with him now, without her permission, it was technically kidnapping.
He sighed. When had the legalities of a situation stopped him before?
Luke was at a loss. He felt his energy draining away. And they still hadn’t explained anything about this to the child yet. Maybe he should call Becca’s parents and talk to them. The truth was Becca had handled nearly all the domestic details during their relationship. Maybe she was right about him – he was a lot more comfortable out in the world, playing cops and robbers with very dangerous people. Other people worried about him, he knew, but he didn’t worry. What kind of person lived like that? Maybe one who had never grown up.
On the glass table near the sofa, his telephone began to ring. He glanced at it. As it often did, it seemed almost like it was alive, a viper, dangerous to touch.
He picked it up. “Stone.”
A male voice was on the line.
“Hold for the President of the United States.”
He glanced up, and Becca hovered in the doorway now. Apparently, she had heard his phone ring. She was back again, ready to listen to his conversation and confirm all of her worst feelings about him. For a split second, he felt real hatred for her – she was going to be right about him, no matter what. All the way into her grave, she was going to have him nailed.
Now the voice of Susan Hopkins came on.
“Luke, are you there?”
“Hi, Susan.”
“Long time, no see, Agent Stone. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “You?”
“Good,” she said, but the tone of her voice said something else. “Everything is okay. Listen, I need your help.”
“Susan…” he started.
“It’s a one-day thing, but it’s very important. I need someone who can put it to bed quickly, and with complete discretion.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t talk about this over the telephone,” she said. “Can you come in?”
His shoulders sagged. Ah, man.
“All right.”
“How soon can you be here?”
He glanced at his watch. Gunner would be home in an hour and a half. If he wanted to spend time with his son, the meeting would have to wait. If he went to the meeting…
He sighed.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Good. I’ll make sure they bring you straight to me.”
He hung up. He looked at Becca. There was something cruel and mocking inside her eyes. There was a demon in there, dancing on a lake of fire.
“Where are you going, Luke?”
“You know where I’m going.”
“Oh, you’re not going to stay and have a nice time with your son? You’re not going to be a good daddy? That’s a surprise. Gee, I would have thought – ”
“Becca, stop it. Okay? I’m sorry that you’re – ”
“You’re going to lose custody of Gunner, Luke. You go off on missions all the time, right? Well, guess what. I’m going to make you my mission. You’re not even going to see that boy. With my dying breath, I’m going to make it happen. My parents are going to raise him, and you’re not even going to have access to him. You know why?”
Luke headed to the door.
“Good-bye, Becca. Have a nice day.”
“I’ll tell you why, Luke. Because my parents are rich! They love Gunner. And they don’t like you. You think you can outlast my parents in a legal battle, Luke? I don’t think so.”
He was halfway outside, but he stopped and turned around.
“Is this what you want to do with the time you have left?” he said. “Is this who you want to be?”
She stared at him.
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
He didn’t know her anymore, if he ever did.
And with that, he left.
CHAPTER FOUR
11:50 p.m. Eastern European Time (5:50 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)
Alexandroupoli, Greece
They were thirty miles from the Turkish border. The man checked his watch. Almost midnight.
Soon, soon.
The man’s name was Brown. It was a name that was not a name, for someone who had disappeared a long time ago. Brown was a ghost. He had a thick scar across his left cheek – a bullet that had just missed. He wore a flattop haircut. He was big and strong, and had the sharp features of someone who had spent his entire adult life in special operations.
Once, Brown was known by a different name – his real name. As time passed, his name had changed. At this point, he’d gone by so many names he couldn’t remember them all. This latest one was his favorite: Brown. No first name, no last name. Just Brown. Brown was good enough. It was an evocative name. It reminded him of dead things. Dead leaves in late fall. Dead trees after a nuclear test. Wide open and staring dead brown eyes of the many, many people he’d killed.
Technically, Brown was on the run. He had ended up on the wrong side of history about six months ago, on a job that hadn’t even been explained to him. He’d had to leave his home country in a hurry and go underground. But after a period of uncertainty, he was back on his feet again. And as always, there was plenty of business to do, especially for a man with the kind of bounce-back ability he had.
Now, just before midnight, he stood outside a warehouse in a rundown section of this seafaring town’s port district. The warehouse was surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire, but the gate was open. A chilly fog rolled in off the Mediterranean Sea.
Two men stood with him, both wearing leather jackets, and both with Uzi submachine guns strapped over their shoulders, and stocks extended. The guys would be nearly identical, except one of them had shaved his head completely bald.
Out on the street, headlights approached.
“Eyes open,” Brown said. “Here come the holy warriors now.”
A small box truck drove up along the deserted boulevard. There was a giant image of oranges along the side of it, with one sliced in half and showing the bright reddish-orange meat of the fruit. There were words on the side of the truck in Greek, probably a company name, but Brown didn’t read Greek.
The truck reached the gate and pulled straight into the yard. One of Brown’s men walked over and slid the gate shut along its track, then locked it with a heavy padlock.
As
