“I have a few questions for you.”

  “How can I help you?” he said, hoping to God this was a mistake and not what he feared it was.

  She smiled. “I’m happy to hear you’re willing to cooperate. Why don’t we start with this? Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Griffin from Darvot Consulting.”

  Not a mistake.

  Exactly what he’d feared.

  ISLA DE CERVANTES

  DIRECTOR CHO’S NEWS that the leak had been detained solidified the plan in Quinn’s mind. When he told her what he wanted to do and how she could be of assistance, he half expected her to order him to back off and leave the whole mess alone. He would have ignored her, of course, but it didn’t come to that. Her response instead was to make no response at all.

  After the silence had gone on for more than twenty seconds, he said, “Does this mean we can count on you?”

  More dead air.

  “Director?

  He heard her take a breath. “We may be many things, but the US government is not in the habit of sanctioning the death of law-abiding citizens, especially for personal gain. Provisionally, you can count on us.”

  “Provisionally?”

  “There are…others who need to be informed.”

  “I don’t know if letting more people in on this is a good idea.”

  “It’s the only way you’ll have my support, something you and your people will need. And trust me, the ones I need to talk to won’t say anything.”

  “How long do you need?”

  “Thirty minutes. An hour at the outside.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  THEY GATHERED IN Orlando’s room.

  Present were Quinn, Nate, Liz, and the other men who’d been rescued from Duran Island—Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson. Daeng, Howard, and Misty were conferenced in via Orlando’s phone, while the Mole was listening in on Nate’s.

  The medical staff had not been happy to see everyone piling into the room, but Quinn had squelched the protest after a quick, pointed conversation with Dr. Montero. Unless one of Orlando’s medical alarms went off, no one would enter.

  Quinn laid out the details of his plan, then said, “Now is the time for you to tell me if you are unable or unwilling to participate.”

  His gaze lingered on the three men who’d been held captive with Nate and Peter. While they had started to recover from their wounds, none of them was at full strength yet. But not one opened his mouth. Instead, they all looked determined and ready.

  Quinn glanced at his sister. There was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

  After a second, she nodded. “Yeah.”

  “If you have a problem with any of this, speak up.”

  “No, it’s just you’ve all lived in this world for a long time. I’m still getting used to it. To most people, something like this would be handled by, I don’t know, I guess the FBI.”

  “And in that world, an FBI investigation would be long and complicated, and probably turn into a media fiasco that would affect everything for months or perhaps even years. Chances are, some good people would be taken down because of it. You understand that, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Personally,” he said, “I don’t give a damn whether there’s an investigation and scandal or not. What I do give a damn about is them.” He gestured at Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson. “And about Nate, and Orlando, and Peter. And Peter’s wife. In our business, we don’t wait years for justice that may or may not come. We deal with it ourselves.” He paused. “I understand if you have a problem with this. If I were you, I’d probably have a problem, too. So if you’d rather not help out, that’s okay.”

  Liz looked at him with eyes that matched his own intensity, and her hand slipped into Nate’s. “I never said that. You know I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

  He wasn’t sure how to feel about her support. He had never wanted to expose her to his life of secrets and death, but ever since they had reconnected, it seemed that was all he’d done. He was saved from saying anything else by the vibration of his phone.

  “You can remove the provisional,” Helen told him. “You have our support.”

  “How high does that support go?”

  “High enough.”

  A beat. “I guess it’s time to get things rolling.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  WASHINGTON, DC

  GRIFFIN WAS BEGINNING to lose his patience.

  The first thing he did when he’d arrived back at his office was to assign one of his local computer-geek contacts the task of figuring out the phone number Steve Howard had used to call him, so they could then establish the phone’s exact location. But after two hours, the geek was no closer to knowing the number than when he’d started. Howard was apparently using some pretty advanced security software.

  The Mole was proving useless, too. The only contact Griffin had from him was a brief e-mail saying he was making progress on the woman but basically had nothing solid yet.

  And if those two things weren’t enough to cause him to lose his cool, Dima wasn’t returning his calls. Dima had told Griffin he was on duty that night. Even if he was monitoring several active O & O operations, he still should’ve had time to talk to Griffin.

  Griffin checked the clock—8:37 p.m. Morten’s flight was due to land in an hour and a half. He would expect Griffin to be waiting in the back of the car when he was picked up, which meant Griffin would have to leave in forty-five minutes. He would much rather wait at the office for his boss, but he knew that wasn’t acceptable.

  The cell phone on his desk began to ring—the one that had been waiting for him in his car. It was now hooked up to his computer, so that call data would be instantly sent to the geek.

  He snatched it up.

  “Mr. Howard,” he said.

  “Mr. Griffin,” said the same caller from before.

  “Are you calling because you’re ready to meet now?”

  “I’m calling to see if you’ve had time to think about what I shared with you.”

  Griffin picked up some additional noise on the line that hadn’t been there the last time the man called. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the man was in a car or some other type of vehicle.

  “Why would I do that?” Griffin said. “I have no idea what any of that meant.”

  “You’re not a very good liar.”

  “Perhaps there are misunderstandings all around, which I think is a good reason for us to get together and talk. Don’t you?”

  “If you’re unwilling to admit the truth now, then why would talking in person be any different?”

  “Mr. Howard—Steve—you’re being unreasonable. It’s a simple sit-down. I’ll even let you choose the place.”

  “When I call back, rethink your earlier answer.”

  The man hung up.

  Griffin immediately grabbed his desk phone and called the geek.

  “Were you able to trace it?” he said.

  “No,” the guy said. “The call was bounced all over the place.”

  Fuck!

  “But,” the geek said, “I may have broken through the firewall. I’ve got the first two digits of the phone number, and should be able to get the rest. Just need a little time.”

  “Then do it,” Griffin said, and disconnected.

  He told himself to relax. Everything was going to be fine. The kid would get the number, Griffin would find Howard and his friends, and that would be that.

  The past would stay where it was supposed to.

  THE SECOND QUINN hung up, he glanced over at the laptop Nate was holding. Looking back at him from a video chat window was Orlando. He could see his sister, too, hovering at the edge of the picture.

  “So?” he said above the drone of the jet flying him and the other men north to Virginia.

  “Give me a second,” Orlando said.

  He hated how weak her voice still sounded, but she did seem to have more energy than before, and as hesitant as he was to admit it, she did look better.

  She typed something on her computer, then smiled. “I made four numbers available. They’ve gotten two so far.” She looked into the camera. “I would have gotten all four by now, by the way, but they’ll tease them out soon enough.”

  “And you’re sure they won’t get the rest yet?”

  Her smile turned flat. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask me that.”

  “I was just checking,” he said.

  He saw her reach toward the camera a split second before the video call cut out.

  GRIFFIN’S CELL PHONE rang as he was climbing into the back of Morten’s car for the drive out to the airport.

  “Finally,” he said under his breath when he saw it was Dima. He looked to make sure the divider separating him and the driver was all the way up before answering. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Dima said, sounding justifiably nervous. “There have been several meetings. I couldn’t get out of them.”

  “Meetings? You missed my call for meetings?”

  “Director Stone was relieved of duty today, but we only found out a few hours ago. Director Cho’s been holding video conferences with everyone, going over, um, status of jobs, uh, what our responsibilities are. I, I think there’s going to be a shake-up.”

  Stone was gone? That wasn’t good. The guy was a jackass who didn’t know what he was doing, but that’s what made him useful to Griffin and Morten. He was an easy way into the intelligence community, kind of like a back door a coder might put into a piece of software. They could get things through him without anyone knowing what they were really doing—including Stone. The intelligence they’d been able to acquire had been incredibly useful to their work. But that was more a long-term problem that could be figured out later. Right now, Griffin needed to stay on point.

  “If something like that ever happens again, I expect you to contact me either through e-mail or text, at the very least. It’s for your own benefit. I wouldn’t want to think that you were purposely ignoring me, and have to release the information I’ve been holding on to for you.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you. I swear.”

  That’s what Griffin liked to hear. Desperation. “I understand that, Michael. Just wanted to make sure we were clear.”

  “We’re clear.”

  “Good. Then we’ll put that behind us. Now, can I assume you’ve made progress identifying what vehicle our friends left the cabin in?”

  “Yes,” Dima said quickly. “Yes, I have.”

  “Well, this is good news. Tell me.”

  “You were right. The owner of the cabin has a car he keeps there. A Jeep Wrangler. It’s ten years old. Dark blue with a black hardtop. Did you see it there?”

  “No. Is there a chance the owner had taken it somewhere else?”

  “I checked myself, claimed to be with his insurance company. The…the owner said it was still at the cabin.”

  “Excellent work. You know what I’m going to ask you to do next, don’t you?”

  “See if I can find out where it went?”

  “Very good.”

  IMMIGRATIONS AND CUSTOMS was always Morten’s least favorite part of a trip. Thankfully, his plane arrived at Dulles right before three other international flights landed, putting him and his fellow passengers at the head of the line.

  Passport stamped and bag collected, he headed outside to where his car was waiting for him at the curb. While the driver put his luggage in the trunk, Morten climbed into the back.

  “Good evening, sir,” Griffin said. “I hope you had a good flight.”

  “It was fine, thank you.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  The trunk slammed shut, the driver slipped into his seat, and within seconds, they were driving away.

  “So, are we buttoned up yet?”

  “Not quite,” Griffin said. “But I anticipate it won’t be long now.”

  Morten scowled. This was not the news he wanted to hear. “Explain.”

  Griffin told him what had happened that day, ending with the revelation that apparently this Steve Howard character knew about Miranda Keyes, and their connection to Peter’s death.

  Morten’s mood darkened. That son of a bitch Peter. Why couldn’t he have left his wife buried?

  “Tell me how you’re planning on solving this…problem,” he said, teeth clenched.

  “By locating Howard, which is in progress as we speak. Once that occurs, I’ll pay him a visit, find out who else knows and where they are, then eliminate all the problems.”

  Griffin’s confidence didn’t make Morten feel much better. This problem should have never reached this point. “How long until this is finished?”

  “A day, two at most.”

  Morten settled back in his seat and said nothing for the rest of the trip.

  THE CHARTER JET carrying Quinn, Nate, Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson landed at 10:18 p.m. Waiting for them at the private hangar were three black Suburbans. Two of the vehicles were already full. The third had only a driver and passenger, the latter standing near the front of the SUV, his hand clasped behind him.

  As Quinn and the others approached, the man stepped forward, meeting them halfway, and held out his hand to Quinn.

  “Witten,” Quinn said, shaking.

  “Quinn,” Witten said. “Sorry I never got back to you.”

  “You kept your men from shooting us, so I’m willing to forgive and forget.”

  “Mighty big of you.”

  Quinn turned to the others. “Everyone, this is Clyde Witten. I’ll let you introduce yourselves.” He looked past Witten to the vehicles. “And I suppose this is the famous O & O?”

  “Out for a final hurrah,” Witten said.

  “Final?”

  “We’ve been told to expect reassignment.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “It happens.”

  Quinn glanced at the trucks again. “Any of your people know I’m the one who shot your colleague the other day?”

  “Just me.”

  “And I trust you won’t shoot me in the back?”

  “Not planning on it.” He stepped to the side and motioned to the vehicles. “Shall we?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  GRIFFIN HAD JUST returned to his office when UNKNOWN appeared on the display of the found cell phone for the third time. He rushed over to his desk and plugged it into his computer.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “How do I know you won’t have me killed if we agree to meet?”

  Griffin smiled. The mere fact that Howard was even contemplating a meeting meant Griffin had him. He only needed to reel Howard in. “As I told you before, you can choose the location.”

  In the silence that followed, Griffin sensed the other man thinking over his options.

  “Are you back in DC now? Or are you still in Trevor Hollow?” Howard asked.

  “DC. Where are you?”

  The man laughed. “Not DC.” A pause. “But I’ll be there tomorrow. Perhaps something can be arranged.”

  “Tell me the time and place.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  As soon as the call disconnected, Griffin phoned the geek.

  “I think I might have cracked it,” the geek said.

  “You got the rest?” Griffin asked. To this point, the kid had only been able to identify four numbers, leaving six to go.

  “Give me, like, five minutes.”

  It ended up taking the geek seven to call back.

  “So? Did you get it?” Griffin asked.

  “Hell, yeah, I did. Told you no one could hide anything from me.”

  After writing down the number the kid rattled off, Griffin hung up. On his phone was the customized application allowing him to pinpoint cell-phone location. He input the number, and was rewarded thirty seconds later with a glowing blue dot in the middle of a map.

  A low chuckle escaped. You’re a liar, Howard.

  Unlike what the man had told him, it appeared Howard was in DC. Not only that, he was only a few miles from where Griffin was.

  For two minutes, he stared at his phone, waiting for the blue dot to move, but it remained anchored in place.

  Excellent.

  Griffin had made a career of not only recognizing opportunities, but acting on them. Leaving the tracking app running on his cell, he picked up his desk phone and called Dima.

  “I need your assistance.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Dima asked.

  “I want you to dip into that wonderful armory you have there at O & O, then meet me.” He gave Dima an address two blocks away from where Howard was.

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t leave here. I’m on duty.”

  “I’m sure you can arrange it.”

  “I can’t come—” Dima paused. “Hold a second. I have a team calling in.” It was nearly a minute before Dima came back. “Mr. Griffin, I am not a field agent.”

  “You were once.”

  “Yes, but that was years ago.”

  “I just need your presence. I don’t need you to kill anyone,” Griffin said. While the second part was true, the first was only partially so. Yes, he needed Dima’s presence, but that was because he’d decided Dima’s usefulness had come to an end, and it was time to eliminate the weak link. If he could get Dima to help him in the process, all the better.

  “Okay, okay,” Dima said, defeated. “I’ll get someone to cover the rest of my shift. But it’ll take at least thirty minutes for me to get there.”

  “Make it twenty. Oh, and Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one other thing I’d like you to bring.”

  “S2 TO S1,” one of Witten’s men said over the radio.

  “Go for S1,” Quinn replied. Unlike the others, he was the only one not wearing a radio in his ear, and had to rely on the Suburban’s dash-mounted unit.