Slater said, ‘What?’

  ‘There was a whiteboard. In Duke’s office. It had dozens of formulas and business calculations scrawled on it. One stood out to me. Donati = 1R.’

  Slater didn’t need to respond, but he thought he’d facilitate King’s train of thought. ‘What does that mean?’

  Violetta said, ‘One to the right.’

  King said, ‘A physical equation, never entered into any computer, only passed from man to man via encrypted calls. To protect them from a software breach. Or to protect them from an idiot like me who took their house by force and then demanded to see the paperwork. Because an idiot like me would take one look at “Container 55D” in the Pier 400 Container Terminal and leave satisfied. Not realising 55E was the golden goose.’

  Slater threw his hands up in the air.

  King turned to him.

  Slater said, ‘Really? This is what we’re focusing on? You know how much illegal stuff goes through ports? You’re stressing over one container you missed? Fine, you screwed up. The Baja cartel gets a few more guns. If you busted that shipment, they would have simply ordered another. It’s inconsequential. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.’

  Violetta chewed her bottom lip and said, ‘Unless it’s human cargo.’

  Slater saw King rewinding the tape in his head, scanning through the last few days.

  Then the man seemed to stop on a certain memory.

  His face fell.

  He said, ‘It is human cargo.’

  69

  King saw it all laid out before him.

  Crystal clear, now that he’d pieced it together.

  He remembered stepping into Donati’s office, and the conversation that had ensued about the girl in the surveillance photo. Donati had already lied to him once. Claiming she was nobody, claiming the real target was the guy in the background. She’s nobody. He’s the CFO for Zima Group.

  Then, in his office, Donati had supposedly admitted the truth. Fine. You got me. She’s not nobody. She’s the daughter of the actual CFO. The guy in the background has nothing to do with it.

  But King still hadn’t fully believed it, and he’d never been sure why.

  Now he knew.

  He’d promised that he might spare Donati if Donati gave him the truth, so the billionaire had crafted another lie. Because a quick, painless murder — getting hit by a truck — sounded a whole lot better than what was actually supposed to happen to the girl.

  For the first time, King realised he’d never actually heard Donati order a hit.

  He’d just assumed.

  The entirety of what Donati had said:

  ‘You’re sure she’s alone?’

  ‘Okay. Do it. Make it quick.’

  ‘I don’t care. You know what this is worth. Be discreet. Get it done.’

  That didn’t mean “kill her.”

  It meant “take her.”

  Now, King said, ‘Sam Donati ran a human trafficking operation through his conglomerate. He takes girls in Eastern Europe and ships them around the world. That’s why the containers in question were refrigerated. Temperature control, for live cargo. What I thought was an execution over there was really a kidnap. Which is worse, considering she’s going to suffer for the rest of her life in captivity. That’s why he lied.’

  Slater said, ‘I’m not following.’

  Violetta said, ‘I am.’

  King looked exclusively at her. ‘You know I can’t let this go.’

  ‘Jason…’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy to walk away from the government,’ he said. ‘So is Slater. What we’re not willing to do is watch people suffer just because it’s inconvenient for us.’

  Slater nodded. ‘That’s always how it was going to work.’

  She said, ‘This makes things a hundred times more complicated. You don’t think the shadow world is going to be eyeing the operation you left behind? You go there to salvage it, and they’ll spring a trap.’

  King shrugged. ‘I don’t much care.’

  ‘Jason.’

  ‘I left three of them alive,’ King said. ‘I didn’t turn them in, because I didn’t understand what I was dealing with. Now I find out the one who took me to the port — Quinn — knew he was leading me to the wrong container the whole time.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes,’ King said. ‘It does.’

  She fell silent.

  He said, ‘I see a problem, I fix it.’

  ‘You won’t just be fighting those Cali gangsters,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fighting legitimate tier-one operatives from our own military. They’ll be lying in wait — you know they will be.’

  ‘Didn’t seem to be a problem in Great Kills.’

  ‘Why keep throwing yourself in danger like this?’

  ‘Because that’s the story of my life.’

  Slater said, ‘You’re not going to change his mind.’

  She held her tongue instead of retorting. She rose, crossed to the window, and looked out through the see-through curtains. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m going,’ King said. ‘I’ll finish it.’

  She turned. ‘We still have time until they realise I’m not being held against my will. I’m in the system. I have access to my team. I can get us the resources we need.’

  He said, ‘You’ll come?’

  ‘What else am I going to do?’

  Slater sat forward. ‘Where is Beckham?’

  She froze in place. King saw the pain and tension on her face. It was probably the first time someone else had muttered the man’s name since the falling out. Her dark secret, out there for all to see.

  She said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you have time,’ Slater said. ‘But not much of it.’

  She looked at him.

  He said, ‘You told us you found out the address of his disability home, but you said it wouldn’t do you any good. Because you can’t rescue him if the whole shadow world’s coming to neutralise him. Because you’re not a wrecking ball with a death wish.’

  Silence.

  He said, ‘I am.’

  She said, ‘No.’

  ‘Eventually they’ll find out you left voluntarily. You think they won’t follow through on their promise to execute him when you blatantly betrayed them?’

  Her eyes rapidly calculated possibilities, landing on the conclusion he’d reached five minutes earlier.

  Slater said, ‘Sounds like you and King have business in California. So let me get Beckham. Let me protect him.’

  ‘Why would you do that for me?’ she said.

  ‘Because you care about him,’ he said. ‘And I care about you.’

  ‘I was complicit in an attempt on your life.’

  ‘Water under the bridge.’

  ‘How do you do this?’ she said, putting her hands on her hips. Then she turned from Slater to King. ‘How do either of you do this?’

  ‘We’ve seen it all,’ Slater said.

  Which said enough.

  She said, ‘I’m not comfortable with it. You don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I don’t. Now where’s Beckham?’

  She thought about it.

  But not for long.

  Time was of the essence.

  ‘Richmond, Virginia,’ she said. ‘Five hour drive. The place is the Hooper Quadriplegic Centre. It’s a state-owned facility that permanently houses its residents. Beckham’s name there is Jonathan Powell. You know, WITSEC…’

  Slater nodded slowly.

  She said, ‘It’s being watched. Twenty-four-seven. You don’t have a hope in hell of getting him out of there without a war.’

  Slater said, ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert on war.’

  70

  After that, the next steps were straightforward.

  Dangerous. Possibly fatal. But straightforward.

  Violetta got on the phone to Alonzo, and laid out what she needed, and he set to work implementing it. At the end of the conversation, Slater overheard her explicitly tell the tech guru not to pass this information up the chain. He heard Alonzo ask, ‘Why?’ through the tinny handheld speaker.

  Violetta said, ‘Because I’m asking. Please.’

  ‘Okay.’

  That was all it took.

  There was little more to be said. A flight awaited. Violetta and King nodded to Slater and Alexis in turn, who both nodded back. Then they were gone, Violetta leading the way, slipping out of the tiny apartment.

  Leaving Slater and Alexis alone to deal with the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

  She turned to him, pierced him with her green eyes. ‘I can’t believe you offered to do that for her.’

  ‘Are you mad at me?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Quite the contrary.’

  ‘I’m putting myself in danger again.’

  ‘If I was mad at that, I never would have agreed to a first date.’

  ‘You knew what I was,’ he said. ‘The first time we met, you knew.’

  ‘Not what you are,’ she said. ‘Who you are. You’re not a monster.’

  ‘Sometimes I don’t know where the line is.’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ she said. ‘You’ve never even eased a toe over that line. You were going to die this morning to protect my family. People you’ve never met.’

  He didn’t respond.

  She said, ‘I’ve never met anyone who had more of an understanding of where the line is.’

  ‘That means more than you know.’

  She hugged him, looping her arms over his shoulders, drawing him in. He savoured the warm embrace for a few seconds, and then methodically flipped a switch in his brain. When he stepped back, he was imperturbable.

  He said, ‘Let’s go.’

  Everything was already crammed into Alexis’s backpack — they’d used the room as a meeting place, nothing more. All that was left to do was step out and move forward. So they did. They left the room behind, what was supposed to be their sanctuary for weeks or months of quiet, peaceful existence. And now he was thrust straight back into a hostile world.

  Really, he felt ridiculous for assuming he could stay away for any considerable length of time.

  They hovered on the landing for a beat, staring down at the lot below. The Land Rover was gone — King and Violetta had commandeered it.

  Alexis said, ‘So we steal a car?’

  Slater shook his head. ‘I have identities the shadow world still doesn’t know about. We use one of those to rent a car. If we steal a ride, it’ll be reported before we make it to Richmond. We need to be discreet.’

  She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him to face her. ‘And then what?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We rescue Beckham, rendezvous with King and Violetta — provided they’re not dead — and … what?’

  He said, ‘I don’t know if you realised this, but I don’t plan my life very far in advance.’

  ‘You do, though,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen what you put your body and mind through. I’ve glimpsed your training. It’s regimented. It’s disciplined. That takes planning.’

  ‘But that’s all preparation,’ he said. ‘I never know what I’m preparing for. I just know the value of preparing.’

  She nodded.

  He said, ‘When we get to Richmond, you might not like what happens.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I might have to become someone you haven’t seen before,’ he said. ‘If the place is protected. If Beckham’s not already dead.’

  ‘I know what you do.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen it,’ he said. ‘Not in person. It’s different.’

  She kissed him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Any words after that were meaningless, and they both knew it. They held hands and Slater pulled his hood up to disguise his features, and they set off for what the web told them was the closest rental car spot. A smiling staff member took his fake identification without a moment’s suspicion, and thirty minutes and three signatures later they sat in a blue Hyundai i30 that reeked of air freshener.

  Slater gripped the wheel and ran his hands over the material. He savoured the moment of stillness. One might think he was hesitant to put the car into gear, hesitant to take the first step. Hesitant to barrel toward a confrontation with the government he’d worked for a week ago.

  At least, that’s how Alexis interpreted it.

  She said, ‘We don’t have to do this.’

  He said, ‘Yes, we do.’

  He set the GPS for Richmond, Virginia.

  A five and a half hour drive.

  They’d reach the Hooper Quadriplegic Centre late in the afternoon. That left all night for a siege, if it was necessary. Slater figured he had one night at the very least. It would take time to determine that Violetta was not a hostage, that she was simultaneously missing and utilising government resources. They’d piece it together eventually, but that didn’t mean their first knee-jerk response would be to execute Beckham.

  Or maybe that was all bullshit, and right now they were planning to neutralise him.

  He got rid of the stillness, put the Hyundai into “Drive,” and accelerated toward Virginia.

  71

  Eight hours later…

  Joshua Banks had no idea what he was doing in California.

  He’d been pulled straight from a hostage rescue drill and shipped out here to watch a goddamn civilian mansion for an unspecified length of time. The lack of information threatened to drive him mental. As an assaulter in Blue Squadron of DEVGRU, he was a world above this bullshit. This was a stakeout, and there was no room in his world for a stakeout.

  He’d been briefed on the potential existence of a unicorn — black-ops assaulter Jason King, an enigma in the shadow world who’d maybe gone rogue — but from what little intelligence he’d pored over, it hadn’t been hard to determine that King was nowhere to be seen.

  There was a flabby-looking thirty-something guy with a receding hairline who came and went at random, and the most notable part of the whole endeavour was the guy coming back an hour ago at the wheel of a tractor-trailer truck. Then the gates had sealed him in, and now Banks was waiting again.

  He’d follow the truck when it left again — that was no problem.

  The problem was the futility of this entire job.

  He didn’t like being alone either.

  His superiors had preached the benefits to him, of course — discretion, ability to blend in with other civilians, the fact that a lone wolf was far more unsuspecting than an entire squadron, especially in a laidback coastal town like Emerald Bay. He’d nodded and nodded and nodded, but now he was here — clad in a ghillie suit, buried in the undergrowth and shrubbery across the street from the mansion’s walled perimeter. He was as much a part of the landscape as the bushes around him, and his skillset was worthless. There was nothing worth watching — even if the tractor-trailer truck contained dark secrets, that was not the responsibility of a DEVGRU member to handle.

  Banks was about ready to make a call highlighting the ridiculousness of the operation when someone lay down in the dirt right beside him.

  Whoever it was, they’d approached without making the slightest hint of noise. Banks’ resting heart rate was in the forties, and despite being disgruntled he’d still been approaching the task with all the professionalism it required — meaning unflappable situational awareness. He’d been attuned to every discrepancy, every whisper of hostility, so whoever was now alongside him had trumped the tactical skillset of a Blue Squadron member.

  Not feasible.

  Banks rolled, dropping the night-vision optics, reaching for the knife strapped to his chest, favouring it over the Beretta at his waist.

  The man who’d dropped to the ground beside him caught his knife hand and pinned it to his chest.

  The assailant’s grip was rigid steel.

  To keep Banks from retaliating took inhuman strength. The silhouette had it.

  The man said, ‘Relax. Let’s talk.’

  Banks didn’t say a word. The moment the hold on his wrist relaxed, he’d wrench his hand free, pull his combat knife and shove it through the guy’s face, just for having the nerve to approach like this.

  Then a sliver of moonlight struck the silhouette’s face, illuminating important features.

  Banks recognised him. ‘They warned me about you.’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘Jason King.’

  ‘Then you know we’re on the same team.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Not based on the intel,’ King said. ‘I meant based on the fact you’re not dead.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to side with you?’ Banks said. ‘A rogue operative? All because you didn’t put a bullet in me.’

  ‘No,’ King said. ‘I don’t want your undying allegiance. Just your help tonight.’

  Banks said, ‘Think logically, brother. I have my orders. Orders aren’t something I can pick and choose at random. If I want this gig, I execute them. What do you think my orders are regarding you?’

  ‘To shoot me on sight, I’m sure.’

  ‘So let’s not kid ourselves,’ Banks said. ‘You know how this goes. Pretend you’re a saint all you want, but if you really want to spare me, then run. I’ll give you ten seconds from when you let go of my wrist. Otherwise, put a bullet in me like you were supposed to. There’s not a chance in hell I’m even going to hear you out.’

  ‘You’ll hear me out,’ King said. ‘You don’t have a choice.’

  The man was right. Banks saw the Glock glinting in King’s other hand, aimed up at his throat.

  Banks said, ‘You really want to go that route? Battle of reflexes with someone like me?’

  ‘Every word you just said could have come out of my own mouth.’

  Banks went quiet.

  Mulling over it.

  Then said, ‘Okay. Talk. If you think it’ll do you any good.’

  ‘Why’d you join the military?’

  ‘To serve my country.’

  ‘You don’t get to the level you’re at through patriotism alone. There’s got to be something else there.’