The Pawn’s Invitation

The Watergate had changed since the scandal that made its name infamous, but it still carried the same weight of history. Power moved through these halls, whispered in private rooms over expensive bourbon. Jessica could feel it.

She sat on the bed, cross-legged, laptop open, fingers idly scrolling. Olivia was at the desk, deep in her own research, while Leanna paced near the window, phone in hand, speaking in clipped tones.

They had three days to prepare before Olivia’s press credentials cleared. Three days to figure out how to get into Langley, who to meet, and how much risk they were walking into.

Jessica rubbed her temple. “Alright, let’s talk Langley.”

Leanna ended her call and turned to them. “This isn’t a break-in job.”

Olivia didn’t look up from her screen. “No kidding.”

Leanna crossed her arms. “If Richter’s pushing us toward Langley, it means someone inside knows something. But no one high up in the CIA is just going to take a meeting with us.”

Jessica exhaled. “We need leverage.”

Olivia’s fingers danced over the keyboard. “Or a name.”

* * *

The hours blurred together as they worked, piecing together who in Langley might be worth approaching.

Olivia pulled up reports, scanned leaks, compared names. Certain figures in the CIA had been shifting policy, subtle changes, minor restructures, things that wouldn’t raise alarms but didn’t fit the usual patterns.

Jessica leaned forward, reading over her shoulder. "That name again. Alan Kurtz. Comes up in internal memos from the National Security Council."

Leanna narrowed her eyes. "He’s one of the Deputy Directors."

Jessica exhaled. “That’s high.”

Olivia sat back, tapping her pen against the desk. "He’s been in the intelligence community for years, but his footprint is too clean. No personal scandals, no political blunders. He doesn’t even have a proper biography in most places."

Leanna frowned. "Which means he either keeps his head down… or someone’s cleaning up after him.”

Olivia flipped through her notes. “The only thing I have is that his name came up in a Homeland memo last year. Odd context. Budget request buried under cyber operations.”

Jessica frowned. “What kind of cyber ops?”

“No details. Redacted.”

A silence followed. Leanna broke it. “Well that’s not ominous at all.”

Jessica closed her laptop. “He’s our target.”

* * *

By the time evening rolled around, Olivia was still digging, but Leanna and Jessica needed air.

Jessica stretched, cracking her neck. "I need a drink."

Leanna grabbed her coat. "Come on, then."

They took the elevator down to the lounge, where the lighting was dim and the atmosphere dripped with old money. The place smelled of oak, whiskey, and polished leather.

Jessica let out a breath. "This is the kind of bar where senators get drunk enough to start wars."

Leanna smirked. "And where they end them."

They settled into a quiet corner, ordered whiskey neat, and let the silence settle.

For the first time in days, they weren’t running, breaking into places, or dodging bullets. It was a moment of calm, a brief illusion of normalcy.

Jessica swirled her drink. “You ever think about what life would’ve been like if we weren’t in this mess?”

Leanna leaned back, smirking. “You mean if we had real jobs? Normal lives?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Like, I don’t know. Maybe you’d be a professor somewhere. I’d be…” She hesitated. “Actually, I have no idea what I’d be.”

Leanna chuckled. “I’d be bored out of my mind. You’d probably be some kind of freelance investigator, still chasing ghosts.”

Jessica huffed. “Probably.”

A beat of silence. Then Leanna’s voice softened. "You alright, Jess?"

Jessica glanced up. Something in Leanna’s tone told her this wasn’t about their mission.

She exhaled. “I don’t know.”

Leanna studied her. “Is it Sam?”

Jessica hesitated. "He keeps me sane. But that doesn’t mean I feel whole.”

Leanna took a slow sip of her drink. "You're never going to find all the answers, you know. There’s never going to be a moment where everything clicks into place and suddenly you’re at peace. That’s not how life works."

Jessica swallowed. “Then what do I do?”

Leanna smirked. "You do what you’ve always done. You move forward."

Jessica let the words settle, then took a sip of her whiskey. She swirled her drink. “What if this is all we ever get? Rooms like this, drinks like this, waiting for the next move someone else already made?”

Leanna raised her glass. “Then we steal their board.”

* * *

When they went to pay the tab, the bartender slid something across the counter.

"Someone left this for you," he said, his tone neutral.

Jessica frowned and picked up the small envelope. It was heavy paper, old-fashioned, with no name on it.

She pulled out two tickets to Ford’s Theater. Tomorrow night. And printed neatly in the corner of the envelope: A single white pawn.

Leanna exhaled through her nose. “Well. That’s subtle.”

Jessica flipped the tickets in her hand.

Someone was leading them. Again.

She stuffed the envelope into her coat. "Guess we’re going to the theater."