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Marcus’s dark eyes remained locked tightly on our follower. Eventually, he nodded.

“Good,” the man said. “Because first and foremost, you need to acknowledge that. There’s nowhere you could go that the organization couldn’t find you. At will, might I add.”

Holden and Randall had clo

sed in, fists clenched. They looked ready to pounce at even the slightest signal from Marcus.

“We’ve been watching you for discretion,” the man went on. “And so far we’ve been satisfied. But in order to be fully satisfied, I’m here to deliver a message.”

The man reached slowly into his jacket pocket. Both SEALs immediately stiffened, but Marcus made a quick motion and they relaxed again.

When his hand returned to view, the man wasn’t holding a message at all. He held a thick bar of chocolate, partially eaten, in a golden foil wrapper. We watched as he broke off a square and popped it into his mouth. His eyes closed for a moment as he savored the taste.

“Mmmm,” the man said. “Have you had the chocolate? They have the best here. The very best in the world, even when you consider—”

“The message,” Marcus broke in.

The man shot him a look of utter distaste. He sniffed before continuing.

“Alexander Kyrkos drowned after falling from his yacht, probably drunk,” the man stated matter-of-factly. “Very tragic. A terrible accident.”

He paused as if gauging our reaction. When nobody said anything, he continued.

“This is a story backed up by three of his crew, as well as a man you already know named Riker. They all saw him go in. They even tried to save him…” he shrugged, “but alas, it all happened too quickly.”

The messenger leaned forward a little, and I saw his eyes change. The casual, nonchalant look had vanished. Now it was replaced by a more sinister one; a look of grim lethality.

“Do you understand this message?”

Marcus nodded again, this time with less hesitation. The man eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then turned expectantly to the rest of us.

“We understand,” I said firmly. Off to one side, I saw Randall and Holden nodding their heads.

“Good,” the man said again. “Not that any of you would know anything different, because none of you were even in Sicily. Correct?”

“Correct,” said Holden, catching on.

“Sicily?” added Randall. He shrugged. “I couldn’t even find it on a map.”

The man’s mouth turned upwards a little, into the smallest beginnings of a smirk. “Now you’re getting it.”

He ate another piece of chocolate. For a moment I thought he might offer us some, but he tucked the rest away.

“Keep to this understanding,” he went on, “and lose all knowledge and interest in our organization.” His eyes scanned each of us in turn. “Forever.”

He spoke the last word with a strange, almost otherworldly force and authority. Almost the way a hypnotist would snap his fingers and tell someone to sleep.

“In return for this,” the man went on. “Our organization loses all knowledge and interest in you.”

All of a sudden I felt a thousand pounds lighter. Like some crushing weight had been lifted off of me, that I hadn’t even realized was there.

“Agreed?”

I felt amazing. Like I could literally fly.

“Agreed,” I breathed, feeling so giddy I was lightheaded. One by one, the others did too.

“Outstanding,” the man said.