In the spill of light that leaked in from the window she studied England’s top spymaster. A Cold War legend. She’d heard stories, the exploits, and had often dreamed of being a part of the SIS. But to see and speak to Blake Antrim again? What a price to pay for admission.
“I am of the Inner Temple,” Mathews said. “A member fifty years. I read the law just over there.” He pointed out the window, beyond the Temple Church dome.
“And you opted for law enforcement, too.”
“That I did. See, you and I have something in common.”
“You still have not told me what this is about.”
Mathews stepped toward a tiered desk. He slid out a chair and beckoned for her to sit. She complied and, for the first time, noticed the dark outline of a laptop before her.
He opened the machine and pressed one of the keyboard’s buttons. The screen sprang to life and bathed her in a harsh light. She squinted and gave her eyes time to adjust.
“Read this, then do as instructed.”
Mathews headed for the door.
“How will I find Antrim?” she asked.
“Not to worry, you will have additional information when needed.”
“How will you find me?”
He stopped, turned, and shook his head. “Don’t ask silly questions, Miss Richards.”
And he left.
Fourteen
MALONE LED IAN AWAY FROM THE MEWS, BACK TO LITTLE VENICE where there were plenty of taxis. No return call had come as yet from Devene. The fact that Gary was in jeopardy tore at his heart. How had he allowed this to happen? It ran counter to everything he’d tried to do when he retired from the Justice Department.
“I’m quitting my job,” he said to Gary.
“I thought you loved what you did.”
He shook his head. “The risks have become too great.”
It happened in Mexico City. He was there helping prosecute three defendants who’d murdered a DEA agent. During a lunch break he’d been caught in the crossfire of an assassination attempt in a public park that turned into a bloodbath. Seven dead, nine injured. He’d finally brought down the shooters, but not before taking a round in his left shoulder. He’d spent a month recovering, and making some decisions about his life.
“You’re thirteen,” he said to Gary. “This is going to be tough for you to understand, but sometimes life has to change.”
He’d already tendered his resignation to Stephanie Nelle, ending his twelve-year career with the Magellan Billet and an even longer stint with the navy. He’d made it to full commander and would have liked to have been a captain, but no more.
“So you’re leaving,” Gary asked. “Moving to another country.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
But he was.
By the time he quit, he and Pam had lived apart five years. He’d come home from an assignment one day to find her gone. She’d rented a house on the other side of town, taking with her only what she and Gary needed. A note informed him of their new address and that the marriage was over. Pragmatic and cold. That was her way. Decisive, too. But neither one of them had sought an immediate divorce, though they only spoke when necessary for Gary’s sake.
A lot of life had passed between them while together. He’d changed from a navy recruit, to a lawyer, to an agent for the Justice Department. She’d become a lawyer herself. He spent his time traveling the world. She prowled the halls of Atlanta’s courthouses. They saw each other every week or so, dividing their time with Gary, who was growing up faster than either of them realized. They’d lived in a neighborhood with friends neither of them really knew. But living was the wrong term. More like existing. Taking that bullet in Mexico City had finally made him ask—was this the life he wanted? Neither he nor Pam was happy. That much they both knew. And the leap from unhappiness to anger was one Pam had easily made.
“Will you ever be satisfied?” she asked him. “The navy, then flight school, law school, JAG, the Billet. Now this sudden retirement. What’s next?”
“I’m moving to Denmark.”
Her face registered nothing. He might as well have said he was moving to the moon. “What is it you’re after?”
“I’m tired of being shot at.”
“Since when? You love the Billet.”
“Time to grow up.”
“So you think moving to Denmark will accomplish that miracle?”
He had no intention of explaining himself. She didn’t care. Nor did he want her to. “It’s Gary I need to talk to. I want to know if he’s okay with that.”
“Since when have you cared what he thought?”
“He’s why I got out. I wanted him to have a father around—”
“That’s bullshit, Cotton. You got out for yourself. Don’t use that boy as an excuse. Whatever it is you’re planning, it’s for you, not him.”
“I don’t need you telling me what I think.”
“Then who does tell you? We were married a long time. You think it was easy waiting for you to come back from who-knows-where? Wondering if it was going to be in a body bag? I paid the price, Cotton. Gary did, too. But that boy loves you. No, he worships you, unconditionally. You and I both know what he’ll say, since his head is screwed on better than either of ours. For all our failures together, he was a success.”
She was right.
“Look, Cotton. Why you’re moving across the ocean is your business. But if it makes you happy, then do it. Just don’t use Gary as an excuse. The last thing he needs is a discontented parent around trying to make up for his own sad childhood.”
“You enjoy insulting me?”
“The truth has to be said, and you know it.”
The truth? Hardly. She’d omitted the most important part.
Gary is not your biological son.
Typical Pam. One set of rules for her, another for everyone else. Now they both had a bad problem.
Ian walked beside him on the sidewalk. The boy had said nothing. Interesting how instinct bred survival, even in adolescence. He’d become angry at Ian in the mews, but he also saw that Ian seemed to tacitly agree that he’d messed up with Gary. He told himself to not allow that to happen again. This boy needed compassion, not hostility.
What did Gary need?