Carr was the hunted and Knox the hunter. Those were the official roles anyway. In reality those identities could be switched at any time, and with Carr’s skill level, the odds that they would reverse at some point were pretty good. And after what he had learned, Knox had quite the misgivings about his exposed rear flank, because there lurked the master of the ambush and blame game, Macklin Hayes.

He pulled out his phone and punched in the number.

“Hello?”

“Melanie, it’s Dad.”

“Hey, I was just thinking of you. Do you want to get together tomorrow night? I’ve got center orchestra seats. Wicked is playing.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t. I’m out of town.”

“Where are you? Paris? Amsterdam? Kabul? Tikrit?” Her tone sounded light and upbeat, but Knox knew his daughter well enough to sense the anxiety behind the casual words.

“I’m a little west of you. And a little rural.”

“Terrorists hiding out in the hollers, Dad?”

“You never know, honey. Have you heard from your brother lately?”

“I got an e-mail from him this morning. He sounds good. He sent some pictures. There was some bad news, though. His deployment was supposed to be up in four weeks but they just got notice of extension for another six months. Apparently the Taliban is really coming back with a vengeance. Mark said they’re pulling twenty thousand troops from Iraq to send to Afghanistan and he might end up there.”

Knox swore under his breath. “I know he can’t say exactly where he is, but is he in the line of fire at his current position?”

“He only said he was keeping his head down and trying to do his job.”

Knox slumped back on the bed. “Look, what do you say we all plan to do something together when he gets back? Go away somewhere. Maybe the Mediterranean. Just the three of us. Wind down and take a breather. My dime.”

“That sounds great. But the Med is expensive and I probably make more money than you. How about I chip in too? Mark’s the poor one. Serving his country doesn’t even get him minimum wage.”

“Nope, my dime. And you need to save your dollars.”

“Why?”

“To take care of me in my old age. I won’t be doing this crap forever.”

There was a change in his tone when he said this and his daughter was quick to pick up on it.

“Dad, is everything okay?”

“Fine, sweetie. And a piece of advice, you don’t waste premium theater tickets on old farts like me. You get a nice young man to join you in seeing Wicked. I want grandchildren, okay? I’m not getting any younger here.”

“Okay, sure.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, honey.”

“Good-bye, Dad. And . . . take care of yourself.”

“Always.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”