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There’ve been a few rumors and stories—just a few, but enough—of operators being recalled back to Langley after some dark development, and having a car accident, a drowning, or having their head struck by a steel pipe fall on a construction site before getting to safety.
That’s not happening to Liam.
But he will make a call.
It rings once and is picked up.
He nearly sags from relief. Maybe he is ahead of the game for once.
“Hello, who is this?” the woman’s voice says.
“It’s your partner in crime,” he says. “Need to make it quick.We have to meet … in two hours. At the place we had drinks after delivering the PDB. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Get there as a ghost, and for God’s sake, be on time.”
“Two hours?”
“That’s right.”
“All right,” Noa Himel says, and she disconnects the call.
CHAPTER 62
SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AFRICA
BENJAMIN LUCAS DISCOVERS that if he doesn’t move—no matter the temptation—the aches and pains along his ribs, arms, legs, and head don’t hurt as much, but no position eases the pain and shame inside of him.
With his training he should have made quick work of that Chinese intelligence officer with the heavy wooden cricket bat, but that son of a bitch—Chang Wanquan—was equally strong and well trained. Liam had gotten in a few good shots, splitting the shit’s lip, for one, but the Chinese intelligence officer had gotten the best of him.
Bastard.
He has to ease his breathing because of the pain in his ribs. He thinks through the past couple of days, especially that cryptic comment the other intelligence officer had made before leaving.
Why should we deal with Langley?
What the hell did that mean?
Even when an officer is “off the books,” like he was back in Johannesburg, there is an understanding that while the State Department wouldn’t lift a finger to help in the event of a capture, it was in recovery that Langley would do what it could.
Either the quiet diplomatic way of making back-channel dealsfor a prisoner swap, or a more aggressive approach involving helicopters, black-clad men, and lots of firepower.
What’s it going to be, then, if the Chinese refuse to deal with Langley?
Does the Agency even know where he is?
As grim as it sounds, it seems like Benjamin is on his own.
In the years he’s served in the Agency, there’ve been tales told around drinks about contract agents and other operators “left behind,” in places ranging from Tibet to Vietnam to countries in Africa, when the higher-ups decided it would take too much political capital and trouble to get them free.
Is he now on that list?
He moves slightly, winces at the pain radiating among his left ribs.
Some resistance back there, sport,he thinks. He should have been more aggressive. When that clown started talking about cricket and playing with his bat, Benjamin should have taken the initiative and blasted at him, taking him out at the knees.
Oh, the outcome would have been about the same, but at least the son of a bitch would have left with more bruises.
