Free The Cyclops Initiative by David Wellington

chair, but—­”
    â€œI said, ‘Am I understood’?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Hollingshead nodded. “Don’t attempt to contact me or my office. I’ll let you know when I think enough time has passed.”
    The Humvee pulled up in front of them. The driver jumped out and ran around the front of the vehicle to open Hollingshead’s door.
    Chapel felt like he might fall over.
    Relieved of duty. For conduct unbecoming an officer.
    It was just about the worst thing anyone had ever said to Chapel. He couldn’t believe it.
    It also meant he had very little left to lose. “This has been coming for a while. You’ve been trying to find a graceful way to get rid of me, haven’t you? That’s what Wilkes was for. My replacement. I screwed up and now you’re just done with me, because one time I made a mistake. A mistake you also made, if we’re being honest—­”
    Hollingshead took his hand from his pocket. He shoved a finger in Chapel’s chest. “We’re done here, Captain. Very much done.”
    Then he did something very strange. He opened his hand and a scrap of paper fell from it, a piece of paper no larger than an inch on any side.
    Chapel moved quickly to cover the scrap of paper with his shoe. An old spy reflex.
    Without another word Hollingshead climbed into the Humvee. Chapel watched it go. Then he made a show of bending over to tie his shoe, which gave him a chance to move the piece of paper into his pocket.
    Beyond that he was too shocked and confused to know what to do.
    Left to his own devices, stranded at NSA headquarters, eventually he ordered a cab. He had no idea where to go, so he just told the driver to take him to the nearest train station.
    Only when they were under way and clear of Fort Meade altogether did Chapel feel safe to look at the scrap of paper. Holding it cupped in his hand, he read it over and over again.
    There wasn’t much on it. A set of map coordinates—­latitude and longitude for someplace in New York City, he thought. And underneath that a short message:
    FIND HER FIRST
    NEW YORK CITY: MARCH 21, 15:45
    Chapel jumped off the train at Penn Station in Manhattan and ran all the way to the subway. Angel had taught him long ago that it was the fastest way to move around New York, if you didn’t have access to a helicopter. He got lucky and found a train just pulling into the station. He dashed through the opening doors and found the commuters inside staring at him as if he were insane. This being New York, they quickly averted their collective gaze.
    He wasn’t surprised he looked crazy. He was feeling pretty crazy.
    Those things he’d said to Hollingshead—­they really were inexcusable. Especially since, apparently, the director still had some confidence in him. Enough to give him new orders.
    Find her first—­find Angel before Wilkes could get to her. And then . . . what? Chapel could guess that Hollingshead didn’t want Chapel to bring Angel in. They had both known what would happen to her, with the NSA providing evidence of her guilt. She’d be lucky if she didn’t end up waterboarded, worked over by the CIA until she gave them what they wanted to hear.
    And she would. Eventually, she would name names. Because that was how torture—­even “enhanced interrogation”—­worked. You told your persecutors anything to get them to stop. You made things up, if you had to. Would she claim to be working for the Chinese? Or domestic terrorists? It depended on how they phrased the questions. At least she wouldn’t suffer for long. Angel was not a field agent and had never had any training on how to resist interrogation. It wouldn’t take long for her to break down.
    Chapel had no doubt of her innocence. The NSA could claim she was responsible for the hijacking, but that just meant somebody had hacked into the DIA databases and stolen her