Still holding Vicky, Jack put an arm around Gia and pulled her close. Her sky-blue eyes asked if he was all right.

Jack shrugged and nodded. He was fine. His ladies, the two most important people in the world, were here with him, where he could watch over them and keep them safe. Everything was fine.

“Can I watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with you guys?” he said.

Vicky clapped her hands. “Yay!”

“Not again,” Gia said, rolling her eyes.

“If nothing else, you’ve gotta love the music.” They followed the scampering Vicky down the walnut-paneled halls to the library. Gia hadn’t changed the place much yet, except maybe for removing the antimacassars from the velvet chairs. It took a whole twenty minutes of sitting snuggled between Gia and Vicky on an overstuffed settee before Jack felt clean enough to doze off.

17.

17.

“So,” Kemel said. “You’ve had all day to find out who this man is, and you have no idea.”

Sam Baker looked flustered as Kemel watched him pace back and forth in the living room of his apartment. And well he should. He deserved to be more than flustered; he should look dejected and suicidally ashamed. Not only had he been made to look foolish by this nameless stranger, his bloated bonus was in serious jeopardy.

“It’s like the guy doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Oh, he exists, Mr. Baker. The few remaining survivors of your team can attest to that.”

“Yeah, but a guy with those kind of finely honed chops should have a rep, a name, a signature. People like me, or people I know, should have heard of him. He’s obviously a merc, and if he’s a merc, I should know him. Guys like that don’t appear out of nowhere. They don’t pop onto the street full grown. They gotta come up through the ranks. But not this guy. He’s like some kinda ghost, coming out of the woodwork, fucking things up, then disappearing.”

“I do not care about his name,” Kemel said, controlling his anger. This man was such a fool. Why hadn’t Nazer assigned him someone more competent? “I merely want you to deal with him.”

“Can’t deal with him if I can’t find him.”

“Perhaps he will find you.”

He caught a flash of uncertainty before Baker’s expression hardened. “I’m ready for him. I see him, he’s dead.”

“Let us hope so,” Kemel said, and turned away.

He had spent an anxiety-ridden day, monitoring the news—a radio or television on in every room—waiting to hear the dreaded announcement of a revolutionary new power source that would change the world. But he had heard nothing. What was the American expression? No news is good news. Yes, in this case, that was most certainly so.

And the longer the span of no news, the better.

Dare I hope? he’d wondered.