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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

As they pulled up to a red light, Six surprised her by smiling. “You don’t need to report it. Not till you have the proof you need. Carmichael has convinced everybody at Langley I need to die for a mistake I never made. You find out what happened in Trieste, you will see I am telling the truth. Then you’ll have your story.”

Catherine took offense to the man’s insinuation. “The story isn’t the only thing I care about, you know. I’m American, just like you. I want what’s best for this country.”

“Okay.”

“Now it’s you who doesn’t believe me.”

Six shrugged. “You are an investigative reporter.”

“True, but I’m more than that.”

“What does that mean?”

Catherine King shook her head slowly. “You didn’t kidnap me to hear my sob story. Let’s just leave it like this. If Denny Carmichael is doing what you say he’s doing, I want to put a stop to it.”

“Then let’s work together. Look into Trieste. You can contact me through my RedPhone number.”

And then, with a quick nod, he pulled the car over to the curb and opened his door. He stepped out and walked between two cars parked in the next lane, and she lost sight of him for a moment.

By the time she climbed out of the passenger’s seat and looked around, he was gone.

—

Court walked for only a few minutes before arriving at his motorcycle locked to a rack outside of the Rhode Island Avenue Metro.

He slipped on his helmet, revved the engine, and began heading west through the city.

He was hopeful something would come from Catherine King’s investigation of Operation BACK BLAST, but he couldn’t allow himself to focus on that right now.

No. Now he had a new problem. He had to go back to his hide site in the middle of the forest, grab as much of his and Zack’s gear as he could fit into a small backpack, and then go purchase another vehicle.

It didn’t have to be anything fancy. It just had to get him to Florida.

Despite what he’d told the Washington Post reporter, Court was not from Dayton. He was indeed from a small town on the highway between Tallahassee and Jacksonville, and the fact Carmichael had dropped that little tidbit into the conversation, Court knew, was either meant as bait or as a threat.

If it was bait, then Court would be in real danger heading down to Florida.

But if it was a threat, if there was any chance at all something might happen to his father, his only close living relative, then Court knew he had no real alternative but to get involved.

He had to go.