sensitive issue dealt with in this chapter...not much more than mentions it but just a heads up.

Jason sat beside the Lincoln Memorial reflecting pool; Connie sat beside him, swishing her hand in the water. A few geese swam nearby, and some kids shrieked and splashed each other. Heat shimmered on the pavement, making the Washington Monument waver as if it were a reflection itself.

The water swirled and glimmered with sunlight, calm compared to the flash and sparkle of the World War Two Memorial fountain they'd just come from. They'd contemplated the quotes on marble, walked through the arches, touched the bronze stars.

It'd hit him again how his father could have easily been one of the dead. How he'd saved all those men, then been hit by some shrapnel and ended up in the hospital. He'd heard that story many times but standing there at the memorial brought it home. One star: 100 dead.

But because of his father's heroic actions, a transport of soldiers made it. Like many others who'd sacrificed during the war so others could live….

That was the kind of person his father was. His brother was.

Compared to them, I'm this reckless adventurer who takes risks for their own sake.

Well, not anymore. The labyrinth, Gray, Paraguay, has burned all that desire out of me. I still want adventure, just not the dangerous kind.

What Sierra had said was true, though. If it were just himself, he'd have no excuse for not going into danger. Just because he was afraid of capture and torture didn't mean he shouldn't help someone. But how could he put Connie in harm's way? How could he leave her when they just got close again? How could he risk dying and leaving her alone?

Now that they were married, he wasn't just himself anymore. If they decided anything, they had to decide it as a team. He had to put her feelings first. Especially now, when she was still recovering from what had happened.

I'll do all I can on my end, he thought. But it doesn't mean I'll rush headlong into danger.

Sierra had offered to infiltrate the organization herself. Perhaps that was the solution; he could gather the information, and when she got back from Vietnam, she could take over and go as far as she wanted to.

Connie splashed water onto herself, smoothing it over her neck. Damp hair straggled from her ponytail; she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He didn't want to stop watching her but at the same time he longed to gather her into his arms…

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the blue of the water. He drew her gently to him. She leaned against his chest and he smoothed back wisps of her hair. She sighed. "I'm so happy, Jason. I could just sit here all day with you." She twisted back to look up at him and he kissed her forehead.

"There are more places to go, though."

"What do you want to see?"

He thought for a moment. The closest was the Lincoln Memorial but he knew where he really wanted to go. At the same time, he dreaded going there.

He really had no excuse not to, not even the heat. To be so close and not to go there, especially now that he'd found out about Jerry's wife….It was just that all this was bringing up old memories and he was afraid that going there would make the past too real again.

"The Vietnam Memorial isn't far from here," he said.

"Oh! I'd like to go there. It's much bigger than the one in Odyssey."

"Okay. Let's go." He grasped her hand and helped her to her feet. They took a shortcut through the trees.

He stopped near its left edge, his heart pounding hard. Something in him wanted to go back. Moving forward meant plunging into pain. But he couldn't turn his back on Jerry. Jerry had sacrificed his life for others and Jason couldn't let something as trivial as his feelings keep him away.

A shadow had fallen over the sun and he could only see things through a dark, narrow film. He felt as if he were sinking to the ground under an oppressive weight. The air was too heavy to breathe.

A warm hand slid into his. Connie. He took a breath, and stepped forward.

Down into the sunken ground, where the names of the dead were buried. Black stone, gray words blurred, mirroring vague faces.

All these names cut into him but he couldn't look at them. Until one drew him like a magnet and he instinctively stopped.

He'd been here before, long ago. He couldn't bring himself to come back again. But he owed it to his brother to be here now.

He laid his hand on the name. The words pressed into his palm, a physical thing, as if part of Jerry still lived. Tears dripped hot down his cheeks—he couldn't hold them back.

"Jerry, my brother," he whispered and under the weight of the name he fell to his knees, hitting the stones hard. His hand on the warm wall, another name beneath his palm, he leaned over, a silent sob wrenching him, tears falling to the bricks.

He trembled, feeling sick, knowing he was probably making a fool of himself but not caring. Connie's hand lay on his shoulder, a comforting presence. He wiped away tears—though even they were a tribute, a small one—and reached in his shirt pocket. The ribbon of honor from Muldavia.

I don't deserve it, he thought. If anyone deserves recognition for heroism, you do.

He laid the ribbon and the cold metal medallion on the stones below his brother's name. Pressed them there, as if they could bind to the pavement permanently, along with his love.

He stood, touched the name. "I will find her," he whispered to him. "I'm sorry we couldn't protect her before. But now I'll protect her with my life."

"So will I," said Connie, her arm linked with his. She laid her hand next to his over the name and stood there together. "I wish I had known you, too." A tear slipped down her cheek. He wrapped his arm around her waist and they stood there together for a moment in silence.

Then, they walked slowly away, Jason's heart still heavy, but a burning desire inside it, a purpose, a vow. He couldn't save his brother, but perhaps he could save the one he'd loved.

After immersing in the grandeur of the Lincoln Memorial, they sat on the steps in its shadow. "I'd like to start looking for her," said Jason.

"Where do you want to start?"

"Well, believe it or not, Tasha had a mission in Vietnam a while ago, after I left the Agency. She also offered her service to me and Dad as part of our unofficial recognition. I know some people in the Thai embassy, and a few other agents who have connections in Vietnam. And of course there's Sierra, who's going to Southeast Asia. I think I'll start with Tasha to make sure to get to her before she goes on another mission. And we'll talk with Sierra when we tell her of our decision."

"Sounds good! I wish I could do more." She laughed. "I don't really have contacts anywhere."

"That doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're here with me. I don't want to let you out of my sight." He kissed her cheek. She lifted her hand to his face, drawing him to her, and they kissed, slowly, passionately, not caring about the tourists that stared at them.

As they walked down the steps, Jason called Tasha. To his surprise, she answered.

"I thought you'd be busy," he said.

"I am. But I saw it was your number."

"Well…you know how you said you would give me and Dad a favor last night?"

"Yes, of course."

"I think we'd both like to collect on that now."

"What would you like me to help with?"

"Dad called yesterday. He told me…he'd found a letter, lost in the mail. From Jerry. It said…he'd had a wife."

A silence. "That's—amazing, Jason."

"She might still be alive. I was wondering if you could dredge up some contacts from your Vietnam mission."

She sighed. "That mission was of debatable success. At best."

"I know. But if it's possible to find any leads from it—"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. You aren't too busy?"

"I'll find the time."

"During an Agency mission?"

"I'm not exactly on an Agency mission. Well, it's related. But…." Her voice trailed off; it sounded anxious.

"What is it?"

"I don't know if I should tell you."

"Classified, right."

"No—well, yes, but that's not why. It does concern you in a way…It's Gray."

"Gray?"

"They're cancelling his trial. Because he was a useful asset in Paraguay, they want to keep using him."

"By 'they', you mean the Agency."

"Yes, and the ones who pull their strings. They want to keep him out of the justice system, under the radar, so he can keep working for us as long as he's useful."

"They're denying his trial indefinitely?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't sound legal."

"The Agency's using their significant legal leeway. Gray has no one to advocate for him, no family or friends. When he's no longer useful…they'll probably just discard him.

"I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear about him."

"No—I want to know. I don't fear him like I used to."

"If you've seen him how I have, no one would fear him. I don't see how anyone can send him on another mission; he'll fall apart. They've seen his file; they know what he can do—at least, before. He's got a coveted skill set. The problem is, he's not the same man that he used to be. What they did to him at the CIA prison….It goes beyond all sense of human decency; the person who orchestrated it should be prosecuted. But of course it's all classified, inadmissible, so she gets off free….I just—it's strange being sympathetic to the one who hurt you. But I'm seeing the lengths that people in our business will go, and I can't turn a blind eye to it anymore."

"What have they done?"

"I can dismiss it by saying that it was a rogue agent, one motivated by revenge rather than professionalism. But the CIA facilitated her actions. And now the Agency is using what she did, holding it over Gray—

"I want to pretend it doesn't exist. But Gray can't escape it. No human being should have to endure what he did."

"What happened to him?" He wasn't sure if he should ask; Gray might not want it disclosed. Jason was sensitive about his own torture; it was supremely personal, humiliating. It was strange, still, feeling sympathy for his enemy…but he knew in a small way—from Gray himself—what it was like to be tortured.

"I might be able to be more detached if I hadn't seen the aftermath. Or if it didn't have to do with—Jason, you remember what I told you happened to me in Iran?"

His stomach turned over. He hadn't been able to protect her. "While I lounged around the hotel, you got captured. I remember."

"I never told you how far it went. I mean—it could've gone further—I'm sorry, I'm not being clear. It's just that these things are hard for me to face directly."

"Tasha, what happened?" He still blamed himself for not being there for her. But he'd still been on probation for his mission to Muldavia and basically been confined to "safe" areas of Iran—not many in 1988.

"They burned me, broke my arm—you know all that. But there was this man there who…took a fancy to me. He…started kissing me. I fought back—he hurt me. And then—" Her voice choked.

"Tasha—you don't have to say any more." Horror swarmed through him as he thought about what she implied had happened.

"It…didn't go as far as it could've, let's just say that. I was barely conscious but I knew someone came in before he could…." She took a deep, shaky breath. "The reason I'm telling you this is because…I know in a small part what it was like for Gray. What they did to him."

"You mean—"

"Rape. I can't hide from that word. We have to say what the thing is, no matter how horrible, so we can deal with it. He's not dealing with it—I don't know how he can—I'm no psychologist. But he won't be able to recover when they're holding it over him."

"What do you mean?" A horrible shiver went through him; he could hardly comprehend what Tasha was saying. He looked at Connie as they walked along the path, as if to anchor himself to something good.

"The Agency told him that if he doesn't cooperate, they'll send him back to the CIA detention center. They know full well what was done to him there. Whether it'll happen to him again or not, he believes it. They're holding it over him, just so he'll do what they want. It makes me sick; this kind of thing isn't want the NSA is supposed to be about. I could go public, but they would probably just shove this under the rug anyway.

"They're not interested in actual justice, just a means to an end. I've tried to warn them that he'll shatter if they keep this up for any amount of time, but they won't listen to me. It's—idiotic. Sometimes I wonder if this is the same Agency I signed up for. Perhaps it's just the idealist in me, but I believed there was a foundation of honor, even in the darkness we sometimes had to immerse in."

"I got out of that life because I didn't want to live in a means-justifies-the-ends world. I saw honor in the Agency, but perhaps that was just because I worked so close to you. What you're telling me—it's beyond what I'd have thought they were capable of. Using a freelance mercenary who's killed someone is one thing. But threatening him with rape—it's unconscionable."

"He's a mess. If you saw him—well, he might put on façade. He does with me, but each time I see him, he's less able to pull himself together. He's getting worse, not better. It might be because of being captured in Paraguay, or what they're holding over him. He won't let anyone touch him, and he gets startled at sudden movements toward him. I don't see how they can't see he's not up to doing any kind of work. At the very least, he needs therapy, perhaps years of it.

"You're sure you're okay with this, with me helping him? I'm not even sure if I'm okay with it."

"I am. I wish I could help, but I'm not sure what I could do. I don't have any idea what he's going through." He'd thought he'd known, but torture and…rape were two different things. The most he'd experienced was being kissed by Marisa (and long ago, Elena)—even that had been unpleasant, a violation—no one should be touched in an intimate way without their consent. Even now, he didn't want to think about it, and to go what Gray had gone through—he didn't even want to imagine. But he did feel this connection with him…now that he'd forgiven him, and they'd gone on a mission together….he felt like he should do something. How could he, though? And would Gray even want to see him?

"Well," said Tasha, "now you know what I'm dealing with. It's not so involving that I can't look into what happened to your brother's wife. This'll be finalized in the next day or so, and then I'll be reassigned. After that—you know the Agency—I can't make any promises. It might be deep cover, who knows. But I'll do the best I can."

"Thank you, Tasha."

"Talk to you soon." She hung up.

They'd reached the base of the Washington Monument by now. Jason felt dazed in the heat, crowds of tourists jabbering. Connie took his arm and led him into the broad shadow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure. You heard most of that?"

She nodded. "What you said. What they're doing—it's horrible. I don't even want to think about it. Whatever he did, he didn't deserve—that." She shuddered, looked away.

"At least he has Tasha. Someone who wants his best interests. It's strange…."

"What?"

"It's just strange. I'd never have thought she'd have sympathy for him—but then, I'd never have thought I'd be able to forgive him. In any case, I wouldn't wish what happened to him on my worst enemy. Which he was." He shook his head. "I suppose we should take our next step."

"What's that?"

"Call Sierra. We'll look into the organization in Muldavia, and she'll find contacts in Vietnam. What do you think?"

Connie nodded. "Let's do it."

"But we won't go into any inordinate danger. Sierra can take up the reins after she's finished in Southeast Asia." He slung his arm around her. "I'm not leaving you. I'm not going any further from you than this if I can help it."

She laughed, wrapped her arms around him, snuggling close to his chest. Happiness swelled through him. He hugged her tight, never wanting to let her go.

On the way back to the car, Jason called Sierra. They got in, and drove to her hotel to meet her.