“Yeah, a big one, actually,” she said.

“Hit me.”

“Is it the agency’s intention or desire that I infiltrate the Shepherds? I mean, how do we categorize them? Are they a partner, an ally, an asset . . . an adversary?”

“Like everything in our world, the answer to your question is a gray area. I would call what we have with them a strategic partnership. They are an ally far more than an adversary, to be sure, but their goals are their own and may not always match well with ours. Does that make sense?”

She nodded.

“As far as infiltrating their ranks, from what I understand from Mark, that’s not really possible. In fact, if they catch even the slightest hint that your intentions are less than honorable, you’ll be blackballed and I’ll have to find someone else. It’s a delicate dance I’m asking you to perform . . . But I wouldn’t worry too much. My gut tells me you’re the right girl for the job. From the debrief, sounds like they already trust you. So just keep doing what you’re doing.”

He scooted his chair back from the table and stuck out his hand to her.

She stood and shook it.

“Congratulations, Gayle,” he said and gave her a closed-lip smile. “And good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t ever call me sir.” He walked out of the SCIF.

Her bladder full to bursting, Gayle quick-stepped down the hall in search of the nearest ladies’ room. After that biological exigency was dealt with, she would  begin the intriguing work of learning everything she could about this mysterious task force she had just inherited.

CHAPTER
NINE

TRINITY INTELLIGENCE OFFICE

TRINITY LOOP COMPLEX

1921 HOURS LOCAL

Jed’s head bobbed with microsleep.

Here they were, working on the greatest threat the Shepherds had ever faced, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. How messed up was that? It just showed how completely conditioned his body had become to operating on adrenaline. Operators like him sat at the apex of the flight-or-fight hierarchy, and because the energy weapon threat was not immediate and tangible, his brain had given it the neurological shrug.

“Is this boring you, Jed?” Damien Gough, the Shepherd CISA, said with thinly veiled irritation.

“I’m sorry, dude. I’m spent.” Jed pressed to his feet to walk and get his blood flowing. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

Damien nodded, but Jed wasn’t sure if it was with understanding or judgment. The dude was clearly wicked smart, but he did not present as a former operator. Sometimes guys who didn’t spend much time in the field had trouble relating to the physical toll it took on a body. He’s probably a former intel or crypto weenie, Jed thought. He looked over at Eli, whose chin happened to also be bouncing off his chest. Bex and Nisha weren’t doing much better.