“No calls have been made to that address.”
“Are you sure? Nothing at all?” She started to explain the circumstances, but she didn’t get far. The dispatcher cut her off with a curt question, another phone line ringing in the background.
“Would you like to file a report, ma’am?”
“Not…not right now,” Alexis said finally. “But I may call back and do that.”
“We’ll be here.”
Alexis slowly hung up the receiver. In Pricaro, the closest village to where she’d lived, there had been only one telephone. Meant to be used for emergencies, most of the time the line didn’t work at all.
She might as well have been back in the mountains for all the good the call had done her.
Reaching over, she picked up a photograph at the end of the sofa table. The picture had been taken at a picnic just after Toby’s birth. Selena was holding the baby, Robert’s arm slung casually over Alexis’s shoulders. She clutched the snapshot, her fingerprints leaving marks on the frame as she rose from the couch and drifted over to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she stared into the darkness.
Where were they?
ALEXIS PACED the living floor for twenty more minutes, then another possibility came to mind. Her parents sometimes worked strange hours—maybe something had come up at their office. It wouldn’t be the first time her mom had left the house with the oven on.
Hurrying into her father’s study, Alexis searched his desk for an address for the think tank. She found nothing but she wasn’t surprised. Her father didn’t bother himself with mundane little details like address books. With a groan of frustration, she slammed his desk drawer closed.
A pack of matches, obviously dislodged from somewhere at the back of the desk, fluttered down to the carpet. Alexis picked it up. Norman’s Service Station. Twenty-four Hours, Seven Days a Week. She opened it and inside, her father’s neat printing noted: “Grumpy but helpful.” Seeing his handwriting brought fresh concern…and then determination. It wasn’t much, but she knew no one in town. Memorizing the address, Alex dropped the matchbook, ran into the living room and grabbed her coat.
Praying the place wasn’t closed, Alexis found the gas station ten minutes later, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was open. She jumped from the car and ran inside. The temperature had dropped even more in the past hour and the wind had picked up. The chill cut into her skin and she started to shiver, trying to convince herself it was the weather and not her nerves.
An old man sat behind a grungy counter, his overalls spotted with grease stains, a filthy black cap covering his head. As Alexis came in, he tore his eyes reluctantly from the television set and a grainy football game, then immediately turned back to the screen. “We’re self-serve tonight—”
“Are you Norman?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“I need directions.” Alexis rubbed her cold hands together and blew on them. “To the Mansfield Operations Center. I’m Alexis Mis—”
“They don’t let visitors in there.”
“I don’t care. I’ve got to go out there and find—”
“Place is closed.” He spoke with one eye on the television, then finally gave her his attention when a commercial flashed on. “It’s Thanksgivin’, you know. S’ holiday.”
“Surely there’s a skeleton staff. I—”
He interrupted her again and she wondered if he ever let anyone complete a sentence. “Who you lookin’ for?”
“My parents. Robert and Selena Mission,” she answered. “They’re scientists at the—”
“Never heard of ’em.” He returned to the television as if she’d already gone. Helpful? Her father gave everyone the benefit of the doubt but his description had really pushed the limit this time. Alexis gave up. She’d just have to go somewhere else. As she opened the door to leave, the old man spoke one more time.
“Up the highway. Go left. Ten miles outta town.”
HE DROVE by the house slow and easy, the paneled van inconspicuous to any curious eyes. The windows in the small brick home were dark and the place looked empty. Relief eased some of the tension in his body, but not all of it. He had a lot of work ahead of him and not enough time to do it in.
Turning left at the end of the street, Gabriel O’Rourke circled back and parked a block over, in front of a home with a For Sale sign in the yard. Opening the vehicle’s double back doors, he pulled out a canvas bag printed with a plumbing logo that matched the sign on the van. He let his eyes search the street while acting as if he was getting out more tools. Everything looked quiet enough. Gabriel went to the front porch of the house. Pretending he had a key that didn’t work, he stood for a moment, then shook his head in a frustrated way and headed for the back. It took him thirty seconds to jump the fence on the side and shed the white plumber’s suit. Thirty seconds after that, he’d jumped the rear fence as well, landing in the Missions’ backyard, now dressed in black. He opened the metal panel on the side of their garage and threw all the switches, shutting off the power. The shadows covered his progress a moment later.
As soon as he stepped inside, the awareness hit him. Something was different. Someone had been in the house and had just left. The air still shimmered, as if disturbed by a recent passing. He cursed silently, but he wasn’t surprised. Everything that could go wrong with this operation had gone wrong.
Placing the canvas bag on the floor, Gabriel removed his .38 from his waistband. With noiseless steps he checked out the interior, foot by foot. Until he came to the extra bedroom. When he saw the bags, he spoke out loud, his violent curse breaking the silence like a rock shattering a window.
The girl had come back. Dammit to hell, she’d come back!
He stared at the bags but he didn’t move. For the love of God, if she’d just been a little earlier…or if she’d only told them she was coming…things would have been so different. He uttered another oath and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of regret.
Why in the hell hadn’t he listened to his gut? From the very beginning, he’d had a bad feeling about this operation. Civilians involved. International technology. Bad guys who went beyond bad. The ill-conceived fiasco had been doomed from the start, but he’d ignored his instincts.
He had thought it couldn’t get any worse, but with Alexis Mission’s arrival, the whole situation had gone from catastrophe to meltdown.
Pulling a radio from his vest, he spoke in an urgent voice, ordering a perimeter setup. He didn’t have a lot of men, but those he had were the best. They’d give him as much time as they could.
Disconnecting, he considered the solutions one by one, rejecting ideas as soon as they came to him. The Missions had told him about their daughter. They’d described her as smart and artistic, stubborn and headstrong. They’d emphasized the stubborn part. He had to keep that foremost in his mind.
Putting his weapon away, he searched the room with quick, efficient moves. She hadn’t unpacked, thank God. He put away the towels and blanket that
