“You’re late,” David scolded, his bruised face hurting from the scowl.

“I’m sorry. I got—”

He shook his head. The kid hadn’t confirmed who he was, and his hands were already opening the delivery satchel.

“Do you have something to ask me?” David harrumphed. Amateur hour.

“Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m supposed to ask you for a special word.”

“So ask. Don’t suggest. Ask.” He hated teaching in the field. It was another reason he couldn’t wait to leave the CIA. This teenager acted as though the delivery was as benign as a flowers and balloons delivery. Did he look like he’d just had a baby? Just graduated from college? No. David didn’t. He looked like a man who wheeled and dealed with high paying arms dealers.

“Er, um. Yes. Sorry. Can you please provide me the security word?”

David shook his head again in disgust. He cleared his throat. “The word is valor.”

The kid frowned and followed up as he’d been directed. “And you are?”

“My name is Mister Nero.” David thought the Mars-Nero code names were unnecessary, but Smooth Enterprises had always obsessed over ancient Roman history. They were the client. The paranoid client, even if they had reason to be after the assassination.

The kid deposited the small box on the table and skedaddled before David could tell him to get out. He opened it and took out the charged cell phone. Turning the screen on, he found the directory and selected the only entry.

It rang once, and David’s client, Mister Mars, answered.

“You’re late.” Mister Mars’s Austrian accent was smooth and slick as the spilled blood that had brought them together.

“And you should hire more qualified couriers. That kid wasn’t qualified for delivery positions.”

Mister Mars ignored his suggestion. “The CIA has no concerns about you?”

“None. They’re so sure I’m a team player that they’ve forced Nicola to work with me on an assignment. We’re to make up.” David laughed. “I’ll show her how good a Farm boy I really am.”

“What is your assignment, and how will it affect our work?”

“It will enhance our business relationship. I’ve been given my choice of operations, as a sort of apology from Langley. She and I will orchestrate an assignment in Turkey, while providing back cover assistance for an asset. I’ll have access to chatter on Smooth Enterprises, solidifying my role as a reputable agent, and you’ll not only get Nicola, but have new details on the Turkish arms market. Consider it a bonus.”

“Excellent. But, Mister Nero, don’t forget. She’s mine. She must pay, and the revenge is mine.”

***

Nicola walked past the gift shops pushing White House memorabilia and monument-adorned post cards. She breezed by the valet manning his wood and brass podium at the front driveway of the JW Marriot.

A bellhop opened the side entrance as she avoided the revolving door. Nic had never been a big fan of glass containers. They just seemed like an ideal place to trap someone and take them out. Clear shot. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.