Page 78 of Enemy of My Enemy

“Very probable. We can put out a bulletin for these guys, flag their passports, but there are a thousand different ratlines in Eastern Europe. A thousand different ways to sneak across the borders.”

“Fuck.” Exhaling, Ethan closed his eyes and groaned. “So now we have Madigan’s personal ghost army running terrorists across Europe and into Russia. What now—”

“Ethan!” Jack’s shout broke through the Residence, shock and horror and terror laced through Ethan’s name.

He dropped his cell and bolted for their bedroom. He threw himself inside, his back bouncing off the door as he cleared the corners on instinct, his hands desperate for his old weapon and useless in front of him, clenching air.

Jack stood at the foot of the bed, frozen in front of his duffel, his face white, jaw hanging open, eyes wide as saucers.

In his hands, photos trembled. One tumbled loose and skittered across the floor.

Ethan snatched it up, racing to Jack’s side. He grabbed Jack, wrapping his arm around his waist and checking him over before he took the photos from Jack’s shaking hands.

“What are these?”

Jack shook his head, mute.

In the photos, Jack sat on an ornate couch beside a gold bust, smiling at Sasha. Scott was facing the camera, but his eyes were locked on Jack. In the next, Sergey walked in, his hands clasped together. Scott was still in the frame, this time looking around the room. Then Jack and Sergey walking through the Kremlin Palace together. At the Hall of the Unions. Jack’s head resting on Sergey’s shoulder.

Jack carrying Evgeni Konnikov’s casket and walking behind the coffin.

The photos were takenclose. Too close.

And, on top of each image, a red M had been drawn, closed in a circle.

* * *

Chapter 27

White House Residence

Ethan threwdown the photos taken in Moscow on the Residence’s kitchen island. They scattered, spreading out across the dark marble countertop, brazenly displayed for Scott and Daniels.

Scott’s jaw clenched as he stared at the images.

Daniels cursed.

Jack hung back in the kitchen corner, watching as Ethan squared off with his two friends. Daniels hadn’t been on the trip, but Scott had, and those photos would have to feel like Scott had been skinned alive, with the perverse closeness the photographer had gotten.

Jack was exhausted from the travel and from the emotional sledgehammer of the day, but Ethan had called Scott and Daniels and growled for the both of them to come up to the Residence immediately.

“How thefuckdid this happen?” Ethan growled, his voice trembling. Jack watched him, taking in his white knuckles clenching the marble countertop and the strain across his shoulders.

It felt like Madigan was saturating everything, had infiltrated all corners of the planet. Was in the air Jack breathed, in the shadows moving behind him. Hell, he had been in the White House. His phantom still haunted Jack, more than he wanted to admit.

Scott flipped through each of the photos. “Some of these could have been taken by anyone in the crowd. Others…” His eyes flicked up, meeting Ethan’s dark and dangerous gaze. “Others were taken when it was just the three, or four, of us.”

“It wasn’t just the fucking four of you!” Ethan exploded, bellowing at Scott as his face turned purple. Whirling, Ethan’s hands rose to his head, fingers lacing behind him as he paced in the space between the refrigerator and the island. “Someone was fuckingthere,” he hissed. “With you. WithJack!”

“Ethan, there was no one fucking there! I know how to do my job—”

“Do you?”

Fury raged in Scott’s eyes. “We can’t all be perfect Iceman Reichenbach, can we? If you had been there, the only difference would be you sitting next to Jack in these photos!”

“I’dneverlet him be put in danger!” Ethan hollered. “Never! Once was fucking enough!”

“Hey!” Daniels jumped forward, putting his hands on Scott’s chest as Scott seemed ready to leap over the island and throttle Ethan. “Hey! This isnothelping!”