As busy as she was with debriefings, she hadn’t had time to look for an apartment or buy a car or shop for more than a few necessities—though she had made sure to get a phone. The Agency had given her temporary housing and a rental car, which helped. But after life as a religious sister—not to mention the abduction and escape from the cartel—it felt strange to be back in the US and out in the world.
Amid the stress of re-entry, Dylan had been her anchor, the sound of his voice enough to smooth all her rough edges. He’d done this so many times—countless deployments followed by a return to the real world. He understood what she was feeling and seemed to know just what to say. They talked about flying together to Puerto Rico or Hawaii or Greece when she was finally given leave.
“It doesn’t matter to me where we go as long as there’s room service, wine, and you,” Gabriela had said.
“That narrows it down a bit,” he’d joked.
God, she missed him. She missed everything about him—his voice, his hand holding hers, that smile, those eyes, the warmth of his body beside her at night, the bliss of making love with him.
The elevator door opened with ading, and she made her way to the conference room. Colby, her immediate supervisor, had told her to expect a reprimand but assured her that the evaluation would be fair.
She drew a breath, put on her game face, and stepped through the door, acknowledging each man with a glance and a nod. “Director Walker. Senior Director Rayburn. Assistant Director Colby.”
She set her handbag on the floor, took a seat—and waited.
Walker was the first to speak. “How are you feeling? I understand you were shot.”
“A graze wound, sir. It’s healing well. The doctor removed the stitches and cleared me.”
He nodded, his brow furrowing. “You did some extraordinary work during the eighteen months of this assignment. There’s no denying that. Your ability to maintain your cover under the most adverse circumstances has been noted. Your talent for improvisation is also impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“In our assessments during your training, there was nothing to indicate you would perform effectively in a combat situation. We have updated those assessments.”
Assistant Director Rayburn took over. “What concerns us was your decision to risk your entire mission in a foolhardy and ultimately failed attempt to prevent the journalists from being abducted.”
And now came the reprimand.
“You are a valuable resource,” Rayburn said. “Women—people—with your particular set of skills are not easy to find. While your instinct to protect US citizens is laudable, you brought your mission to a premature end and put your life in jeopardy for two people who, quite frankly, ignored State Department travel advisories and had no business being in Venezuela.”
“Yes, sir.” She couldn’t deny it. “I’m sorry, sir. I heard the screams and gunshots and reacted on instinct. At the same time, I was able to protect the hostages and get intel to you that made their rescue—and mine—possible.”
“That has been noted,” Colby said. “It’s in the evaluation. We know—”
Walker cut him off. “It wasn’t your job to look after those journalists. Did you forget who you were? You lost yourself in the part you were playing and started thinking like a nun and not an officer. You weren’t there on a mission of mercy.”
Gabriela fought to keep her temper in check. “I didn’t lose myself in any part, sir. That’s who I am!”
“That’s who you are.” Walker repeated her words. “Look at the consequences of that single act. We had to send your contacts underground in case you were outed as an Agency officer. The Andes Cartel is now caught up in a violent internal struggle, as well as a turf war with neighboring cartels, destabilizing the region. Our only Agency asset inside SEBIN is dead thanks to Cobra, so now we’re blind.”
He was talking about Sander.
“He betrayed us. He would have turned us over to the cartel.”
“Not if you hadn’t gotten yourself abducted!” Walker’s voice boomed through the small room. “That’s my point. If you had remained at the Mission, our asset never would have been involved, and the region wouldn’t be caught in a deadly cartel war.”
Rayburn cut in. “You have to understand, Ms. Marquez, that your greatest value to the Agency was as an undercover officer in Venezuela. But we can’t send you there again. Your face has been on the TV news and in newspapers. We can’t assign you toanyregion where the Andes Cartel has operations, which rules out most of Central and South America. If the Andes Cartel survives, they’ll be looking for you.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
Walker cleared his throat. “Apart from that mistake, your performance was exemplary. From your abduction onward, you exhibited the very best of what an Agency Officer should be. We’re giving you a commendation together with a reprimand. Because of you, two US hostages are home safely, a ruthless cartel boss is dead, and Luis Sánchez has come crawling toourdoorstep, pleading for help.”
“He might be the key to regime change,” Colby added.
“Let us hope so.” Then it might all be worth it.
Rayburn leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got three months of hard-earned leave. When you return, we’re reassigning you to the Latin American division as an analyst.”