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  “I’m sorry. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It turns out Cage’s Romanian prize Maja, seated two rows behind us, has herself a sister.”

  “And?”

  “She’s the fooking Europol analyst who went to the police in Dubrovnik two days ago.”

  Riesling sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “Why is it you are just now finding out about this? The recruiters and groomers are supposed to look into the items before they are collected.”

  “Half sisters. Different last names. Our Romanian recruiter missed it. The way Cage demanded the bitch be slotted into the next shipment meant they were pressed for time.” He added, “Our whore is named Roxana Vaduva and the Europol bitch is named Talyssa Corbu.”

  Riesling said, “And this Corbu, she’s working with the assassin that’s been chasing us?”

  “Unquestionably.”

  “But Maja can’t possibly know what her sister is doing. She’s been strip-searched multiple times; she doesn’t have a way to communicate.”

  “She could know what her sister is doing if she talked to Gentry while on board La Primarosa.”

  Riesling blinked hard at this allegation. “What, and then he just beat her up?”

  “Was the only way we wouldn’t suspect her, wasn’t it?”

  “But . . . why didn’t he take her with him?”

  Verdoorn looked out the window. “Either he couldn’t pull that off, or she didn’t want to go because she’s on the job, working for her sister. I don’t know which, but either way, she’s bloody dangerous.”

  Riesling looked over her shoulder at Cage, who was openly eyeing Maja right now with a look like a fox staring into a henhouse. She said to Verdoorn, “Why are you telling me? Aren’t you going to tell the Director?”

  Verdoorn shook his head. “It won’t change anything. He wants this one back at the Ranch, more than I’ve ever seen him want any of the merchandise in the years I’ve worked for him. Telling him she poses a threat to him will only create more trouble for us. Not for him. Not for her. For us.”

  Riesling said, “I don’t really understand your reasoning.”

  “He’ll be pissed we didn’t figure out the relationship, he’ll be more pissed than he already is that we didn’t bag Gentry in Venice or Croatia or Bosnia, and he won’t dispose of her until he’s done what he wants with her.”

  “So . . . what do we do?”

  “I prefer to see this new development as an opportunity.”

  “To do what?”

  Verdoorn pointed to his tablet computer. On it was the LinkedIn profile of Talyssa Corbu, including contact information and a photo of a waifishly thin smiling blonde in business attire. “For me to make contact with my enemy.”

  Verdoorn grinned, and Riesling saw it as an especially sinister expression on the man’s normally cruel and hard face.

  * * *

  • • •

  I’ve caught a couple hours’ sleep on the CIA Falcon 50 as we cross the Atlantic, but I wake when my phone begins buzzing in my hand. I look around quickly; it’s daylight, and a quick check of the monitor at the front bulkhead tells me we’re forty minutes away from landing at Andrews in D.C.

  I rub my eyes and snatch up my phone.

  “Talyssa? You okay?”

  Her voice is unsure. “I’m okay. I’m at the airport. I’ll be in Los Angeles in twelve hours.”

  “I don’t want you flying to the—”

  “Harry. Listen. Someone called me.”

  This sounds bad. “Who?”

  “He didn’t say . . . He wants to talk to someone called Gentry. Is that your last name, Harry?”

  And now it sounds worse. I close my eyes and lean my head back. “Let me guess. He’s South African.”

  “I believe that he is. I can transfer him from my phone to yours.”

  “All right. Do it.”

  I look around the cabin and see that Sharon is up and moving around, but everyone else is still racked out. Men and women in this line of work become experts at grabbing rest whenever and wherever they can. Hightower’s head is hanging back off the side of the couch and he’s snoring a snore I spent years listening to almost every night when I served under him in the Goon Squad.

  I hear a few clicks over the satellite connection, and then a low, gravelly voice starts up in my ear.

  “Well hello there, mate.”

  “Hello, Jaco.” It was an educated guess, but the hesitation on the other end tips me off that I hit the nail on the head.

  Finally he says, “Impressive. Bladdy impressive. Should have known you’d be doin’ your due diligence. Just like I am.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Two things. One, I wanted to introduce myself, but now I see introductions are unnecessary. And two, I’m just calling to let you know that we’ve figured out who your informant is.”

  “My . . . informant?” I say, but the instant Talyssa told me Jaco was on the phone, I knew that he knew about Roxana.

  “Yes, your informant. The lovely sister of your associate.”

  I don’t speak. I knew it was always possible they could connect these dots, but I hoped they wouldn’t. I don’t know what this means for Roxana now, but it can’t be good.

  “Don’t you worry,” Jaco says. “We haven’t touched a hair on her head. Yet.”

  I try to help her situation in the only way I can think of. “I didn’t know who she was when I punched her lights out on the boat. Thought she was just some whore. Corbu showed me a picture of her after. We thought she was dead. Corbu’s still pissed off I left her there.”

  “You’re trying too hard, mate. I know you and Roxana talked after you killed Kostopoulos.”

  “Kostopoulos? Oh, yeah. I only knew him as ‘the old pervert in the bathrobe.’ But no, I didn’t talk to her.”

  Verdoorn sniffs out a laugh. I wait to hear whatever his pitch is.

  He says, “You’re good, mate. You know you are good.”

  “And you’re bad. You know that, too, right?”

  “Guilty as charged. But me and my boys will be around Roxana from here on out, and we can’t wait for you to come and try again.”

  I find this intriguing. “So . . . you aren’t warning me to back off, you’re hoping I’ll keep coming.”

  “That’s it. I guess you are used to scaring your enemy so bad they don’t put up a fight.”

  I’m hardly used to that, but far be it from me to dissuade him from thinking I’m a badass.

  He keeps talking. “Gentry, I’m not like your average bloke. I’m bladdy looking forward to the day we meet.”

  “Me, too. Why don’t you give me your address? I’ll pop right over.”

  “No such luck. Can’t make it too easy, can I? The boss man wouldn’t be happy with me. Nah, mate, I’ll just do what I do, work within the confines of my job. I’ll let Roxana do what she does, or what she’ll be forced to do soon enough, which won’t be pretty. I’ll just wait for the stars to align and for you to show up in front of me.”

  “Hey,” I say. “While I’ve got you, what’s it like knowing you are ruining the lives of tens of thousands of innocent girls? How does that make you feel?”

  “How does it make you feel killing loads of people?”

  Sharon brings me coffee and I take it, my hand clutching the phone tightly. “Sometimes I feel nothing at all. But sometimes, when it’s just the right person . . . I feel fan-fucking-tastic. And I’m really looking forward to that day I show up in front of you.”

  Jaco laughs hard now. “Likewise, mate. You think you scare me, but ya don’t.”

  “I don’t want to scare you. I want your confidence at an all-time high when I drive the blade into your gut. Then you’ll get that look of disbelief in your eyes, mixed wi
th fear, mixed with anger. You know the look. You’ve seen it in your victims, haven’t you, Jaco?”

  He doesn’t reply, and I know I’m in this asshole’s head, right where I want to be.

  Jaco says, “You think you’re some kind of a hero, don’t you, mate? I know your type. I bet you think you are going through all this because you care about the poor defenseless little whores. But that’s not it at all. I can hear it in your voice. You’re the same as me. You do all this not because you want to save people, but because you want to kill people. You need to kill people.”

  He’s wrong. Totally wrong. I mean . . . he has to be. I don’t kill because of blood lust, I kill because of the situations I find myself in.

  Or . . . put myself in, I guess.

  Does this motherfucker have a point?

  Pushing my own motivations out of my mind for now, I say, “Well, it’s been a blast catching up. Looking forward to our next encounter.”

  “You and me both, mate.”

  I hang up the phone, figuring doing so will piss him off a little. I thought about appealing to him to leave Roxana out of this, but I don’t want to do anything more to make him think he has that leverage over me with her.

  Sharon brings the coffeepot back to refill me, but I haven’t taken a sip yet. She says, “Landing in a half hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zack is awake now, and he moves over next to me. Softly he says, “I talked to Matt while you were racked out. We have an idea that might help you a little.”

  I’m suspicious, despite Hanley’s limited sanction. “Why is Matt helping me with something he doesn’t even want me doing?”

  “Hanley doesn’t want you dying for another cause, he wants you dying for him.”

  It’s fucked up, but I know Hanley well enough to know it’s true.

  I say, “Okay, so why are you helping me?”

  “Me?” Zack looks uncomfortable now, weird on the face of a man normally so cocky and self-assured. After a time, he says, “I have my reasons.”

  I know his reason. His one reason. “You’re thinking about who I’m trying to help, and you’re thinking about your own kid, aren’t you?”

  “My daughter. She lives in Boulder. That’s not a guess. I found out last spring. She and her mom are in wit-pro, long story, but I got a guy at the Bureau to find out about her.”

  I know how hard it is to find someone in Witness Protection, so I recognize the lengths Zack must have gone to. “Why did you seek her out after all these years?”

  Now Zack looks almost sick. He isn’t the emotional type, so when his eyes glass up and redden, it’s awkward as fuck for us both. He says, “I’m not gonna live forever. Hell, I might not live till Tuesday.” He sniffs back congestion; there are no tears, but he’s close. He says, “Stacy. That’s her name. Her mom named her. She probably told her I died in the war or some shit.” After another sniff he says, “She’s got another dad. A firefighter. I dug into him hard.” After a pause he says, “He’s a good dude. A saint.” He shakes his head. “Fucking bastard.”

  “You want your kid being raised by a good man, don’t you?”

  He nods. “Of course I do. But I wish I were that good man. I haven’t done one thing for her but stay away. That used to be enough for me. But it’s not anymore.”

  Zack clears his head with a hard shake. “Anyway. These girls in the pipeline. I hope you can help them out.”

  I’m almost certain the ones I saw in Mostar, with the exception of Liliana, are all but doomed. But maybe there is still hope for Roxana. “What is it you are offering?”

  “Wish I could go with you, but Hanley would kick me in the dick meat if I tried. I do know a guy you might want to talk to, though.”

  “Who?”

  Zack turns and faces me directly. “Like Hanley said, you’ve got no problem working with some shady fuckers if it helps you achieve your mission. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  I don’t hesitate an instant. “I’d work with Satan himself to help these victims, Zack.”

  Hightower nods. “There’s a former Unit guy.” He’s talking about Delta Force, and I know them to be among the best shooters on the planet. “He transitioned to Ground Branch. He left the Agency, started a company a few years back in the Philippines, raiding brothels and rescuing kids being abused by foreign tourists. The sickest of the sick fuckers out there. International agencies hired him and his team after they did the prep work. He and his six teammates kicked the doors, Delta style, went in and took down johns and traffickers. Zip-tied the perpetrators and left them for the cops, then got the kids out of there and into shelters.

  “This guy saw a lot of action in three years of doing this.”

  I say, “He doesn’t sound like Satan to me. Still, I don’t see how some dude in the Philippines is going to be any help to—”

  “He lives in Vegas now,” Hightower continues. “His company is defunct.” Almost nonchalantly he adds, “He and his boys straight-up murdered a bunch of dudes.”

  I cock my head. “They did what?”

  “A British national in Manila, they walked in on him raping a little kid. I don’t know how little, and I don’t want to know, but with all the shit these guys had seen, whatever they saw in that room, they absolutely snapped. My buddy grabbed the British sex tourist by the throat and squeezed, didn’t stop squeezing till he ripped the motherfucker’s windpipe out. Dude bled out right there. Filipinos working at the house stormed in, unarmed, and the Americans opened fire on every last one of them. Thirteen dead in all. A damn bloodbath, right in the center of the capital.”

  “That’s not Satan’s work,” I counter. “That’s God’s work.”

  “Yeah, no shit. But the Philippine government didn’t agree. Bad for tourism. Sex tourism, which they tolerate, but also tourism in general. They arrested the seven Americans, held them in some Manila shithole for ten months, then extradited them to the U.S. Due to their ties with the Agency, they weren’t prosecuted here. They were just ordered to keep their heads low and stop doing what they were doing.”

  “But . . .” I say. “You think there’s a chance they might do what they were doing again, if I just ask.”

  Zack shrugs. “I don’t know. Neither does Hanley. But they were good shooters, and you can’t second-guess their motivation for one second. They lived for this shit before they got popped in Asia and sent home.

  “You tell them what you told me . . . you might get yourself some backup.”

  It’s worth a shot. “Who is this guy? Your friend.”

  “Shep Duvall. Solid dude, or he was when I knew him, anyway.”

  Upon hearing the name, I close my eyes.

  “What?” Zack asks.

  I say, “I know that asshole.”

  “Yeah? Well, beggars can’t be choosers, Six.”

  I open my eyes and say, “True, but beggars can be beggars. Any chance I can borrow a gun?”

  Hightower makes a face of annoyance, but says, “When we land, when we’re off the aircraft, I’ll get a piece off one of Travers’s boys. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Thanks, Zack.”

  He nods at me, then gives me a little wink. “Go get ’em, Six.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  The girl called Sofia and the girl called Maja were ushered out of the private plane and marched across the tarmac, far from the small terminal and into a waiting black Mercedes G-Class SUV. Dr. Claudia climbed in behind them.

  From the backseat of the Navigator, Roxana saw the Director deplane, climb down the stairs, and look her way briefly as he climbed into the back of an identical Mercedes SUV, with his bodyguard Sean at his side.

  Roxana was desperate to find some hint of where she was right now. She didn’t know how she could possibly communicate her location to her sister, but it was a moot point until she actually knew i
t herself.

  She’d looked around for an airport sign, but she saw nothing.

  The ocean was on her left as they drove away from the city, and although she’d been no geography wiz in school back in Bucharest, she knew this meant they were heading north if they were, in fact, on the West Coast. There were hills, canyons, and lots and lots of businesses and homes, then they drove away from much of the development and into more sparsely populated arid hills.

  Minutes later Roxana Vaduva squinted into the sunshine, looking through the windshield of the van as it rolled through the iron-gated entrance of a large ranch. They rumbled up a paved driveway, past a pair of small, squat stucco buildings, and past four young men. The men eyed the vehicle as it drove by, and she looked through the heavily tinted windows at them, saw the big guns hanging from their chests. The vehicle rolled on; Roxana noted the trees and plants around her and she realized she had never been anywhere in her life that looked anything like this place, but it felt to her like movies she had seen about Mexico.

  There was a low rise and once the G-Wagen crested it, she peered through the front windshield and saw a massive stucco house, the biggest home she’d ever laid eyes on in her life. It was clearly Hispanic architecture, and when they pulled to a stop in front of it, she saw more Latino men in suits standing around carrying guns.

  She and the Hungarian girl followed Dr. Claudia up the steps and through the massive double-door entrance to the building. Inside it was cool and dark, and Roxana saw a beautiful young redhead wearing a low-cut evening dress standing there, a glass of champagne in her hand. Roxana was certain it was morning still, and she couldn’t fathom why the girl would dress in this manner so early in the day.

  Claudia led the women up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. As they walked they passed other girls, all young, some very young, and all dressed exotically in one form or another. None of the girls talked to Roxana or Sofia; some did greet Claudia, but others just looked away.

  Roxana was certain that most, if not all, of these girls had been drugged. She could see the distant eyes and slow movement, and she assumed it was more of the Xanax she’d been given sporadically throughout this ordeal.