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  “Bye, Catherine!”

  Hudson ended the call, surprised at how irritated she was at her old friend reentering her life at this moment. Even if Becky was being perfectly genuine, Hudson didn’t in all honesty want to meet up with her again. Now she was facing some excruciating lunch or dinner listening to Becky talk about her perfect life while Hudson’s disintegrated before her eyes.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled up at an anonymous office building in Doral. She rode the elevator to the eighth floor and swiped her fake ID badge against a scanner.

  Inside, the desk was already set up with a MacBook Pro. She made herself coffee and logged on to the CIA system. She gulped down the bitter brew, glad to get some more caffeine in her bloodstream.

  Her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “You in okay?” She didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Who is this?”

  “My name’s Figuel Cuetta, assigned to the State Department.”

  Hudson’s guard was immediately up. Becky had previously worked for the State Department. Was this guy connected to her? “I’m listening.”

  “I’m a friend of Mr. Black’s.”

  Hudson slumped back in her seat. “Go on.”

  “I’m two blocks from where you are. I work out of the State Department building here in Doral. But I’m Agency.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “I was asked to assist you.”

  “In what way?”

  “I want to send someone over to you.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s a Brit.”

  “He’s based in Miami?”

  “Has been for fifteen years. Very discreet. Works only for us. Friend of Mr. Black’s. Any work in and around Florida, he has it covered.”

  “He’s a contractor?”

  “That’s exactly what he is. His company has half a dozen handpicked special forces operatives at his disposal. And they can be deployed as soon as he says so.”

  “Send him over.”

  The man was around six feet tall, late forties, clean shaven. He wore a black polo shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a chunky watch on his left wrist. He took a seat opposite her. His name was Reg Thomson, ex-SAS.

  “You okay with me taking some notes?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  Thomson took out a notebook and pen. “I believe you wanted to talk.”

  Hudson took a few minutes to give him the background on the situation. “It’s not good.”

  Thomson flicked over a page of the notebook and began scribbling.

  “What are your initial thoughts?”

  “The first thought that comes to mind is why wasn’t he just kidnapped outside the bar or shot in the head? What a fucking mess. He could’ve been wasted there and then.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. Unfortunately, the bar was within a stone’s throw of the Miami Beach police station. We absolutely didn’t want them involved. This guy, Nathan Stone, technically he doesn’t exist.”

  Thomson nodded as if he were familiar with Stone’s background.

  “What concerns myself and Mr. Black now is the contagion. If this spreads, God knows where it could lead.”

  “You mean if Stone isn’t neutralized?”

  “Exactly. He knows too much. He’s seen too much. He has background on this organization that we can’t allow to get out. We need to shut him down for good.”

  The man nodded, taking a few more notes. “So just to be clear. You’ve got a fair-sized South African crew in place monitoring the situation.”

  “They have full operational control. We thought we had contained Stone and the girl out in the Everglades. But he’s managed to get all the way to Marathon.”

  The man scribbled some more, shaking his head. “I’ve got to be straight-up honest with you, and no bullshit. This is ridiculous.”

  “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”

  “But it could also have, as you’ve said, terrible ramifications. The blowback from this would destroy the Agency.”

  “I want solutions, not a critique, thank you very much.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be on your case, or the guys who are trying to get Stone, but I mean, it’s crazy that this has been allowed to go on so long.”

  Hudson shifted in her seat. “We don’t want to be seen to intervene directly . . .”

  “Well, you might have to. I think the time for being a spectator is over. Time to sort it out, even if it means neutralizing this guy on the street.”

  Hudson shook her head. “Not an option. In any shape or form.”

  “That comes from Mr. Black?”

  “Yes, it does. And the people who green-lighted this program. But we need a contingency plan.”

  “A contingency plan if . . . ?”

  “A contingency plan if the South African team can’t take him down.”

  The man wrote some more and leaned back in his seat as he considered the situation Hudson was facing. “So, excuse me while I try and get up to speed. From what I’ve heard, this unit of South Africans, they’ve been using Sarasota, and they’ve got boots on the ground now, down in the Keys. Their operation takes precedence.”

  “One hundred percent correct. This is their thing.”

  “But if they fuck up again, we need to be ready. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Hudson nodded.

  “So, what you’re looking for is a parallel operation, lying in wait.”

  “Exactly.”

  Thomson was quiet for a few moments. “Are they an item these two, Stone and the girl?”

  “We don’t know. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, if they’re sleeping together, an anesthetic gas could be pumped into the air-conditioning system, knocking them both out. It would be easy to get them out, into a truck, and then take them away. Or it could be made to look like a drug overdose.”

  Hudson nodded. “That’s exactly what we would be looking for. The first priority is to kill them both, but it needs to be done discreetly.”

  “And the second?”

  Hudson frowned in confusion.

  “You said the first priority is to kill Stone and the girl. What’s the second priority?”

  “Your involvement is on the proviso—and I think it’s probably a long shot—that Stone escapes from the South African operatives. So . . . if you are called in, apart from neutralizing Stone, there are other people who will need to be disappeared. I’d like you to draw up plans when this meeting is over.”

  “People involved in the Commission?”

  Hudson said only, “The buck has to stop somewhere.”

  “You got names?”

  She nodded. “But not now. Not at this stage.”

  “Has this part two been green-lighted?”

  “Not yet. But it will be.”

  Thomson nodded. “To be continued, then. Getting back to Stone, I have three guys available, highly capable guys who are here in Miami, people I know very well, and I can get them in place within a few hours. I’m talking top British operators. Very discreet.”

  “Good. You and you alone will speak to me. Your guys are not told about me or this place.”

  “That goes without saying. In terms of logistics, I’d like two guys down in the Keys, close by. They can monitor the situation from the sidelines, so to speak. But I’d like a presence.”

  “Okay, I like it.”

  “Also, I heard it was a drone that tracked him down.”

  Hudson tilted her head, curious. “How did you know that?”

  “My company leased the drone to them. Caymans registered.”

  She let the information sink in. “Okay.”

  “What I would like is for the drone to be reactivated so that we can keep an eye on Stone via air, in addition to my two guys on the ground. But it costs.”

  “Just in case?”

  The man nodded. “Means my guys don’t have to run around and possibly alert Stone. Means they’ll stay o
ff the radar. Also means that by them not running around, they won’t come to the attention of the South African guys.”

  “Electronic surveillance?”

  “We’ll be doing that as well. Of both Stone and the South Africans.”

  “You’re not leaving anything to chance, are you?”

  “Never do. That’s why I’m still in business.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Stone pulled up at a beach house on Cudjoe Key in the Lower Keys, a sedated Beatrice asleep in the passenger seat of Barney’s pickup. He felt calmer than he had since the whole trip to Miami had gone to shit. This place was a safe house. He had bought the property for cash in the last year, along with a house in nearby Sugarloaf Key.

  He had envisioned Helen one day moving into the Cudjoe house, with him living nearby. A place where she would be free. A place to call home. It was, for Nathan, a small way to pay back the enormous debt he felt he owed his sister. Her sacrifice. Her courage. She could paint. She could breathe the clean air. And feel the sun on her skin as a free woman for once. He knew deep down it was unlikely she would ever be released from the psychiatric hospital. But it felt good to know that she could have a place she could call her own if something ever happened to him.

  Stone glanced at the sleeping Beatrice and smiled. He took the smelling salts Barney had given him out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and placed the bottle underneath Beatrice’s nose.

  She came to, eyes wide, before she winced in pain. “Fuck!” She looked out at the beach and sea. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A little while.”

  “Where am I? Where is this place?”

  “Just a place I use from time to time. Do you want help into the house?”

  Beatrice shook her head and grimaced as she got out of the truck, blanket still wrapped around her. He unlocked the front door, and she shuffled after him. It was all pastel colors and whites. She walked through and opened the french doors to the deck overlooking the ocean.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding me, Jimmy? This is beautiful. Is this yours?”

  “It’s yours for as long as you want to be here.”

  “Why am I here?”

  Stone smiled. “You’ll be safe here. It’s best if you stay here for a while.”

  Beatrice looked around. She unwrapped the blanket from her body.

  Stone went to the closet and picked out a black linen shirt. He tossed it to her. “It’s too big, but it’ll do.”

  Beatrice looked at the fabric and put it on, grimacing with pain. “Thank you.”

  Stone handed her some morphine tablets. “This is for the pain. There’s a Jeep outside. Keys are in the top drawer. Don’t go too far. There’s a phone.”

  “Where?”

  Stone pointed to the kitchen. “It’s on the wall. I’ve got the number. And only me. I’ll contact you. But do not call out, clear?”

  “Am I like a prisoner?”

  “No. You’re perfectly at liberty to go wherever you like.”

  Beatrice was quiet for a few moments. “I want to go back to my family in LA.”

  “You want to go back to LA, fine. You can take the Jeep and drive there.”

  “This is all too much to process . . . I feel a little woozy.”

  “That’s natural.”

  “But I’m free to go? No bullshit?”

  “You’re free to go as of now. I swear. But I think it might be best for you to rest and recuperate before you head back to your family.”

  Beatrice looked around the whitewashed walls and winced, still heavily medicated. “I can’t believe we made it.” She shook her head. “I think I’m in the wrong business.”

  “It’s comfortable. And quiet.”

  “I love it.”

  “There’s a thousand bucks in a bottom drawer for emergencies. Groceries and stuff. But the fridge also has stuff in there, and there’s bread, frozen food in the freezer, and all that.”

  “So—and I’m not trying to be smart—but I’m free to leave at any time?”

  Stone pointed to the sofa. “Sit down and relax.”

  Beatrice sat down as Stone got her a glass of sparkling water. “Thank you.”

  Stone sat on the edge of the sofa. “First, you’ve done amazing getting through all this shit. Second, you are absolutely free to go. I keep my word. I just wanted to bring you here so that you could recuperate at your own pace.”

  “Very nice of you.” She gave a tired smile. “The guys who are after you . . .”

  “Yeah, what about them?”

  “I want you to be straight with me. Don’t lie.”

  Stone nodded.

  “These guys . . . would they find me in LA?”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you want to hear what you want to hear? Yeah, everything’s going to be fine. Fingers crossed. Or do you want the truth? Unvarnished.”

  “I want the goddamn truth, unvarnished.”

  Stone sighed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You can head back to LA. Go to the cops. And I don’t doubt you would live. But for how long, I don’t know.”

  Beatrice closed her eyes.

  “If you’re lucky, they’ll find you and kill you quick.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Stone nodded. “These are dangerous people. They kill people. They’re a lot like me.”

  “I miss my daughter. I can’t bear being away from her.”

  Stone nodded.

  “I want to see her. But I don’t want to put her at risk. I need to know . . . Would they kill my daughter?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly.”

  Beatrice ran her hands through her tangled hair. “What a nightmare.”

  “Listen to me. Until you figure out your next move, you’ll be safe here.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise. They don’t know about this place. I think we lost them after their boat blew up.”

  “Good.”

  “Beatrice, I’m very careful. This property isn’t even in my name. It’s under the name of a company.”

  “That’s good. And there’s a phone?”

  “Kitchen. But if you call the cops when I leave, these guys who were on our tail will find you for sure. They will be tracing all calls to the local police, and they’ve probably wiretapped the phones of everyone you know.”

  Beatrice nodded.

  “If you want to go to the cops, fine, that’s your choice. But I would strongly advise you against it. At least at this stage. Your name will pop up in numerous systems across the country, some more secure than others.”

  “What about calls to my daughter?”

  “Aren’t you paying attention? Absolutely not. Not now. Maybe once this is over.”

  “And when will it be over?”

  Stone shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that chilling out here, recuperating, relaxing will do you a world of good.”

  “So you’re not going to stay here with me?”

  Stone shook his head. “Treat this as your home for as long as you’re here.”

  “And this is yours?”

  Stone nodded. “I move around. Like to spend time here in the winter if I can. My sister’s at a hospital up in Homestead, so I’m close enough too.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “Shower here. But I would wait till tomorrow. Then take off the bandage. First-aid kit underneath the sink in the kitchen. Antiseptic spray, and you’ve got morphine and antibiotic pills.”

  Beatrice smiled. “I can’t believe what the hell I’ve been through. What we’ve been through.”

  Stone got to his feet. “One final thing.” He went to the bedroom and opened a safe inside the closet. He pulled out a cell phone and handed it to her. “Do not use this.”

  “So, what’s the point of giving it to me?”

  “I’ve got a plan. But you need to keep this phone on you. S
et it to vibrate, keep it in your pocket. When it vibrates, it means I’ve sent you a message. You follow what it says to the letter if I message you. Do not ignore it. If I contact you, you need to see what I’m saying.”

  Beatrice looked unsure. Her gaze wandered around the room. On a duck-egg-blue wooden bookshelf in the corner was an old black-and-white photo. She walked over to the photo and lifted it. It showed a young boy and a stick-thin woman with a swollen eye. “Is this you?” she said.

  Stone nodded.

  “And this is . . . your mother?”

  “Yeah. I was about four at the time. She left a few weeks after that was taken.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Stone sighed. “My father was an alcoholic. He beat her senseless. Leaving was the only way she could see to survive.”

  Beatrice touched the glass and looked up. “That’s how my husband left me on many a night, let me tell you. Good-for-nothing bastard.”

  “He beat you?”

  “He beat me bad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He used to have a coke addiction. Got clean. But he’s still a bastard in my eyes.”

  “And he’s got custody?”

  “I see her once a month. Supervised visit. It’s something.” Beatrice looked again at the picture. “You look so sad.”

  “So does my mother.”

  “Where was this taken?”

  “Down the street from Katz’s Deli. You know, the one you hadn’t heard of.”

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “I’ll never forget it now, believe me.”

  “It’s all in the past now. We need to focus on the present.”

  Beatrice smiled. “And I’ll be okay here?”

  “Yes. Rest up. And I’ll be back to see you.”

  Forty

  De Boer was sitting in the back of an SUV as his new second-in-command, Joseph Salerno, trained a telephoto lens on Nathan Stone, almost half a mile away, as the target drove off from the house in Cudjoe Key. The drone had monitored Stone and the girl from off the coast of Marathon until they were taken away by a guy in a pickup truck.

  His team had learned that the vehicle was registered to a former cop, Barney McKeever. A loser who had been fired for being drunk on duty fifteen years earlier. A veteran who had lived alone since his wife left him. They knew where McKeever lived, and now, having followed the truck when it left Marathon, they knew where the girl was.