“I’m okay,” I said. Rudy grunted, knowing that I was lying. He’d let me get away with that as long as I was in the field, but once I got back home I’d have to fess up. I’d need to by then.

“Joe—Mr. Church called me late last night and told me about the hikers.”

“Yeah.”

“That was well done,” he said. “That one will really matter.”

“All part of the job.”

“No,” he said, but left it there. Knowing Church, he would probably have Rudy sit down with the hikers.

“Why’d Church call you in on this?” I asked.

“I think he wanted Circe more than me. This is her field more than mine.”

“Not if the nukes go off,” I said.

“Mother of God.”

“Speaking of Circe—how’s she doing?”

Dr. Circe O’Tree was a PhD in a handful of overlapping subjects including Middle Eastern history and religions, cults, anthropology, psychology, and a few others I’m probably forgetting. She has more letters after her name than anyone I’ve ever met. She was also Mr. Church’s daughter, a fact that was shared by only a few people and that I’d only found out by accident. Although Circe now worked for the DMS, she and her father had been estranged for years. I was under very specific orders from Church not to mention the family connection. To anyone. Ever. He didn’t actually come out and threaten to disappear me, but I didn’t want to push the issue.

“She’s wonderful,” said Rudy.

I smiled. I’ve never seen Rudy happier. Even though I hadn’t yet heard him throw around the L-word, whenever he looked at Circe there were little red hearts floating all around him.

“Tell the missus I said ‘hi.’”

“Cowboy,” he warned, but I laughed at him. Laughing felt good. It felt like I was still in the real world.

My phone pinged softly. Someone else was trying to reach me.

“Hey, Rude … I have another call coming in. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I disconnected and looked at the screen. No caller ID. Church said he would have Abdul, our local asset, call me, so I punched the button.

“Hello,” I said in Persian.

“I see you got a new battery for your phone,” she said in English. “Sorry I made you throw out the last one.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Golden Oasis Hotel

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 9:03 a.m.

It was her. Same voice, same hint of an Italian accent. A bit more pronounced now. I fought the urge to check my body for laser sights. There were none, but I moved out of the line of sight of the hotel window.

“What is it now?” I asked. “You want to set me up for a playdate with Satan?”

She laughed. At least someone thought I was funny. “No,” she said, “you said you wanted to meet me.”