Even now, after months of being a part of Circe’s life, Rudy still had a hard time connecting the austere and mysterious Mr. Church with anyone’s father. Let alone a “Dad.” Joe privately referred to Church as Daddy Darth, a phrase that would assuredly not play well with the man himself.

Circe sniffed and wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. Rudy picked up her hand and kissed it.

“I hate like all fuck to intrude on this chick-flick moment.”

They looked up to see a woman’s face smiling sourly at them from one of the holographic screens. Middle-aged, black, wearing chunky designer jewelry and a Caribbean-print dashiki. Her dreadlocks were threaded with gray, and she wore granny glasses perched on her blunt nose. When she spoke, however, her accent was pure Brooklyn. Aunt Sallie, Mr. Church’s second in command.

“Don’t fret, Tía,” soothed Rudy, “you know my heart belongs only to you.”

“Nice try,” said Aunt Sallie, “but flattery won’t get you a threesome.”

“A-hem,” growled Circe softly.

Laughing, Aunt Sallie said, “Okay, kids, let’s have first impressions. Did you find anything?”

“This information is recovered from a damaged flash drive, right?” asked Circe. “This is everything?”

“Yes,” agreed Aunt Sallie.

“Do we have the actual drive in hand?”

“Ledger’s sending it.”

“And we’re absolutely sure this flash drive is genuine?”

“We’re not sure of anything.” Aunt Sallie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking, girl?”

“I hesitate to use the word ‘bullshit,’ but—”

“But it fits?” finished Auntie.

Circe’s eyes were hard. “Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Homa Hotel

51 Khodami Street, Vanak Square

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 9:14 a.m.

Violin nibbled a callus on her thumb while she waited for her mother to call. Oracle had forwarded her urgent request, but Lilith was always handling urgent requests. Especially now that the Red Order was so aggressively active here in Tehran. The mosque bombing, the assassinations … so many things impacted Arklight.

When her phone rang Violin jumped and dropped her cell but she darted out a hand and caught it before it struck the floor. Bad nerves, good reflexes, she thought as she punched the button. Story of my life.

“Hello, Mother.”

“I was in an important meeting, girl,” growled Lilith. “There had better be a good reason.”

No hello, no inquiry about her safety. Another part of the story of her life.

“I know you probably haven’t had time to read my field report,” began Violin, “but the mission was scrubbed.”

“By you?”

“By the client.” Violin waited for a reply, got none, so she took a breath and plunged in. “You were correct, Mother, Rasouli was looking to hire an independent hitter, but we were wrong about the target. Rasouli wasn’t gunning for Charles LaRoque.”

“Who was the target?”

“President Ahmadinejad.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a kill. He wanted a near miss. Something to scare him and shake things up.”