“He’s dead.” Alisha Collins, Deputy Director of the CIA, slides folders in front of each of us. “These photos came over the wire this morning.”
This is it. The moment I have to choose between my friends and my country. If there’s a single picture of the team that took out Faruk, we’re all fucked.
My hands are steady as I remove the first shot. Amir Faruk sits in a leather chair, duct tape over his mouth, zip ties securing his wrists. Blood bathes his beige tunic in a red so dark, it’s almost black. The gaping wound where his throat used to be is clean, the mark of someone who didn’t hesitate. I’m not surprised.
The other photos show more than a dozen men. Necks broken. Shot. Stabbed. And a room full of computers burned to a crisp.
“It was a goddamned massacre. Do we have any idea who did this?” the President asks.
Alisha shakes her head. “No, sir. But we do have a rough idea of the timing. At 3:36 a.m., one of our assets texted the Chief of Station. Message read:Under attack.A few hours ago, we found the asset and five others locked in the basement of Amir Abdul Faruk’s compound. They claim two men wearing full balaclavas broke in and gave them a choice. Surrender or die.”
“Accents? Eye color? Any identifying marks?” I ask. Next to me, Pritchard holds his breath. If he doesn’t have at leastsomeidea Ryker McCabe was involved, I’ll eat this whole fucking folder. But if I don’t ask questions, all eyes will be on me.
Alisha shakes her head. “Nothing definitive. Four of the survivors woke up with knives to their throats. The asset couldn’t give us anything beyond ‘tall and well-armed.’”
Relief leaves my hands tingling, but I don’t let it show. I should have known McCabe wouldn’t let anyone see his face and live, but even the best make mistakes.
“Mr. Garcia.”
I turn to the man no one’s bothered to introduce. “Finally going to tell me why I’m here? And who the hell you are?”
“My name isn’t important. The fact that I’m in this room should tell you all you need to know.” He leans forward, steepling his fingers in front of him, elbows on the table. “Ms. Collins has a small team in the area guarding the compound, but they won’t be able to hold it for long.”
“So? Faruk’s dead. His empire can’t survive without him. Torch the place and forget it ever existed. I’m retired.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Pritchard runs a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Tell him.”
Alisha pulls out another folder. This one is only for me. “There are two major players in the region who could fill the void left by Amir Faruk’s death.”
I flip open the folder and freeze. Shapur Khan. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“So the rumors are true,” Mr. No Name says.
I shoot the man a look that could freeze hellfire. “Eleven years ago, Shapur was an up-and-coming hacker. Reckless as fuck. With Amir Musa’s cartel. He stole a hundred thousand dollars from Faruk’s coffers, and the asshole put out a hit on him. TheCIAthought they could turn him, so they sent me to keep his ass alive. I did my job.”
No Name stares me down. “It’s time to collect on that debt.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lisette
Outside the windowof my son’s hospital room, night blankets the city in a dark blue cocoon. My stomach will not settle. I had hoped Nomar would call. That he would tell me what was so important he had to walk out on me this morning. But my phone remains stubbornly silent.
Mateen has asked about him more than once. He wanted to play FIFA and show Nomar something called a “back heel kick.” But after his treatments, scans, and a game of Monopoly with his Mémé, Pépé, and Auntie Noele, he fell asleep with a stuffed duck in his arms—courtesy of the boat tour his grandparents raved about.
“Lisette,” Maman says softly, her hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk.”
Shit. I had hoped she would leave me be. I should have known better. I tug at a lock of hair and switch to French in case my son wakes. “I will not talk abouthimin front of Mateen.”
“Ma chérie,you have said nothing about your time…away. We cannot keep on like this. When you left us, there was such light to you. Now…”
Tears prick at my eyes. “When Ileft? I did notleave, Maman. I was taken. By a terrible man who did terrible things. Is it so strange that I do not wish to share what he did to me?”
I dart around her to turn up the white noise machine next to Mateen’s bed, then hold up my hand when she follows.
“No. Not here. When we can return to France, I will tell you what I can. Until then, please…”
“I am your mother, Lisette. I am not allowed to worry for you?”
