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 a skew. 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 Vul. Ring any bells? Jonathan stared at the message, a cold weight settling in his stomach.
Anton Vul, 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."