Page 12 of The Hijack

“To train super spies,” Lukas answered.

He flicked the kitchen light on and illuminated a space that was devoid of all warmth. Where most homes featured marble countertops or the soft touch of butcher’s block, this kitchen was all steel. There was no color and very little light. Cubes of steak knives were placed in strategically advantageous places, and I was sure that was no accident. One collection shared the center island with a rack of cutting boards, and another set of knives sat beside the sink. No matter where you went in the kitchen, an implement of death was always close by.

“Charming,” I observed.

Lukas laughed. “It wasn’t meant to be charming. In its heyday, this kitchen was feeding around twenty kids.”

“Twenty?” I gasped. “Are they all still out there?”

“Some of them,” Lukas said. “Most of them,” he corrected himself. “I don’t have a specific number. They’re not all friendlies, if you catch my drift.”

“Got it,” I said, understanding completely.

Lukas pulled the refrigerator open to investigate the contents. “Ham sandwich?” he asked.

“Sold,” I replied. A ham sandwich sounded like just about the best thing in the world at that point. I salivated imagining the salty protein mashed between two thick helpings of carbohydrates. Dare I hope for mustard?

Lukas pulled a loaf of bread out and set it on the island, followed by a package of Boar’s Head deli slices. To my extreme delight, he also found a bottle of mustard, and not the yellow American kind. It was dark brown with kernels of mustard seeds, a very expensive British variety. I didn’t wait for further invitation but slammed two pieces of bread onto the counter and dug a knife out of one of the carving blocks.

Lukas watched in amusement.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I told him.

He kept his mouth shut, reaching for the sandwich fixin’s when I was done. We shared a moment standing over the island, each chewing on a cold meal. It was the kind of domestic scene I was accustomed to as a spy. You took food and sleep where you could get them, and little niceties like plates and napkins were reserved for state dinners where we were undercover and on the job.

“So you love her?” Lukas asked.

I didn’t know whether I should confirm or deny that statement. Love was a heated word in the spy business. Just because Lukas was a friend for the time being didn’t mean he would remain a friend. Just because he had grown up with Clark didn’t mean he would come to her aid. I decided to play things close to the vest, even though my feelings were obvious.

“She’s just a friend,” I responded.

Lukas gave me a narrow look that said he clearly didn’t believe me. I couldn’t care less what he thought. My motives were personal, and he could make up any excuse he liked as long as he helped me complete my mission. When Clark was back safely, we could all sit around the Christmas tree and discuss our plans for the future in detail.

We were interrupted by Z as she came downstairs from whatever control center there was in the overgrown labyrinth of a home. “Help yourself,” she quipped.

“Thanks, already did,” Lukas responded.

“You haven’t been back two seconds before raiding the fridge,” she objected.

“Excuse me for trying to be a good host,” Lukas argued. “The man was starving.”

“I’m better now,” I said around my last bite of sandwich.

“Give it here,” Z relented, waving at the bread and the meat.

Lukas pushed them across the island, handing her the knife that we had each used to spread our mustard. There was a moment’s hesitation that only those who were well steeped in international intrigue could appreciate. Was the knife a weapon or a tool for spreading condiments? It could be either. Everyone in the room was capable of taking a life with nothing more than a common household implement. Hell, I’d once killed someone with a ceramic bowl.

Z took it from her foster brother, and the moment passed. She made herself a sandwich and carefully laid the knife in the sink. “I was able to track your handler’s movements,” she told me.

“And where is he?” I asked.

“He was on a plane bound for Heathrow,” Z replied. “No confirmation of his presence in London because he didn’t pass through security, but it’s likely that’s where he is.”

I shook my head. “That’s not where Clark is. They wouldn’t risk taking her back to London.”

“If she’s alive,” Lukas pointed out unhelpfully.

I shot him a look. Either he was dumb as a brick or he was egging me on because he knew how I felt about her. Reminding me that she could be dead was cruel and unnecessary. It wasn’t going to stop me from looking for her, and it didn’t change a damn thing.