Deep Sleep (Devin Gray #1)(43)
“I want to feel reassured by that, but I’m afraid to ask how many lives you might have left,” said Devin.
“It really doesn’t matter. I don’t plan on loaning you any. No offense,” said Berg, patting him on the shoulder. “How are you planning on booking and paying for the Airbnb? We have to assume the sleeper network has access to the same kind of data tracing the FBI would use to track a suspect. We can’t use credit cards, enter names into hotel systems—or anywhere, for that matter. We need to remain off the grid for as long as possible.”
“I could create a fake account and use the five-hundred-dollar gift cards,” said Devin. “But Airbnb could ask me to verify my identity, which would require me to take a picture of my ID and possibly a picture of myself to match to the ID. They’re hit or miss with that, and I don’t have a fake ID, anyway, so it’s a moot point. I was thinking of maybe asking someone from my last job. I don’t really know anyone at MINERVA well enough.”
“I strongly suggest we leave the FBI out of this,” said Berg. “Same with family and any friends you’re in regular contact with. We don’t know how long the Russians have been keeping an eye on you. We’re looking for a friend that you haven’t seen in a while that would do you a favor, or the kind of friend you see every five years and it’s like nothing’s changed. You’re best friends again.”
A name came to mind, but he shook his head just as quickly. Why would she do this for him? The better question was, Why would Devin expose her—even tangentially—in this potentially messy or even deadly conspiracy? Then again, she fit the profile Berg had described perfectly. They’d been best friends in high school, maybe a little more, though he’d never made a real move on her, and always regretted it. Whenever their paths had crossed after high school, which became rarer each year due to her Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps commitments, they’d picked up right where they’d ended last time, as though they’d just hung out the day before.
He hadn’t seen Marnie Young for close to four years before she walked into his mother’s wake, and despite the strained circumstances of the setting, the connection between them had felt the same. He’d furtively scanned her fingers for a ring, not that he hadn’t done that before. She’d always had that effect on him, though it somehow felt different this time. Probably because she’d told him she planned on trying to find a job in the DC area. The prospect of being able to see her more than once or twice while she was on leave or in between duty assignments appealed to him.
After graduating from Northwestern University and receiving a commission in the United States Marine Corps, Marnie had spent the next fifteen years moving from one duty station to the next, much of that time spent deployed overseas, in both combat and noncombat zones, flying helicopters. Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallions, to be precise. Devin knew all the details. He’d followed her career through letters and chats with her parents.
He knew that she’d been awarded the Bronze Star with “combat V” for dropping off reinforcements and evacuating wounded Marines during an operation in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan, “under blistering small-arms, machine-gun, and rocket-propelled grenade fire that had repulsed all previous landing attempts.” She’d never said a word about it during any of her visits. Still hadn’t. He’d found out during a quick stop by her house to return a book her dad had loaned him a while back. They’d very proudly showed him the citation but made him promise not to tell their daughter. That was Marnie Young in a nutshell. Amazing but unpretentious.
Devin had been thrilled to learn she’d be sticking around the area for a while, which made the decision to ask her for this favor painful. It was a lot to ask of her, given the full context of the situation, which he obviously couldn’t reveal to her. If this whole thing publicly blew up on him in some spectacular way, her career aspirations in DC could be collateral damage.
Not to mention the possibility that the destruction might not be limited to just a tainted reputation. Real danger loomed over every move they made. If he asked her to do this, he’d have to level with her about the potential for disaster, however slim it might be. But was he really giving her a choice by coming clean with the hazard potential, or making it even harder for her to turn down a good friend in need? He’d help her if the roles were reversed, no matter what the stakes—and he knew she’d do the same. Just by asking, he wouldn’t be giving her a choice. He’d be making it for her. But what choice did he have? The conspiracy his mother had uncovered was bigger than all of them. He’d just have to trust that the simple act of arranging an Airbnb wouldn’t put her in danger.
“I know someone who fits the bill,” said Devin. “I’ll give her a call.”
“Her? Ex-girlfriend?” asked Berg. “Probably not the best idea.”
“No. A good friend from high school that I see every few years. A combat-decorated Marine helicopter pilot who recently left active duty,” said Devin. “I didn’t know she was back in town until she stopped by the funeral home.”
“Is she looking to continue the adventure?” asked Berg. “We can pay a good salary in Visa gift cards.”
Devin stifled a laugh. “No. I’m hesitant to even ask her to help. I don’t want her getting dragged into this any further than making the Airbnb reservation and getting the keys. It’s been four years since I’ve last seen her. Not counting my mother’s wake.”