Travis swallowed. He quickly assessed the situation in his mind. Someone had placed a kill order on his life, a bounty on his head. He was in London, a guest of the British government and now they wanted something from him, something he wasn’t sure he could give. Not that he didn’t want to. At this point, his allegiance to the CIA was fragile at best – especially if they had initiated the bounty on his head – like treading on a thin sheet of ice covering up a frozen lake in the early spring after temperatures had already warmed up. One false step and a thunderous crash would send the whole carefully constructed image of his life into a watery abyss, never to be found again.

  In some ways, he kind of felt like he’d already fallen through, but had somehow missed the thunderous crack that had sent him, and his life, headlong into the unknown.

  Travis took a tentative sip of his tea and then put the cup back down. It was bitter and strong. If it had been coffee, he would have loved it. No wonder the Brits drank it with milk and sugar. He looked back at Archie and Catherine, “I’m not sure what I have to offer.”

  Archie cocked his head to the side, “You are honestly telling me you have no idea who’s coming after you? No idea where the kill order could have originated from within the CIA?”

  It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Travis shot up out of his seat and crossed his arms across his chest, pacing. He stopped, spinning back to face Catherine and Archie who were staring at him, neither of them moving a muscle. “Honestly? No. I can keep saying the same thing over and over again, but if you don’t believe me, that’s your problem. I’ve spent the last five years on my ranch, minding my own business. As far as who could be coming after me from before that time? That I have no idea of either. I’m sure if you’ve dug through my files, then you’ll know as well as I do that the list is long and varied as to who I might have offended.” He set his jaw. “I’m happy to help you guys as much as I can, but I’m not going to be accused of something that’s not true.”

  As if something he said had tripped a silent alarm, Archie and Catherine got up from their seats almost simultaneously and walked out of Archie’s office without saying anything, leaving Travis by himself. As they passed, Archie simply set a meaty hand on Travis’s shoulder.

  Travis had no idea what to think. He was so angry, he could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, the woosh of blood rushing past his ears. Travis looked over his shoulder at the door. What was going to happen next, he had no idea. For all he knew, a phalanx of MI6 officers would arrive at Archie’s office door at any second, drug him, throw a black hood over his head and drag him off to a black site, never to be seen again. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. How had he managed to get himself in yet another scrape?

  A moment later, Catherine opened the door. She was alone. She waved to him, “Let’s go,” she said, waving him forward.

  No phalanx of officers. At least that was something.

  Travis scooped up the bag of medical supplies Dr. Walsh had given him and picked up Catherine’s messenger bag for her, handing it to her in the doorway. He followed her as they walked back through the cubicle outside of Archie’s office and back to the main area of MI6, neither of them saying anything.

  By the time they wound their way through the traffic in the busy cubicles on the main floor of MI6 and back out through the anteroom, Catherine giving a nod to the armed guard as they left, it was late afternoon, pushing towards dinnertime. As they emerged into the fresh air outside, Travis noticed it had clouded over, a solid gray blanket of low-lying stratus clouds blanketing the sky. He walked to the Volvo, following Catherine, thoughts turning in his head, his mood not much different than the weather. Now what? He glanced at her as she pulled the Volvo out of the parking spot at Vauxhall Cross, her hands gripping the wheel tightly.

  Still not addressing his blowup in the office, Catherine wove the Volvo out into traffic, driving nearly on the bumper of the transport bus in front of her, which was ironically marked, “Children on Board. Give Distance,” with yellow and black caution paint decorating the back. “Does everyone in England tailgate?”

  Catherine frowned, “Tailgate? What does that mean?”

  Travis pointed, “You all drive so close to each other, first the cab driver, now you. Is it a thing here in England? I don’t remember it from the last time I was here.”

  “Tailgate,” Catherine said as if she was trying on the word. “I haven’t heard that one before. Must be an American expression.” She glanced over her shoulder at Travis, “I suppose if that’s the way you’d like to define it, then yes. We do all drive close together. It’s more efficient, I think.”

  “And dangerous,” Travis mumbled.

  Catherine raised her eyebrows, “That coming from someone with a bounty on his head? Well, then…”

  Travis could tell by Catherine’s attitude that she was trying to lighten up whatever strain had happened between them in Archie’s office at Vauxhall Cross. Travis wasn’t ready to let go of things quite that fast, though. The muscles in his back tensed thinking about it, “What was that back there?”

  “What are you talking about, Travis?” Catherine asked innocently; as if she’d not been part of the same meeting he’d been in.

  Travis pressed his lips together, “You know as well as I do, Cath. You and Archie came at me pretty good. And then he disappears. I thought you Brits were supposed to have good manners. Doesn’t exactly seem like the best way to treat a guest.” Travis knew the words sounded like he was angry and grumpy. He was. Over the last twenty-four hours, someone tried to kill him twice, he’d been stuffed in a metal tube and shot across the Atlantic Ocean, only to then be harangued by British intelligence. They’d invited him as a guest, but were treating him more like a suspect. It wasn’t sitting well.

  “Are you bent out of shape about Archie’s questions?” A half-smile tugged at Catherine’s cheek, “Travis, he was just doing his job. He didn’t become the Director of MI6 for nothing, you know.”

  “And why did he leave our meeting so suddenly?”

  She blinked. “Got called to Downing Street by the Prime Minister.” Catherine chuckled, “I know you think you’re important, Travis, but when the Prime Minister calls, Archie has to go.”

  Travis turned and looked out the side window of the sedan trying to bite his tongue. Catherine’s sarcasm was baiting him, like a cat batting at a mouse. He didn’t like the feeling, that was for sure. He sat for a second, not saying anything and then looked back at her, “All right, where are we going now?”

  “Someplace we can get to work.”

  21

  Forty minutes later, on the other side of London, well outside of what would be considered downtown, Catherine pulled down a side street, made a sharp turn onto an alley, and emerged onto another side street behind it, slipping the Volvo into the last parking spot left on the street before the corner.

  Travis frowned, looking around. From what he could see, Catherine had parked the car in an area that looked like an enclave for Indian expatriates. The signs running up and down the street were half in English and half in a scrolled writing Travis couldn’t understand. Probably Hindi, if he had to guess, or some other dialect. He squinted. It looked like Devanagari script. What was the national language of India? Was it Hindi? He couldn’t remember. The signs boasted of spices and food, an electronics market directly across the street from where they’d parked, a dry cleaner, and a bookstore down the street on the opposite corner. Looking around, they could have easily been in a suburb of New Delhi, rather than somewhere near London.

  “Where are we?”

  “It’s called Little Delhi, the Indian borough,” Catherine said, opening her car door, not taking the time to explain anything more. “Come on.”

  As Travis got out of the car, he pulled his backpack from the backseat and the bag of medical supplies Dr. Walsh had sent with him. He followed as Catherine walked down the sidewalk, darted into an Indian restaurant, the smell of garlic and cumin and coriander so strong it nearly made his eyes water, and then followed her to a set of steps at the back of the restaurant. On the landing for the second floor, they met a woman, a raven-haired petite mom with a nose ring wearing a long pink and orang sari with a baby strapped to her chest. She passed them in the hallway, not paying any attention to their presence other than giving them a slight nod. The baby was crying which didn’t seem to faze the woman at all. She had a blank expression on her face as if nothing was going on. She simply paced back and forth bouncing as she walked, trying to soothe the crying baby. By the time Travis looked to see where Catherine had gone, she was at the end of the hallway, disappearing into a doorway. He saw her glance in his direction. He jogged to catch up, following her.

  The door shut firmly behind him and Catherine led Travis into the flat. He frowned, “What’s this place?” He set his backpack and the bag of medical supplies down on an olive-green couch that had been placed against the wall, across from a single chair and a square brown coffee table.

  “It’s one of our safe houses. We're going to be staying here. Archie said we could use it.”

  Glancing around, it didn’t look like much, certainly not as nice as the one Catherine had taken him to when he first arrived at Heathrow. “Why this one?”

  Catherine went to a window at the other end of the flat, pushing the curtain aside and cracking it open. A cool breeze from outside floated in, carrying more smells of food cooking — garlic and cumin and rice.

  Catherine raised her eyebrows, “Believe it or not, this is one of our most secure locations. You have to have special permission from Archie to use it. There are only a handful of our flats around the country that are this well-hidden. Not to mention it gives us easy access to the freeway system and a couple of airports if we need them.”

  “And to think Archie didn’t like me…” Travis mumbled.

  Catherine smiled. “Are you referring to the grilling you got last hour?”

  “You could say that.”

  Catherine brushed by Travis resting her hand on his arm as she passed, “Now Travis, don’t take things so personally. Try not to be so sensitive. I’ll bet if we get you some food and let you rest for a few minutes you will feel more like yourself.”

  “And what if I don’t?” The one thing Catherine was right about was that he was feeling surly. Her constant pleasant tone was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  “You will, dear. Just give me a few minutes to make things right. Why don’t you relax and put on the telly for a few minutes while I take care of dinner?” The comment sounded more like they were an old married couple than two spies.

  Travis blinked. For a second, he was confused about what she was saying and then realized she meant the television. He nodded without saying anything else, sat down on the couch, kicked off his boots, and put his feet up on the coffee table. He looked around as she disappeared out the door. Where she was going, he had no idea, although she’d left her cell phone, keys, and messenger bag nearby, so she’d be back. Or at least that was his hope.

  Flipping through the channels on the television, Travis saw the programs offered one of two choices — a nearly constant review of either what the Queen was doing or American politics or soccer games that seemed to never end. Football, he reminded himself. He left the football game on, listening to the announcers yell as one of the teams on the field scored a goal, the players all running out and hugging and jumping on each other as the referees signaled the point. Travis stared at it but couldn’t get excited. Soccer was still pretty foreign to him. Football, he reminded himself again, shaking his head.

  By the time he’d clicked his way through three more channels of ongoing football games, the door to the small flat opened, Catherine returning, carrying a flimsy white plastic bag. Through it, he could see Styrofoam boxes stacked up inside. “I got dinner!” she said, as though she had accomplished a major feat.

  Travis cocked his head to the side. In a way, it was funny how she’d shifted to being domestic so quickly. He felt his stomach rumble. If that was how she wanted to play it for the time being, that was fine with him. He hadn’t eaten anything since the night before when he’d gotten on the plane and picked at the gummy pasta covered with plasticky cheese sauce. “Thanks. What did you get?”

  “Come and see,” Catherine said, setting the bag down on a small, round wooden table with two matching ladder-back chairs in the corner of the room. She pulled the containers out, set them on the table, and then looked towards the kitchen, “Now, if I can just find some plates and napkins we will be all set.”

  A second later, Catherine returned with an armload of gear for their dinner including two bottles of water, metal cutlery, and white plates, plus a stack of paper napkins. She set everything down on the table, placing the plates in front of each chair and flanking them with the cutlery, taking a moment to fold the paper napkins and put the water bottles in their proper spot on the place setting, as if they were at a fine dining event.

  Travis stood by, watching. He narrowed his eyes. “We didn’t need all that, Cath. I would’ve been happy to eat right out of the box.”

  Catherine shook her head, “Nonsense. The food doesn’t taste as good if it’s not on a proper plate. Now, sit down. Let’s eat while it’s still hot. Umar sent us quite an assortment.”

  “Umar?”

  “Yes,” Catherine said, sliding into her seat across from Travis, “He owns the restaurant downstairs. He and I have become quite the fast friends. Sometimes I stop by for food even when I’m not staying here at the flat. He has the best Indian food I have ever eaten outside of India.”

  Over giant scoops of Tandoori chicken, Biryani rice with lamb, buttered naan, and pyramid-shaped samosas, filled with spiced potatoes, onions, and peas, Travis and Catherine spend the next few minutes eating. Their conversation turned from work to things a bit more casual. Catherine talked about when she’d been stationed in India and China for a time and how she’d grown to love the people and their food, but hated their governments and how the people were forced to live. Travis talked about the horses and the peace he’d found at the ranch.

  Travis stopped and looked at his plate. The food was delicious; fragrant and spicy without being overwhelmingly so. His mouth was filled with the pungent taste of yogurt sauce on something Catherine had referred to as murgh kari, a chicken curry Omar had sent up for them to enjoy. They finished the meal with a sticky pastry that reminded him of something he might get in Greece, the outside crispy but the inside creamy. What it was exactly, he wasn’t sure. He could only identify the flavors of cinnamon and honey in it. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

  Wiping his face with the folded paper napkin Catherine had set at his place, Travis leaned back in his seat and sighed. He was full and relaxed. Finally. He blinked a couple of times and then the thought hit him that while he might be off the grid temporarily, he couldn’t run forever. Despite the calm he was having at the moment, the bounty was still on his head. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to deal with it. “This has been a nice break from the chaos, but what’s next?” he asked, crumpling his napkin and tossing it on his plate. He was suddenly eager to get to work, whatever that meant.

  Catherine got up from the table, took the two plates, and walked into the kitchen without answering. A moment later, Travis heard water running as if she was doing the dishes. Hearing the plates being replaced in the cabinet, she walked back and sat down in front of him. Taking a sip of her water, she looked at him. “Well, I suppose it’s time for you to make a decision.”

  “And what decision is that?”

  “If you want to help us.”

  Travis frowned. “I already told you I would.”

  “Then you need to tell me what you know.”

  Travis shrugged, his eyes wide. Were they having this conversation again? “I already told you, I don’t know anything. I have no idea who’s coming after me and I’ve never heard of this Jonah Hudson character you mentioned earlier. You want to clue me in as to what’s going on here?”

  Catherine looked away for a moment and then back at Travis, “Archie thinks the threat came from someone close to you. Someone you know well. Based on the chatter I’ve seen, I’d have to agree. This is somebody who knows a lot of your back story, things that other people wouldn’t know. So I need you to think, really think, Travis, if there is anyone that might come after you.”

  Travis got up from the table and walked to the window, staring out. The fact that whoever put the bounty on him had personal details about his life was troublesome. It was the first he’d heard of that. He glanced back at Catherine, “How personal? Can you give me an example?”

  “Well, they know you killed someone on your property a few months back using an antler head mounted on the wall of your front porch. Does that sound personal enough?”

  Travis’s mind drifted back to the moment when Uri Bazarov’s men had attacked his ranch, trying to steal Elena Lobranova and the Moscow brief away from him and his protection. Elena. He chewed his lip, shaking his head. “The only other person there when that happened was Elena Lobranova. You’re not saying —.”

  Catherine cocked her head to the side. “I’m not saying anything, Travis. You are.”

  The thought scratched at the back of Travis’s mind like nails on a chalkboard. Was it possible Elena was behind the kill order? He knew she’d gotten a promotion with the CIA, but they were on good terms. Always had been. She’d helped him with the Mardi Gras case and had even come to his hospital room to see him afterward, before he headed back to Texas. No, it couldn’t be. “I just don’t see how that could be a possibility,'' he said. “We’ve worked together for years.” His face flushed, “I mean not consistently, but she and I were partners when I was active with the CIA.”