Neil nodded. He watched the cream mix into his coffee as he poured it. After rubbing his temples, he grasped the cup and leaned back.

  “You don’t look good; you need sleep,” said Athena. “We can talk later.”

  “No, I need to talk to you about McGregor.”

  “Was there a problem in Montreal? What am I saying? Of course, there was a problem.”

  “He’s one of the best I’ve worked with, but …” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “This is decaf, isn’t it?”

  She grinned and sipped her tea. “You need sleep, not caffeine. Coming from you, that’s pretty high praise for McGregor. What’s the ‘but’?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She chuckled. “Isn’t it always?”

  He scrutinized his friend’s face. Her smile, though valiant, couldn’t hide the pain that darkened her brown eyes, deepening the circles below. Her olive complexion was smooth, but the deep laugh lines and silver strands throughout her thick dark braid betrayed her years.

  “It’s been seven years since Kurt went missing, and out of the blue, you get news about a body in Singapore. What makes them think that it’s Kurt?”

  Neil watched Athena blow into her cup before taking another slow sip of tea. He remained still, and his fingers tightened around his mug, though they twitched ever so slightly.

  Athena eyed his hands; a comment formed, then a sip of tea replaced it. She swallowed and pressed the warm cup against her chest. “The call was like the past colliding with the present.”

  “What did they say?”

  She placed her cup on the table, then she answered. “About a year ago, a skull was found under a bridge in Kallang Bahru by workers prepping the bridge for repair. The police searched the bridge and found skeletal remains scattered around the top of a support beam.”

  Neil frowned. “The top of a support beam?”

  With a subtle shift in posture and expression, Athena became the picture of a former Marine intelligence officer, the mask of professionalism perfectly in place.

  “They found a shirt, some underwear, and strands of hair. They established that it was a man between the ages of thirty and sixty. They estimate that he died at least five years before he was discovered.” She paused and took a breath. “Based on the clothing and skeletal damage, investigators speculate that he suffered severe beatings, perhaps by more than one person. They assumed he was one of the homeless who gathered nightly under the bridge.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” said Neil. “What makes them think it’s Kurt?”

  Athena sat upright. She squared her shoulders, but her neck was tense, a rigidity that betrayed the emotion simmering just beneath the surface. She stared beyond Neil as she spoke.

  “Two weeks ago, a construction worker found a finger bone with a ring on the worksite.” Her voice was steady, clipped. Her thumb brushed against her wedding band, and she began to spin the ring around her finger.

  “There was an engraved Salish design around the exterior of the ring.” She cleared her throat, and her lips tightened, her thumb spinning the band faster and faster. “They entered a picture of the ring into an international database search for missing persons,” she continued, each word precise. “When I filed a missing person report with authorities in Sydney and Darwin, I listed the ring as an identifier. It’s exactly like mine. We had them designed by a Salish artisan.” Her thumb pressed the band into her finger. “They sent a picture of the ring.”

  The professional armor remained in place, but the crack in her voice betrayed a fleeting, involuntary admission of her grief. “It was his.”

  “He disappeared in Australia while on his way to Indonesia, but Singapore is where they discovered the remains?” Neil asked.

  “We were in Sydney, and I was to present reports in person to one of our clients. He planned a three-day trip: Darwin, then back to Sydney. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  “Why was he going to Darwin?” Neil asked.

  “Security consulting was taking off in Indonesia and the whole Southeast Asia region; we needed a new strategic location for our consulting firm.” Athena’s voice trailed off as she paused and closed her eyes, as if summoning the past to join them at the table. “The pool of former operatives and our strong connections with Australian and ASEAN intelligence made Darwin an ideal choice.”

  Athena took her teacup to the sink and rinsed it. “On the day he was scheduled to return, he called me. He said that ASEAN had contacted him directly and wanted him to do security for an upcoming treaty negotiations meeting in Jakarta.”

  “The Association of Southeast Asian Nations?” Neil placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it. “Negotiations. With whom?”

  “Unofficially, according to my sources, there were secret negotiations with a worldwide criminal enterprise recognized for its economic machinations and violent acts, a fact they were hesitant to confirm officially.”

  “That doesn’t sound … like it might end well.”

  “No,” Athena’s voice was a deep rumble. “No, it does not.”

  “What exactly did ASEAN say?” Neil asked. “What did they know?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

  “Nothing. They flat out denied putting him on the assignment, acted like they had no clue about any negotiation. Typical. It was a bold, dangerous move. If it went sideways, they’d bury it so deep no one would ever know.” She shook her head. “Even if it succeeded, they’d never own up to it. Someone may have deliberately kept my contact in the cold.”

  The professional mask slipped; she tossed her cup into the sink. It shattered. “The usual procedure was to receive a written proposal; we’d review it, and if we agreed to accept the job, we’d schedule a meeting with the client.”

  “Why didn’t Kurt follow protocol?”

  “He said it was an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  Athena shook her head and threw her hands up in exasperation. “I have no idea. He wouldn’t tell me. I told him I had a bad feeling about it.”

  “But he took the assignment anyway? Why?”

  She lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head, then raised it. “He claimed the assignment was uniquely suited to his abilities.”

  “What abilities?”

  “Striking a deal with the devil. His specialty is dealing with the lieutenants of the most dangerous and lethal criminal global networks.”

  “Interesting,” said Neil. He sipped his coffee, considering. “How did you meet McGregor?”

  “He and Kurt worked together on a mission in Africa. Why are you asking?”

  “Word is that there are still agents out there, actively searching for him,” said Neil.

  “For Kurt? Really?” Athena’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who told you that?”

  “McGregor, when I was in Montreal,” said Neil.

  “McGregor?” Athena frowned. “I’ll call him; he never told me that. I wonder what else he knows.”

  “You said Kurt mentioned Jakarta. Did he give you anything more specific? A location, a name, anything?”

  Athena turned back to the sink. “I’ve asked myself that question so many times. Jakarta was the last thing he said to me, just Jakarta. I spent a year chasing shadows, but it’s like he disappeared into thin air.” She picked up the shattered pieces of the teacup and tossed them into the trash.

  “When did you realize he was missing?” Neil asked.

  “There was one rule we never broke. Three days.” Athena’s voice was tight, and every word was chosen with care. “Check in, no exceptions. But …” She halted, her lips pressed into a grim, determined line. “Nothing came. Not on the third day. Not the fourth. By day five, I knew. I knew something had gone horribly wrong. I sent everyone we had: Informants, intel, the whole damn team. But we found nothing.”

  She pursed her lips as she thought. “I interviewed the real estate broker who toured potential office sites with Kurt. He confirmed showing him three properties. The broker told me Kurt had expressed particular interest in one property. I conducted a thorough assessment of the site. But nothing came of it.”

  “What else did Kurt talk about the last time you spoke?”

  She managed a faint smile. “He changed the subject to keep the conversation light. He told me about a woman he’d met, an odd sort that was a cartography librarian. She was researching ancient maps of the Silk Road.”

  “The Silk Road?”

  “He chuckled, and I laughed when he said that her scent reminded him of history and the ancient parchment maps that surrounded her. Like one of those eccentric women in Victorian novels.”

  “Or a Sherlock Holmes story,” said Neil. “You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear.”

  “You and your Sherlock Holmes.” Athena grinned. “Which story is that?”

  “A Scandal in Bohemia,” he replied. “It has possessed me, or more precisely, I’ve been obsessed with it for months.” Neil rubbed his forehead and went silent.

  “Is your headache getting worse?” she asked.

  “Why was he talking to someone about ancient Silk Road maps?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, I think he was trying to change the subject. And yes,” Athena said, her tone sharp, “I conducted a full search for her. No records. No sightings. No one knew anything about her.” She paused, arms crossed, eyes locked on Neil. “What are you thinking?”

  Neil rubbed his eyes and groaned, then stretched out his long legs. He narrowed his bloodshot eyes and considered a few moments before speaking. “When I was in Kazakhstan, The New Silk Road was a topic of intense discussion: the opportunities, the implications, and the far-reaching consequences, politicians, corporate types, and …”

  “The organized Eastern European crime syndicate that your client, the medical supplies megacorporation, sent you to threaten? Yes, I remember you telling me about it. The coffee man.”

  “The coffee man.”

  “Do you suspect a link to this woman?”

  “Seven degrees of separation,” said Neil. “There is always a connection.” He lifted his coffee cup, eyed the dregs, then put it down. His eyes grew heavy and drooped.

  “Neil, are you all right?” She moved toward him and touched his shoulder. “Go home. Rest.”

  Neil widened his eyes, and his posture straightened with a shot of energy. “They haven’t officially confirmed that the remains found are Kurt’s, only that his ring was found at the site, right?”

  Athena’s shoulders slightly loosened, and there was a barely perceptible flicker of her eyes, as if she was recalibrating. “Do you think it isn’t—”

  “It’s all circumstantial,” said Neil. “You, Kurt, and I have all worked intelligence. We operate by misdirection. Why is this happening now? Why now?”

  Why now? he repeated to himself.

  “Neil, what’s going on with you? You’re worrying me.”

  “What’s the next step in Singapore?” he asked.

  “DNA tests. They didn’t do any when they thought it was a homeless man. I gave officials in Sydney Kurt’s toothbrush and hair samples. The military has DNA samples if we need that. They’ll have something to cross-reference. That could take weeks. No matter what turns up, I’m going to go to Singapore. The ring was there. Somehow, it ended up under that bridge.

  “When you go, I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “Yes, I do,” he said as he slowly rose from his chair. “You’ve saved my life more than once, and you came for me when Emily … I’ll be here for you.”

  “No, there’s something going on with you. What is it?”

  “I’m tired; my head is throbbing. I’m going home and having real coffee.”

  “I can tell it’s more than just a headache, Neil. Are you having flashbacks again? Do I need to call Jeremy?”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He steadied himself against the table.

  Athena felt his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t have a virus?”

  “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Neil, I think I know what’s going on. Has someone—”

  “If you’re going to tell me about John Wallace, I already know.”

  “John Wallace? What about him?”

  “The police think he took his own life.”

  “What? I can’t believe that.”

  “That’s my reaction too. He left a note for me.”

  “A suicide note. To you?”

  Neil pulled out his phone and showed her the picture.

  Athena frowned. “It looks a little ambiguous, don’t you think?”

  “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “And what does he mean by—”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  “It’s just odd.”

  “If you weren’t going to tell me about John Wallace, what did you want to tell me?” Neil asked.

  “There was a police detective asking questions about you while you were gone.”

  “A detective? What did he want to know?”

  “He asked me if I knew where you were when Emily Granger was murdered.”

  “What?”

  “I know. I told him that I knew exactly where you were: chained to a wall in a cave in Afghanistan. I told him I saw you with my own eyes when my unit extracted you.”

  Neil’s eyes were fixed on her, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, not registering her presence. His nostrils twitched. Inwardly, he could smell the cave, the smoke, and the stink of his own body. He heard the shouts and the shots, then Athena’s voice. “We’ve got you … We’ve got you. You hear me, Marine? Ames … Ames …”

  “Neil!”

  He snapped back to the loft and Athena’s eyes.

  I’m safe. Stay focused. Stay in the present.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Athena asked.

  “Yes, I was just remembering … What else did he say?”

  “He said that he’s investigating Emily’s apparent murder. That’s an odd thing to say, don’t you think? And Aidan Sterling stopped by looking for you. He told me the same detective was asking questions at the Trotter. Do you think it has something to do with Wallace’s note?”

  “The police are looking into all of Wallace’s cases. We’ve always known that he mishandled Emily’s case. What was the name of this detective?”

  “He gave me his card.” Athena went to her easel and moved paint tubes around on the table next to it. She handed the card to Neil. There, beneath the smudges of blue and terracotta acrylic paint, was the name Captain Jubal Sydney Hayes, Criminal Investigation Division.

  “He’s quite handsome,” she said. “Intense dark brown eyes, chiseled cheekbones, square jawed, tan, a tall, lean Texan, by the sound of his accent.”

  “Sounds like he made quite the impression,” said Neil. He handed the card back to her and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I need to go.”

  “How is Octavia doing?” Athena asked as she opened the door for him.

  “She has a long recovery ahead of her, but by the time Yuu International Holdings’ research and development outfits her with the latest mobility technology, she’ll probably be the next six-million-dollar, that’s a dated estimate … twenty-five-million-dollar woman.”

  “You still don’t trust them, do you?”

  “Nope. I’m going home.”

  “Night,” she said and patted him on the arm.

  “It’s only two in the afternoon.”

  “Go to bed and get some sleep. That’s an order, Marine.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Neil replied.

  Chapter 3

  Neil unpacked, then poured a double shot of Jameson’s. The familiar burn was a welcome comfort before stepping into the shower, the forceful spray of hot water a balm against his aching body and troubled mind.

  Emerging from the bathroom, and wrapped in his comfortable terrycloth bathrobe, he stood before his expansive living room window. Five floors beneath him, the surface of the rain-soaked street mirrored the shimmering, dancing city lights. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

  Peeling himself away from the window, he downed another double-shot, and started digging around in his backpack. He pulled out his sketchbook and sat down at his antique drafting table, where he began sketching out the day, meticulously downloading details of each encounter and conversation, in an attempt to clear his mind. The only sound was the rhythmic scraping of his pencil against the paper.

  The morning had begun on a flight back from Montreal on a Yuu International corporate jet. His companion on the flight had been the beautiful and savvy Octavia Clarke, his trusted confidante and a high-level executive of Yuu International. She was going on to Tokyo for extensive rehabilitation following an investigation gone wrong. As he began sketching her face, his focus shifted to the deep worry lines framing her sapphire eyes, lines hinting at her suffering: her mother’s death, Bastien Beaulieu’s murder, the threats from a jealous sister, and the torture Octavia had endured while being held by Mr. Smyth.

  Neil realized he felt a void, a feeling of isolation. He glanced at his phone. “She’s in Tokyo by now. I wonder if I should give her a call.” Then, a sudden, unsettling thought invaded Neil’s mind, making his breath catch in his throat.

  What am I doing? Give her space. Give her back her independence. He felt a flush of guilt so intense that he couldn’t continue sketching. Or is it me? Have I become too dependent on her? He closed the sketchbook, put the phone on the charger, turned off the lights, and collapsed onto the bed.

  He tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around him like restraints. Twitching and erratic breathing marked his restless sleep, finally culminating in a terrifying nightmare. He gasped and entered a space that was without form or dimension, filled with shadowy figures and unsettling sounds.