Blades of Winter by G. T. Almasi Page B

kind of uncoordinated. It’s not my shooting hand, thank goodness, but the lack of fine motor control limits my conversational options. We use a lot of sign language on our missions, and except for simple phrases I need both hands. Patrick invented a system that combines American Sign Language with the tactical hand signals we use in the field. Over time we’ve embellished his system with so many shortcuts and in-jokes that it’s become its own dialect. We showed it to one of the language experts at headquarters, and she couldn’t tell what the hell we were signing to each other. We’ve been taught that it’s safe to have quiet conversations on airplanes since there’s so much ambient sound, but sometimes we switch to our Patrick Sign Language anyway, just in case.
    While Trick and I drink and play cards, we review what the Information Department has learned about the clowns who kidnapped my mom. Even though we didn’t harvest any live intel from our recovery mission in Quantico, Info has unearthed some clues by sifting through the bodies and rubble. It doesn’t seem to be any of the usual suspects, meaning the German, Chinese, and Russian covert agencies. Although Info accepts Cleo’s assessment that her abductors were Russkies, they don’t think the kidnappers were acting on behalf of Mother Russia.
    But Info is certain about one thing: I was the intended target. Although Cleo’s inside knowledge of ExOps would be of moderate value to the competition, it’s nothing compared with what they’d gain from snatching me. Also, people like Mom are considered civilians and they’re generally left alone, especially since the embargo. Our diplomats work hard enough to maintain the peace. They can’t have us running around putting the glom on our rivals’ unarmed employees. Besides, most of these regular staffers are affiliated with prominent businessmen and government officials who become
mucho furioso
when international incidents happen to their friends and relatives.
    While Trick shuffles the deck he whispers, “And if those kidnappers were our usual competitors, rescuing your mother wouldn’t have been so easy.”
    “Easy?” I blurt. Trick’s eyes look from side to side. I’m blurting too loudly. I switch to one-handed sign language and sign, “What do you mean easy? Five of our guys were wounded.”
    He mumbles, “That’s because you were going so fast—”
    I let out a low growl.
    Trick continues, “—but we didn’t pick up a single outside communication to the kidnappers at any point during that op. Which might’ve been because you were going so fast.” He winks at me as he deals the cards.
    I smile over my drink and ask, “So you think their handlers abandoned them?”
    “Definitely. That operation was a clusterfuck right from the start. I mean, you and your mother
do
look alike, but c’mon. You don’t snatch a Level without a major fight. Then to get cornered that way down in Quantico? Normally a snatch team gets their target out of the area as fast as possible.”
    I pick up my cards and begin to arrange them by suit. “How about the bomb?”
    Patrick shakes his head and comms from behind his cards. “I don’t know what to think about that. Your father’s reappearance makes so many things possible. My boss suspects that the kidnappers’ main objective was to acquire intel about your father, first by searching your house and then by abducting you. Maybe they thought your dad stashed something down in his shop, and if they couldn’t find it, they were told to destroy it.” He lays down a two. “Or maybe they thought he left information with you.”
    “That can’t be it. I don’t know squat.” I put a four on Trick’s two to make six.
    “They didn’t know that, Alix.” Patrick drops a nine and makes fifteen for two points. He moves his peg up two holes and comms, “Besides, you may have picked up more than you think. You’ve told me that you used to have long conversations