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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

That hung in the air for fifteen seconds. Finally Catherine sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’ve been threatened by AK-waving Haqqani operatives. You don’t frighten me.”

Carmichael flashed a sly, charmless smile. “Give me the names of the Haqqani operatives who threatened you, and if they aren’t dead already, just watch how fast I make them dead. You might construe that as a threat—please don’t.” His smile widened, but it was just as charmless. “I mean it as a government service.”

Denny Carmichael is a weird man, King thought to herself.

Catherine stood, and Carmichael followed suit. She said, “I do appreciate your time. If you want to do another interview, one that isn’t so obviously stage-managed, then I am always available.”

—

Catherine King had only just stepped into the elevator with her control officer when Jordan Mayes entered the conference room via the side entrance. Carmichael relayed the major points of the conversation to his second-in-command.

Mayes followed with, “I’ll put a team on her.”

Carmichael shook his head. “That was my original plan, but she’s a wily character. I underestimated her. She’ll be looking for a tail at this point, and it will just make her think she’s important, which will just make her think she’s onto something.”

“She is onto something,” Mayes corrected.

“Something ephemeral. She is wandering in the mist. As she said, she will be forced to print what I gave her tonight. She might throw some disclaimers here and there in her article, but she will print the fact that CIA said they are looking for a man from Jacksonville who once lived in Miami. That is accurate, so Gentry will know she spoke with someone involved in the Violator hunt, and he will want to talk to her.”

“But if we don’t have a team of JSOC men ready to—”

Carmichael interrupted. “Put Zack Hightower on her. Just Hightower. She won’t see one man as readily as she would see a team.”

Mayes nodded. “Shall I give Hightower lethal authorization to target Gentry if he encounters him?”

Carmichael headed for the side door, on his way back to his office. Without looking back, he said, “You bet your ass.”

47

The rain battered the tiny window high on the wall of Court’s basement apartment. He lay awake in the closet, his bandaged ribs bare and his backpack under his head as a pillow.

His new Glock 17 pistol, now with the suppressor screwed on to the end of the barrel, lay by his side.