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Chapters (88)
  1. Titles by Mark Greaney
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. CONTENTS
  7. Epigraph
  8. CHARACTERS
  9. PROLOGUE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. 55
  65. 56
  66. 57
  67. 58
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. 66
  76. 67
  77. 68
  78. 69
  79. 70
  80. 71
  81. 72
  82. 73
  83. 74
  84. 75
  85. 76
  86. 77
  87. 78
  88. EPILOGUE

He looked behind him on the stairs, then he opened the door to a hallway bathroom. Another flash of light from outside revealed the room as if it were day.

There was nothing.

Hanley spoke loudly, almost in a shout. “If you’re here, Court, I only ask for a moment of your time before you do whatever it is you came to do. You owe me that much.”

No sounds anywhere in the home, only the pounding of the rain now, on the roof and on the windows.

Hanley turned and headed up the hall to his bedroom.

In his room he turned on the light by his bed, opened the drawer in his end table, and was comforted to see his old Wilson Combat 1911 .45 ACP pistol. He’d had the gun since he’d worn the Green Beret of U.S. Army Special Forces in the 1980s, and although it wasn’t his only firearm, it was the gun he kept by his bed for things that went bump in the night.

He turned off his phone and laid it on his side table, kicked off his shoes, then turned off the light and lay on his back on the bed. Fully clothed, fully expecting no sleep at all tonight.

—

Matt Hanley’s eyes opened and he sat up, unsure how long he’d been asleep, or even if he had dozed off at all. The thunder barked outside, the room was dark, but again, he felt someone close by.

He dropped his head back on the pillow.

“Jesus Christ, Court. If you are here, just fucking say something.”

A new flash of light outside, at the same time as a thunderclap.

A man stood at the foot of Hanley’s bed, head to toe in black, his face masked, his clothes dry.

“Jesus!” Hanley shouted, jerking back until his head slammed against the headboard. He grabbed at the stitch of pain in his heart.

36

Come on, Six! That’s not necessary! You scared the piss out of me!”

There was no reply in the darkness for several seconds, only the rumble of distant thunder. Then a soft voice came from the side of the bed, ten feet away from where Hanley had seen Gentry in the lightning’s flash.

“Which is it? Are you stupid, cocky, or suicidal?”

Hanley was still recovering from the fright, but he sat all the way up in bed now. “I left the door open because I wanted you to know I’m not trying to keep you away. I didn’t want you to blow my head off from five hundred meters. I’d much rather we talk.”

“And then I blow your head off?”

Hanley swallowed. “Hell, you almost scared me to death.” He rubbed the top of his head where it had hit the headboard. “I can’t stop whatever it is you are planning on doing, but killing me would serve nothing. Can we please talk?”