Ercan raised his eyebrows, “Well, good for him. Maybe he’d like to provide information to me too. I bet I pay better than you do.”

  “Just don’t kill him, okay?” The last thing Tom needed was an asset murdered because of the information he gave to Ercan.

  “We’ll see about that…” Ercan smirked as he slid off the back of the Bentley and walked to the side of the car, one of his guards opening the door. “Thanks for this, Tom. I’ll be in touch,” he said, disappearing inside.

  A moment later, the black Bentley slid out of the parking spot and rolled away, Ercan giving Tom a little wave and a smile as he left.

  Tom stared at the ground and then strode back to the BMW and got in, dialing Shelley. “Where have you been? I've been waiting for you to call me all morning. It’s nearly lunchtime.”

  Tom chewed the inside of his lip. The last thing he needed was the third degree from his wife. “It’s been a busy morning.”

  “Mine’s been busy too. I had to deal with the embarrassment of Linette Riggs coming at me about you hedging on the banking information. Tom, people are starting to talk. You need to do something.”

  Tom lost his cool, “What exactly do you want me to do, Shelley? The proverbial horse has left the barn. We’ve been involved in Desert Indigo for the last three years. At this point, there’s a paper trail, not to mention all the money.”

  “You have been involved in Desert Indigo for the last three years. Not me! That wasn’t my money.”

  Tom gripped the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white, yelling into the speaker, “It came from the same account! Any good investigator is going to say it’s contaminated. You’re in this as well as I am. You may not have turned over secrets like I did, but what if they claim you did?” Part of him didn’t want to be on the run alone. Butterflies flooded his stomach. He grabbed the antacids from the glove compartment again, tossing a handful into his mouth.

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. Tom knew Shelley was collecting her thoughts, ready to attack, “I’m not the one that passed the secrets on, Tom. And I didn’t sign the original paperwork. You did. This is all on you. Not on me. I keep telling you it’s gotta get fixed, but you aren’t listening to me. You know what you need to do.”

  Back to the same refrain about Travis Bishop. “Yes, I know. I need to take care of Travis.”

  “Yes. If you do, that eliminates one line of evidence from the story. If you get rid of him and what he saw, then maybe the rest of it will go away. Maybe there’s a way we can position it like it was all intentional and it was an undercover op, one that was so secret nobody knew anything about it.”

  Shelley’s thinking was overly simplistic, not to mention optimistic. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Shelley. Who on God's green earth is going to believe that this is an undercover op with all the money we’ve made? Your hands are just as dirty as mine. You’ve gotten stuff out of this, too. You know that fancy vacation we’re planning in the fall? Desert Indigo money is paying for that.”

  “The way we're going Tom, you’re going to be taking that vacation on your own. And if you don’t get things straightened out, that won’t be the only thing you’re doing alone…”

  Shelley hung up on him.

  For the rest of the drive back to Langley, Tom kept his eyes on the road. He felt like he was suffocating, the breath in his chest compressed by the crush of fear. He rolled down the windows, allowing fresh air to circulate through the BMW's tan leather compartment. Everything in him wanted to ram the custom car into the nearest guardrail to work some of his aggression out, but he drove calmly back to the office, waved at the guard at the entrance, strode into his office, and shut the door. The pressure was mounting. He had to figure out what to do next.

  He had only one move left. Tom picked up the phone. It was time.

  34

  By the time Travis and Catherine arrived at the MI6 office, Archie was buried in paperwork behind his desk. They sat down in the two chairs in front of him, waiting.

  A moment later, Archie pulled the thick glasses off of his nose and set them on the pile of files in front of him, using his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked up, he stared at each of them, settling his gaze on Travis. “Agent Bishop, I’m sorry, but I have news.”

  Travis frowned. “You already told me that Tom Stewart called. Is that it?”

  Archie shook his head, “I wish it was. I just received a call from one of our agents who monitors chatter. We intercepted a post that was put on a site on the dark web that we know is one used for hiring contract killers. They’ve spent the last hour tracking the communications.”

  Catherine frowned, uncrossing her legs, the fabric from the floral dress shifted and settled around her calves as she leaned forward, “Archie? What’s going on?”

  Archie glanced at Catherine for a moment, replaced his glasses on his nose, and looked back at Travis. “There’s no easy way to say this, Travis, but it looks like another assassin has been hired to come after you.”

  Travis shook his head and shrugged. What was so earth-shattering about that? “Tell me something I didn’t know. You told me they’re going to keep coming at me until we get this bounty off, right?”

  Archie nodded his head slowly, leaning back in his chair, knitting his fingers in front of his chest, leaning his elbows on the armrests, “The problem is, this time, whoever is hiring them has upped the ante.”

  Travis frowned, “In what way?”

  “They’ve hired Agnes.”

  “Agnes?” Travis leaned back in his seat for a moment, thinking. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “She’s an assassin from Nigeria?”

  Archie nodded, “Yes, you’ve got a good memory, Travis. In the last five years, since you’ve been out of the Agency, she’s become the most highly sought-after assassin in the world. Has a one hundred percent success rate. Guarantees her kills, no matter what it takes or how long. She charges a bloody fortune to do what needs to get done, but she’s in and out, quiet and stealthy. In most of her kills, the people had no idea she was even there. She’s an expert with weapons of all varieties. I saw a report that three months ago she killed the Vice President of Paraguay with a small piece of cord.”

  “Like a garrote?”

  “No. Not wire. Just a piece of cord. That’s what makes her so dangerous.”

  Travis stopped to think about what Archie was saying. An assassin who was gifted enough to take a common piece of cord and manage to murder someone was likely to have been trained heavily in the martial arts or at least had significant on-the-job training, if you could call it that. It was someone who was creative and well organized, someone adaptable, who was quick to change their tactics depending on the situation. Agnes was a legend in the espionage field. No one was actually sure who she was or how old she could be. Travis licked his lips and then looked up at Archie and Catherine. They were both staring at him as the news settled in, “And she’s been hired to take me out?”

  Archie nodded, “Best we can tell.” He sighed and then shuffled a few papers on his desk, drawing a file out, unearthing it from one of the many stacks he had close to him. He flipped it open and looked down at it, peering at it half through and half over his thick glasses. “When I say we think she’s Nigerian, pretty much everything we know is anecdotal. When everyone she’s ever targeted dies, it’s hard to get a read on the person, let alone solid data.” He slid a photo out of the file across the desk to Travis. It showed a woman with dark skin and a set of dark braids coursing over the top of her head and down the sides like a pair of snakes. She was only half visible in the darkness. It was a meager profile view of her, and saying that was generous. Archie pointed, “We think this is her.”

  “Think?” Travis swallowed. If an assassin of this caliber had been hired to take him out, then things are more serious than he thought. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He’d been out of the CIA for five years. What could he possibly know or have witnessed that would put this level of a target on his head? Hiring someone like Agnes cost a fair bit of money, not to mention she would be hard to find. He realized his hands were sweating. He wiped them on the legs of his jeans. As he did, he saw Cath glance his way. She’d noticed. He shook his head. She’d be sweating too if she was Agnes’s newest target.

  “What we don’t know, Travis, is if Agnes is a codename, or if it is this woman’s true identity. What I mean is that there have been cases where different people have assumed the identity of a single codename over time. Now, we haven’t seen that with her, but then again we don’t have much information on her to speak of, unfortunately.”

  Travis balled his hands into fists. “What do you mean you don’t have information on her? You have a whole file sitting right in front of you.” The words came out sharp and direct. At this point, Travis didn’t care if they were disrespectful. It was his life that was on the line, not Archie’s and not Catherine’s. Neither of them had any answers for him.

  Archie cleared his throat, closed the file, and passed it across the desk without saying anything. As he handed it to Travis, he said, “Point well taken. Feel free to have a look. You’ll see what I mean. We have only a few pieces of information on her.”

  “Such as?” Travis said, flipping open the file.

  “Such as we believe she was born in Nigeria. From what we can tell, she was from one of the areas that was badly scarred by war. Biafra. It looks as though at one point she lost her whole family and was orphaned. Our profilers believe she was captured by the Nigerian Army, forced into serving, and then went AWOL. There is no record of her for several years and then all of a sudden she pops up as a mercenary. Even then, we’ve had to use aging software and a lot of assumptions to get this far. Any of our data points could be wrong. Or all of them.”

  “For someone that doesn’t know much, that’s a pretty good background,” Travis mumbled.

  Travis stared at the file, trying to focus. He’d chased after similar or worse characters in his time with Delta Force. He felt a shift inside of him, a hardening. Sure, Agnes was going to be formidable, but she breathed and moved just like he did. She might be well-trained, but so was he. He wasn’t willing to give up, not until he figured out who put the bounty on his head and why.

  Archie cradled his teacup in his hands, “The other thing to know about her is that anyone who is nearby and attempts to help you instantly becomes a target.” Archie directed his gaze at Catherine, “That means you, young lady. Watch your back.”

  Catherine nodded, “Yes, sir. I will.”

  A tingle ran down Travis’s spine. It was one thing to put himself in harm’s way, but knowing he was responsible for Catherine was something else entirely. He glanced at the side of her face. A few hairs had escaped the clip, hovering near the line of her jaw. To anyone else, she looked pleasant and lovely, completely harmless. But Travis knew under that friendly exterior, she had skills. He only hoped they would be enough for the two of them to figure out what was going on and stay alive while doing it.

  Archie checked the watch on his wrist. It had a broad gold bezel with a thick brown leather strap. Travis was surprised Archie didn’t carry a pocket watch. It seemed more his style. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, as much as I have enjoyed your company, duty calls. I’m off to another set of bloody useless meetings for the remainder of the afternoon. Your job is to figure out who is coming after you, Travis. You and Catherine need to spend the afternoon doing a deep dive into your background. And Catherine, you need to figure out the link between the chatter we’ve heard and your current case.”

  “What about the call from Director Stewart?” Catherine asked, shifting in her seat.

  Archie nodded, “Yes, I found that timing to be a bit suspect myself. Although, I do have to admit Tom sounded perfectly pleasant on the phone and not all that concerned that I didn’t know where you were, Travis.” Archie stood up, walking over to a heavy cabinet in the corner of the office. From where Travis was sitting, he couldn’t see what Archie was doing, the big man’s frame covering the interior of the cabinet as he rummaged around.

  As Archie turned around, Travis realized Archie had a gun in his hand, more specifically a full-sized Glock 17. “Given the situation, it seems you might need a few tools of the trade,” Archie said calmly, setting the Glock down on the desk in front of Travis. He returned to the cabinet, scrounged around inside, and came back with another pistol, a Walther for Catherine, plus extra magazines, holsters, and ammunition. Out of his pocket, he produced a knife. He nodded at Travis, “Sharpened this one myself a few days ago. She cuts perfectly.”

  Travis blinked at Archie. He would have never thought Archie would have produced an arsenal for them, not to mention tending to his own knives. Archie was full of surprises. Travis checked the Glock. It was empty. He inserted a magazine, added the holster to his hip, and slid the gun in. It was ready to fire if he needed it.

  Carrying a gun was strictly prohibited in England, especially for a foreign national. Travis sat back down again, picking up the knife. He rolled it over in his hand, opening the blade. The light from the banker’s lamp that was on top of Archie’s desk caught the blade, the metal glinting back at him, the fine edge carefully honed. Travis knitted his eyebrows together, “Don’t you need this, Director Elliott?”

  “That’s my backup.” He pulled another knife out of his other pocket and flipped the blade open, whipping it around a couple of times as if it was a set of nun chucks.

  Travis raised his eyebrows. Clearly, Archie was comfortable with a knife. Living in a country where guns were frowned upon, it suddenly occurred to Travis that more people probably carried knives than he ever realized. He nodded, “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Just don’t tell anyone. You know how the British are around weapons. Bunch of old fuddy-duddies.” He chuckled to himself, picking up a stack of files and lumbering out the door. It was a clear signal their meeting was over.

  As Travis stood up, he collected the file Archie handed him and nodded to Catherine, “Stick this in your bag. We might need it later.”

  “Will do.”

  Catherine looked at him, “Where are we off to now?”

  “Back to the safe house. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

  35

  Neither Travis nor Catherine said much of anything on the way back to the safe house, Catherine silently piloting the blue Volvo sedan through a tangle of traffic and curving back roads before sliding into a spot on the street nearby. Travis got out of the vehicle gingerly, scanning the area. If another assassin had been hired, whoever it was could strike at any time. That didn’t even begin to deal with the issue of Agnes. He felt the muscles tighten across his back and shoulders. It felt good to have the Glock holstered on his side and the knife in his pocket. At least that was something.

  He strode behind Catherine as they made their way through the restaurant and up the rickety set of steps to get to the safe house. Travis watched the hallway while Catherine unlocked the door. He pushed his way in front of her, lifting the hem of his shirt and grabbing the butt of his gun as he walked in. He wasn’t taking any chances of the two of them getting ambushed. He’d be on high alert until this was over.

  Once he was convinced the apartment was clear, he waved Catherine forward. “We’re good. No one here, at least not yet,” he grimaced.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Catherine said sarcastically. She dropped her bag down on the couch. “Since Archie has issued us weapons, I need to change. It’s hard to wear a holster with a dress, if you know what I mean. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes…”

  Travis nodded but didn’t say anything. Catherine walked into the bedroom, closing the door. Whether she needed to change her clothes or just take a minute for herself, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, searching through his contacts. He dialed Ellie.

  “Hey you!” she said cheerfully after two rings.

  “Hey, yourself. Calling to see how things are going.”

  Travis checked the time on his watch. It was nearly dinnertime in London, which made it closer to lunch in Texas.

  “Everything’s fine. Joker had a bit of a meltdown today. He's out in the corral working off his anxiety as we speak.”

  Travis nodded. Joker was known for his high energy. He’d be an amazing reiner if he could just settle down. He was young. Maybe he’d calm down in another year or two, Travis thought. “Did the contractors show up today?” It had taken months to get the fire claim on the old barn settled. The check had finally come in three weeks before. The contractors had just begun work when he and Ellie had headed off to the reining competition in Oklahoma City. Travis shook his head. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet it had only been a couple of days.

  “Yeah. They were looking for you. Demolition is done. It looks a lot better, all that charred stuff finally got hauled away. The truck is in the shop, too.” There was a pause, “Where are you, Travis? Are you okay?”

  “On the East Coast. I’m looking at prospects.” Part of Travis felt bad about lying to Ellie, but he couldn’t take any chances and the last thing he wanted to do was to talk about the shooting over the phone. It was entirely possible someone was listening to his phone calls, and although saying he was on the East Coast wasn’t much of a red herring, it was at least something, something that would force whoever was coming at him to work a little harder to find him.

  “Did you find anything good? When are you coming home?”

  “Nothing yet. Should be able to come back in the next couple of days. Hold down the fort for me, okay?”

  “Copy that.”

  As Travis hung up the phone, he suddenly started to feel claustrophobic, trapped in the small flat with a woman he hardly knew in a country far from home. He strode over to the closed bedroom door where Catherine had cordoned herself off and yelled through it, “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a little bit.”