The Goldfish Protocol

The office goldfish floated near the glass, its mouth opening and closing in what Mara assumed was silent judgment. She'd been watching it for twenty minutes, avoiding her spreadsheet, avoiding the truth.

"You look like a zombie," Carlos said, dropping into the chair beside her. He had spinach stuck between his front teeth—a detail Mara found painfully endearing in its ordinariness.

"Rough night." She smoothed her skirt, conscious of the USB drive burning in her pocket. "You ever feel like we're all just... swimming in circles?"

"That's deep for a Tuesday." Carlos checked his watch. "By the way, who's the new guy in IT? The one with the bear tattoo?"

Mara's stomach dropped. Three weeks ago, she'd downloaded a file she shouldn't have—evidence that her employer, a defense contractor, was selling classified data to the highest bidder. Since then, she'd noticed the new IT specialist everywhere. In the breakroom during her private calls. Outside her apartment building last Thursday. He wasn't IT. He was a spy.

Now Carlos had noticed him too.

"I haven't seen him," she lied. The goldfish bumped against the glass, startling her. Its memory lasted three seconds. She envied it.

"Well, keep an eye out." Carlos leaned closer. "I'm worried about you, Mara. You've been different lately."

His hand brushed hers—just a graze, really—but she felt it like electricity. They'd been dancing around whatever this was for six months. Perfect timing. If she did what she planned, she might be in witness protection by Christmas. If she didn't, she might not live to see Christmas.

The bear, she thought suddenly. Carlos's ex had loved that mountain cabin where they'd seen one last spring. He'd told her the story their first week working together, back when they were just two strangers surviving this corporate nightmare.

"Carlos," she started, then stopped. The office lights flickered.

"Yeah?"

She reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. "If something happens to me—"

"Mara?" His voice shifted, darkened. "The new IT guy came by your desk earlier. He left something for you."

He pulled a folded note from his pocket. Mara recognized the handwriting immediately. It wasn't a threat. It was a proposition.

"They know I know," she whispered.

"I know," Carlos said, squeezing her hand. "So do I."

He rolled up his sleeve. There, on his forearm, was a fresh tattoo of a bear.

"You're the spy," she realized.

"I'm your spy." He nodded toward the goldfish. "They're listening to everything. The fish tank has a camera. We need to move. Now."

Mara stood, her legs shaking. The zombie feeling dissolved into adrenaline-fueled clarity. She took Carlos's hand, the spinach in his teeth no longer endearing but human, real, and infinitely precious.