with indignation. It was a familiar irrationality. One which gave way to impulses such as powering up the senator’s laptop and opening a browser window.
    With the appearance of the Hart Senate System login screen, Mira had a moment of quasi-clarity. Was it vindication? Or self-sabotage? She was quickly approaching an invisible line. She knew it. It was a line that could only be straddled once.
    Just as Mira prepared to cross over, logging on as the senator to wade through the murky depths of his Africa files, her pocket vibrated.
    It was a shock. And then a relief.
    She was further relieved when reading the name of the caller, someone she hadn't spoken with in months.
    “Dad?” she answered, pulling her other hand away from her laptop.
    “Hey, little gremlin. How are you?”
    Dad had a way of making her feel anywhere from six to sixteen on any given call. Today she was six, and she didn't mind it one bit. “Ah, you know, just a little tired,” she said, slouching back in her chair. “Maybe a little sick. I'm good, though. Everything's good.”
    “Can you talk right now? You're on your break, right?”
    “Uhh...” Personal calls in the office were mostly prohibited. Then again, so was stealing secret files from a U.S. Senator. “Yeah, it's fine.”
    “Mira? You sure?”
    “Yeah, yeah. Don't worry.”
    “Hmm.” He sounded unconvinced. “I better be brief, then.”
    “ Daaad ,” she groaned. “It's fine, come on. How are you?”
    “I'm very good, thanks. Contract ends in two weeks, so I'll be even better then.”
    “I bet.”
    “So that's why I called. I wanted to see if you'd be around when I fly in. I'd love to get together.”
    “Me too.”
    “I mean it. And sooner rather than later. As soon as possible. ”
    “Dad, I mean it too.” Over the years she'd grow more and more unsettled with how she sounded when talking to her father. It probably