Page 80 of The Shadow Friends

“Who’s tracking us?” Ingrid asked.

“We don’t know. We just have to assume you are being tracked.”

“Why?”

Ben turned to look at her. “Six hours ago, while you were already on the flight home, a new name was added to that kill list on the dark web. I printed off a hard copy.” He passed her two sheets of paper.

Ingrid frowned at the name on the first page: Lilia Kuraskaya, five foot six, red-blond hair, born sixty-five years ago in East Berlin. The photo was of a young Lilia, an attractive woman with a steady gaze and a determined jaw.

“Who is this person?” Ingrid asked.

“She was a Russian illegal,” said Ben. “Slipped into Toronto at age twenty-two and took on the identity of a dead Canadian infant. Twenty years ago, she abruptly dropped out of the sight of her Russian handler.”

“She defected?”

“Apparently so. Which is why she’s now on their kill list.”

“What does this have to do with us?”

“Look at the next page.”

Ingrid flipped to the second sheet of paper and stared in disbelief at a photo of her own face. It was recent, obviously a candid and taken without her knowledge. She scanned the background and recognized the familiar landmarks, a sign with Dutch words.

“This was taken a few days ago, when I was in Amsterdam.” She looked up. “They think I’m this woman?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Why would they think—”

“She would be about your age. And superficially, you could be mistaken for her. About the same height, similar facial structure.”

“But if she’s now on their hit list . . .” Ingrid looked up. “Then so am I.”

Ben nodded. “And now they know your address in Purity, your husband’s name. Your height, your weight—”

“That’s getting too damn personal.”

“Ingrid,” said Ben, “this is not a laughing matter.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“Now you know why we snatched you at the airport,” said Declan as he drove north, toward New Hampshire. “If they knew Lloyd’s car was in the airport garage, they could already be watching it. Or they could have wired it to explode. As long as you don’t go near your vehicles, and you keep your phones turned off, you can’t be tracked.”

“What about our phones?” said Maggie.

“The only person listed as Ingrid’s associate is Lloyd.”

“So far.”

“So far,” admitted Ben. “Right now, it seems her immediate circle of friends isn’t known yet. They’ll be watching the Slocums’ house, but they won’t be watching us.”

“You mean—we can’t go home?” said Lloyd.

“I’m sorry,” said Declan. “You can’t go anywhere near your house.”

“For how long?”

There was a long silence. Ingrid reached out and grasped her husband’s hand. This was her fault. Because she’d let Rodrigo lure her back into the game, Lloyd was now suffering for it, exiled from the home he loved, and forced into hiding. He had every right to blame her, but he said nothing, just held on to her hand as if to anchor her beside him.