Torn (Deep 8, #5)

3. Roger

THREE

Roger

Harlow comes back to the cottage as the spicy fragrances of Thai food filter into the room. My stomach gurgles ready for a refill since lunch.

We eat in silence, and something has changed since she left. She avoids looking at me and nods for answers. My training as an actor and then as an agent gives me the ability to read people well. She doesn’t want to be pushed into relieving her angst.

"I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. You can have the bed." My voice is soft, meant to reassure her.

She looks at me with an impassive face. "No. We are two agents on an assignment. It’s a king-sized bed. I’ll sleep on one side, and you can sleep on the other, above the covers. We need as much rest as we can get."

"Fair enough." I’m not going to argue, considering the couch is too small for my six-foot-three frame.

As we clean up, the silence is too much for this thespian. "Is everything okay? You seem quiet and I miss the snark."

She has a soft smile but dark circles under her eyes give her away. "Everything is fine. It’s been a long day and I’m tired." As agents, we’re trained to stay fresh and alert under the most dire conditions, but I’ll give her a pass.

As soon as we get settled in, she falls asleep. My mind races through a million scenarios of where the laptop could lead us, none of them good. I may find out things about my father I never wanted to know, or it could hold the key to everything.

At thirty-six, I should have a better profile of my father, but he remains somewhat of an enigma to me. Childhood memories cloud my adult vision.

The velvety cloak of midnight shrouds the room. The soft glow of the moon filters through the half-closed blinds, casting a gentle radiance over the contours of Harlow's face. As I lie beside her, my eyes follow the inked tapestry adorning her skin, and the piercings glint like distant stars in the night sky. I whisper the words I know well from Julius Caesar , "The fault lies not in our stars, but in ourselves," knowing fate will have little to do with how this mission turns out.

I can't help but marvel at the intricate artwork dancing across her body, each tattoo telling a story I long to unravel. She’s a classic beauty with high cheekbones and full lips among a mosaic of rebellion and self-expression. Yet, beneath the surface of the sleeping canvas, I can sense her vulnerability tugging at my heart. She’s hiding in plain sight.

My thoughts are not solely consumed by Harlow's ethereal presence. My father looms in the recesses of my mind like a shadow refusing to be dispelled. The mission to find him, to rescue him from the clutches of his ambitions, gnaw at my conscience. The apprehension claws at my chest, an unrelenting force questioning my worthiness in his eyes.

Turning my gaze from Harlow, I stare into the darkness, my mind retracing the steps leading me to this precipice of uncertainty. The cryptic messages, the laptop falling into my lap —I’m chasing a ghost, a specter of a man I hardly know. Lucas is a conundrum, a puzzle I’m ill-equipped to solve.

A sigh escapes my lips, a silent exhalation of frustration, and Harlow stirs beside me. Her eyes flutter open, her orbs of softened blue meeting mine in the muted moonlight. There is a moment of shared silence, a tacit understanding where words are unnecessary.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice, a velvet murmur, echoes in the quiet room.

I shake my head, my gaze returning to the ceiling. "Just restless. Thoughts... they won't let go."

Harlow props herself up on an elbow, the inked tendrils on her arm shifting with the movement. "Your father?"

I nod, a heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach. "I can’t shake this feeling that I don’t really know who he is. I’ve spent so much time proving myself to him that I’m not sure I know the man." I swallow my words knowing I’ve revealed too much to a woman I barely know.

She reaches out, her fingers grazing my bicep. "People are not always who we think they are. They can disappoint and delude us into believing what they want us to see. If you take a hard look behind the curtain, you’ll find out he’s exactly who you think he is, and you shouldn’t have to prove yourself to him."

A half-smile plays on my lips, the warmth of her touch seeping through the cracks in my resolve. "You make it sound so simple as if you’re speaking from experience. The father-son relationship tends to be complex, just ask Shakespeare."

Harlow chuckles a sound that resonates with a hint of mischief. "Simple doesn't mean easy. Hasn’t everyone experienced someone in disguise?"

Her words test my understanding of who I think my father is, but I push it away. The gravity of our mission, however, pulls me back into the abyss of uncertainty. "We need to find him and understand what's going on, what he's become, and if he’s in trouble."

Harlow's eyes narrow, a spark of determination igniting within them. "And we will, Roger. We'll get to the bottom of this. When did you last see him?"

I don’t turn to see the judgment on her face. "About three years ago."

"I remember. I booked his flight for the States," she murmurs. "Why so long?"

I don’t answer her question as the air sparks with an unspoken answer, but the shadows of doubt linger. I reach for the laptop on the bedside table and place it in my lap. The soft glow casts a pale light on Harlow's face. "We can try to crack his security. It's like playing a video game without knowing the rules."

I enter his name as his username and start with passwords I think he might use. Harlow’s hand lands on my arm. "Be careful. After so many attempts, the computer might lock you out."

"Good point." My fingers grip the hair on top of my head.

She sighs, her fingers trace absent patterns on the sheets. "We need a hacker. Someone who can navigate the digital language."

A name surfaces in my mind, a whispered legend in the underworld of cyber espionage. "Pippa."

"Pippa?" She frowns.

"Have you ever heard of Red Enigma?"

Harlow raises an eyebrow, and a blond curl covers her eye. "As in the notorious Red Enigma who can breach the impenetrable. You know her?"

I nod. "She’s the one and only. If anyone can unravel my father’s digital fortress, it’s her. She’s a white hat now and works for MBK Global Security."

"Some of our agents have come across them. So MBK turned her?"

"You could say that. It’s a long story."

"Between the two of us, we could sit around the campfire all night telling long stories." She smiles.

Within minutes, the wheels are set in motion. Pippa, hidden behind layers of code and secrecy, joins our conversation. Her holographic avatar flickers on the cell screen, and a mischievous grin plays on her lips.

"Roger, what can I do for you?" Her voice is altered.

"Nice avatar. Having fun these days?"

"There are many reasons for me to stay hidden, and you might be with someone."

I glance over at Harlow. "She’s ASIO so she’s okay. You can do a clearance if you want."

"Dealing in the digital world gets more complex by the minute, you never know who you can trust. I’ll take your word for it. You’ve proven to be trustworthy."

The urgency in my voice conveys the direness of our situation. "We need to hack into my father’s laptop and uncover his calendar along with anything else we can find. The first forty-eight hours are crucial."

Pippa's digital eyes scanned Harlow, her virtual expression inscrutable. "I have to get my hands on it. Beck and I are on our way. We’ll be there by noon tomorrow. Send me your coordinates." She clicks off.

"Who’s Beck?" Harlow whispers.

I sigh. "It’s complicated, but he’s her boyfriend and ex-MI-6. He also works for MBK. Don’t be fooled by his cool demeanor. He’s not one to be taken lightly. The man is the size of a mountain."

"Do you trust them?" Her eyes pin me.

"I don’t know them well, but I know their team. Trust must be earned so we will see how this unfolds. We’ve got to start somewhere."

"If this doesn’t work out, I’ve got some friends in low places who can help. They are sketchy, but they owe me, big time."

No one can do this job and not encounter the darker side of life. Our ops require we straddle both sides of the line of morality. We live in the gray areas where right and wrong are words and actions speak volumes.

Harlow rolls over on her back. "We should get some sleep before they get here. I get the feeling once we hack Lucas’s computer, our lives are going to be plunged into fast forward."

Tucking the blanket under my chin, my body relaxes knowing I’ve got back up on the way as time ticks away on finding my father. I get the feeling the answers we seek are entangled in a web of deceit and shattered reflections. My father, elusive and enigmatic, remains in the shadows, and the journey to unravel the mystery has only just begun.