The black SUV Malik spotted outside our house wasn’t one of ours, Ramirez confirmed. We checked the surveillance logs. There was no authorized protection detail on your residence until today.
Jonathan’s mind raced through the implications. If foreign operatives had been monitoring his home, what else might they know about his work, about the classified operations he’d been involved in? I need to get Malik home, he said. And then, I need to check our house for surveillance equipment.
We’ve already dispatched a team, Ramirez told him. They’re sweeping your residence now. Jonathan nodded his thanks, turning to head back to Malik when Ramirez caught his arm.
Carter, she said her voice lower. There’s something else. The janitor, O’Reilly or whatever his real name is, he’s not talking.
But we found this in his locker. She handed him a small photograph, worn at the edges as if it had been handled frequently. It showed a younger Jonathan, in combat fatigues, standing with a group of special operations soldiers in a desert setting.
Jonathan recognized the location immediately, a classified mission in Syria five years ago. How did he get this? Jonathan muttered, more to himself than to Ramirez. That’s what I’d like to know, she replied.
This isn’t just about intelligence gathering anymore. This is personal. Jonathan tucked the photo into his pocket, his mind, working furiously.
Only a handful of people had access to images from that operation. If the Korev group had obtained it, they had a source within the highest levels of US intelligence. Keep this between us for now, he told Ramirez.
I need to make some calls. Back in the library, Malik and Ethan had dozed off, heads resting on their backpacks. Ms. Anderson sat nearby, looking shell-shocked and out of place among the federal agents.
When she saw Jonathan approaching, she stood up nervously. Mr. Carter, she began. Her earlier confidence completely evaporated.
I want to apologize again for how I treated Malik. I had no idea. That my son was telling the truth? Jonathan finished for her, his voice level but with an edge of steel.
You didn’t believe him because of what exactly? His race? His background? The fact that he doesn’t come from old money like most of your students? Ms. Anderson flinched as if slapped. I… I never meant to… You never meant to be caught, Jonathan corrected her. Let me be clear, Ms. Anderson.
Your treatment of my son and others like him ends today. Principal Hayes has already agreed to a full review of Jefferson Academy’s inclusivity, practices with particular attention to faculty bias. You can’t… she began, then stopped herself, realizing the precariousness of her position.
I can and I have, Jonathan replied calmly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take my son home. He gently woke Malik and Ethan, who blinked groggily back to consciousness.
Time to go? Malik asked, rubbing his eyes. Almost, Jonathan replied. Ethan, your parents are on their way.
They should be here any minute. As if on cue, an agent appeared at the door. Mr. Carter? The Williams family has arrived for their son.
Ethan gathered his things, then turned to Malik. This was the craziest day ever, he said, his voice a mixture of awe and lingering fear. Will you be at school tomorrow? I don’t know, Malik replied, looking to his father.
We’ll see, Jonathan, said noncommittally. Let’s get through tonight first. After Ethan left with his visibly shaken parents, Jonathan led Malik through the now quiet school corridors.
FBI agents nodded respectfully as they passed, and Malik couldn’t help noticing how deferential everyone was to his father. The same father Ms. Anderson had mocked him for claiming worked at the Pentagon. Outside, the black SUVs, legitimate.
Government vehicles this time, waited to escort them home. As they climbed into the backseat of the lead vehicle, Malik finally asked the question that had been building all day. Dad, who were those people? Why were they at my school? Jonathan considered his son’s question carefully.
The age-old instinct, to protect Malik by keeping him in the dark, warred with the day’s stark reality. Ignorance hadn’t protected him at all. They were intelligence operatives working for a foreign government, he said finally.
They were gathering information, and possibly, he hesitated, then decided Malik deserved the truth. Possibly planning to take some of the students whose parents work in sensitive positions. Like me, Malik asked, his eyes widening.
Yes, Jonathan admitted. Like you. Because of what you do at the Pentagon, Jonathan nodded, watching his son carefully for signs of fear.
To his surprise, Malik’s expression showed more curiosity than terror. So you’re not just an analyst, Malik said. It wasn’t a question.
No, Jonathan confirmed. I lead a counterintelligence unit. We identify and neutralize threats to national security.
Is that why we never talk about your work at home? Why you never come to school events? Partly, Jonathan said. My position is classified, and maintaining a low profile helps protect both the operations I oversee and our family. Malik was quiet for a moment, processing this information.
Then he asked, Is mom okay? Should we call her? Jonathan smiled at his son’s concern. She’s fine. I spoke with her while you were sleeping.
Her conference in Chicago is secure, and we have agents with her as a precaution. She’ll be home tomorrow. The SUV turned onto their street, and Jonathan noticed Malik, tensing as they approached their house.
The events of the day had clearly shaken his sense of safety. It’s okay, Jonathan reassured him. Our house is secure.
There are agents checking it right now, and we’ll have protection tonight. Sure enough, as they pulled into the driveway, they could see agents moving efficiently around their property, while others waited by the front door. One approached as Jonathan and Malik exited the vehicle.
Sir, we’ve completed the sweep. We found and neutralized three listening devices, one in the living room, one in the kitchen, and one in your home office. The house is clear now.
Thank you, Jonathan replied. Maintain the perimeter through the night. I want a guard on every entrance.
Yes, sir. Inside, the house looked exactly as they had left it that morning, though Malik noticed small telltale signs of the security sweep. A picture frame slightly askew, a book not quite back in its original position on the shelf.
They were listening. To us in our own house? He asked, his voice small. Jonathan nodded grimly.
For how long? We don’t know yet, but they can’t do it anymore. He guided Malik upstairs. Get ready for bed.
It’s been a long day. I’m not sure I can sleep, Malik admitted. Try, Jonathan said gently.
You’re safe now, I promise. After Malik had changed and brushed his teeth, Jonathan sat on the edge of his bed, something he hadn’t done since Malik was much younger. I’m- Sorry I couldn’t tell you more about my work, he said.
I thought I was protecting you by keeping you in the dark. It’s okay, Malik replied. I understand now.
No more secrets between us, Jonathan promised. At least, not about the important things. As Malik drifted towards sleep, Jonathan remained seated beside him, his mind turning over the events of the day.
The photograph from Syria troubled him deeply. It suggested a connection between the school operation and his past missions, a personal vendetta rather than just routine intelligence gathering. His phone vibrated with a message from- Ramirez, O’Reilly talking, says he answers to someone named Volk.
Ring any bells? Jonathan stared at the message, a cold weight settling in his stomach. Anton Volk, a name from the past, from the very mission depicted in the photograph, a mission that had ended with five, enemy operatives dead and one who had escaped, wounded but alive. He typed back, Yes, high priority.
We’ll brief in person tomorrow. Double the security detail at my house tonight. Setting his phone aside, Jonathan looked down at his sleeping.
Sunt the day’s events had changed everything. The careful separation he’d maintained between his work and family life had been shattered, and now a ghost from his past threatened them both. One thing was certain, tomorrow would bring a reckoning.
Dawn broke over the Carter household with the quiet efficiency of a military operation. Jonathan, who had barely slept, was already in his home office when his secure phone rang at 5.30 a.m. Carter, he answered. We have confirmation, Ramirez’s voice came through.
Anton Volk is in the country. Facial recognition picked him up at a gas station in Maryland yesterday. How the hell did he get into the country, Jonathan demanded, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Malik.
Diplomatic cover. He entered as part of a trade delegation from Ukraine three weeks ago, then dropped off the grid. Jonathan absorbed this information, the pieces falling into place.
And the school operation? Looks like it was dual purpose, Ramirez replied. The intelligence gathering was real, but according to O’Reilly, they had specific instructions regarding your son. Abduction? Yes, they were supposed to take him during the confusion of the evacuation.
Volk wants to use him as leverage. Leverage for what? There was a pause before Ramirez answered. For you to turn over something called Blackfish Files.
Mean anything to you? Jonathan closed his eyes briefly. The Blackfish operation had been one of the most classified missions he’d ever led, a successful infiltration of a Russian intelligence network that had yielded unprecedented insights into their operations. Volk had been part of that network.
I know what he wants, Jonathan confirmed. Where’s Volk now? We don’t know. The Maryland sighting was 18 hours ago.
He could be anywhere. He’s not anywhere, Jonathan said with certainty. He’s nearby.
He wouldn’t delegate this operation, not when it’s personal. We’ve increased surveillance around your neighborhood and at Jefferson Academy. All targeted families have protection.
Details? Not good enough, Jonathan argued. Volk is a ghost. He won’t try conventional approaches now that his initial operation has been compromised.
What do you suggest? Jonathan considered their options. We need to draw him out. Use me as bait.
That’s risky, Ramirez cautioned. So is waiting for him to make the next move, Jonathan countered. I’ll come in and we’ll work out the details.
After ending the call, Jonathan went to check on Malik, who was still sleeping peacefully. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him more heavily than ever. His work had put his son in danger, and now he had to find a way to eliminate that threat permanently.