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CALVIN BIGALOW

Siren Song, Maine

C alvin felt like he’d been hit by the Metro.

The voices were echoey, like a dream.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s breathing, but that head injury looks bad.”

“Who the fuck is this yahoo? Because he ain’t an operator.”

“No idea, but I intend to find out.”

Calvin opened his eyes to the blurred image of four Marvel Avengers standing over him. Wait, no, it was two. Two Marvel Avengers. Or maybe just two really fit human people.

He squinted at the man on the right. “Oh, hey.”

“Do I know you?”

Calvin sat up and vomited down his shirt. “Oh, shoot.” A kitchen towel landed in his lap, and Calvin wiped his face. “You’re Leo Jameson. I’m Calvin, Calvin Bigalow. Sofria’s friend from work.”

The other guy squatted beside him. “You work for the CIA?”

He tried to look as capable as possible, with blood running down his face and spit up all over his front. “Yes. In the mailroom.”

Leo muttered, “Christ.”

As the events of the evening filtered back, Calvin said, “Shadow Man took Sofria. We have to save her.”

The room turned fuzzy, and Calvin’s eyes rolled back.

REN

A fter he and Steady had cleaned up Calvin, Ren sat on the coffee table and listened to his story.

This untrained kid had managed to not only find them but also beat a skilled assassin to their location.

Ren was impressed. He had been so focused on evading the technology, he had forgotten how effective intelligence and legwork could be.

“That’s when Shadow Man showed up and smashed my face.”

Steady returned to the room with a bag of ice and a book. Newton followed and went straight to Ren.

“Was this on your counter before?” Steady passed him The Avian Encyclopedia .

Ren extended his hand. “No.”

“It was open to that,” Steady said.

Ren scanned the paper, “It’s the section on ostriches. Stella must have done this.”

Calvin took the ice and pressed it to his forehead. “Who’s Stella?”

“Mean anything?” Steady asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know what.”

Steady checked a message on his phone. “Plane’s here . ”

Ren scratched his stubble. “Yeah, but where the hell are we going?” He turned to Calvin. “Tell me about the man. What do you remember?”

“Shadow Man? He’s been following Sofria for months. I saw him in Baltimore, and, another time, he was in her cubicle at work.”

Ren stood and immediately regretted it. His ribs protested, and his injured arm throbbed in the temporary sling. “Why are you calling him Shadow Man?”

“Every time I’ve spotted him, he’s lurking in the shadows. It’s like he wants to be in the dark.”

In Ren’s head, the Rubik’s Cube spun and clicked, spun and clicked, as the sides became uniform in color. He turned to Steady. “I thought the same thing about that guy who pulled me out of Chat’s going away party. Remember? I noticed he deliberately positioned himself out of the light.”

Steady snapped his fingers. “The pincushion with all the piercings in the parking lot.”

“Exactly. The guy who originally outed Stella to me. It was so dark that night, I didn’t recognize him. He’s been stalking Stella for months.”

“Who’s Stella?” Calvin asked again.

Ren ignored Calvin’s question. “He’s a merc Stella identified as The Priest. We knew he was surveilling Stella, but I didn’t link him to me. I was set up from the beginning. Whoever is pulling the strings wanted me to find Stella.”

Steady nodded. “It’s a logical frameup. One of you gets killed, the other gets blamed.”

Ren started to pace. “This all goes back to the drone project and that video clip Casper Capelli mailed to Milton. Whoever is stealing the research is high enough up to execute this coverup.”

“How much is that flying monkey worth?” Steady pulled a candy bar from his pocket, peeled the paper, and took a bite.

“I’m guessing several billion. But it’s about more than money. A frame job also keeps the spy out of a black site holding cell for the rest of their life.”

Steady added, “And Calvin’s Shadow Man is The Priest.”

“And he’s got Stella,” Ren bit out.

“So let’s find this asshole.”

“How? I never got a good look at him. Twitch sent some airport surveillance photos of a man she suspected was following Stella, but they’re practically useless.”

“I took his picture.”

Ren and Steady turned in unison to face Calvin as he fiddled with his photo app.

“I saw him in a hotel parking lot.” He passed Ren the phone. “For a second, I thought he saw me taking pictures, but it was a false alarm.”

Steady turned to Calvin. “Nice work, kid.”

Ren sat on the coffee table and stared at the pictures of The Priest. “He’s the same guy I clocked following Stella a few months ago in England. I didn’t make the connection to the pierced guy at Chat’s party. He changed his appearance, but from these photos, it’s obvious it’s the same man.”

Steady stood, walked to the French doors nearest the entry, and stared into the night.

Ren knew that expression well. Steady may be the joker of the team, but he had an uncanny ability to see a situation from all sides. “What are you thinking?” Ren asked.

“Why not just kill her when he found her here?” Steady faced Ren. “I mean, the assassin had a patsy dropped in his lap.” He gestured to Calvin. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Ren said, “Whoever is behind this needs to ensure the trail ends with her—confirm she doesn’t have a secret ‘in the event of my death’ stash.

They want to question her.” Ren’s bruised ribs felt too big for his chest. It was like the fear and anger were going to explode from his body.

He knew exactly how intelligence gathering took place.

Ren had been an interrogator. He got answers using his intelligence, not force, but that tactic was not the norm.

Stella was a trained operative, but no matter how well Hyperion prepared her, in the end, everyone broke. He needed to find her and fast.

“So, we need to figure out where this fucker is taking Stella.”

Before Calvin could ask again, Ren turned to him. “Stella is Sofria. She was undercover at the CIA.”

“Whoa.”

Ren turned to Steady. “How the hell are we supposed to track them? We can’t drive down the East Coast looking for a dented white pickup.”

Calvin raised his hand. Steady called on him like a teacher. “Yes, Calvin?”

“I know the make and model. Oh, and I got the license plate.”

Ren looked at Steady with an expression of impressed surprise. He turned back to Calvin. “Not bad, kid.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

“You can call me Ren. That’s what the team calls me.”

Ren thought Calvin might pass out, but the kid took a few deep breaths and said, “Okay. Cool. Ren.”

“And I’m Steady.” Steady circled his finger in the air. “Saddle up, boys. I want to get that bird in the air in thirty.”

Newton barked. Ren said, “Calvin, grab the leash.”

“Me? I’m coming?”

Ren helped him up. “Of course, you’re coming. You’ve been a huge help so far.”

“But—”

Ren studied Calvin as the kid examined his own physique and then looked at Steady and Ren. Steady, in his inimitable way, always managed to distill a complex thought into a charming Southern aphorism. “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

Calvin kept the bag of ice pressed to his head. “Copy that, Steady. I’ll get Pluto.”

Ren ignored Calvin and tore the page from the bird book. “Someone involved in the drone research theft is The Ostrich.”

Steady looked at the page. “What are you thinking?”

“Whoever has her is going to question her.”

Ren knew Steady understood the implication of that statement. Steady checked his buzzing phone. “The team is waiting at the office. We’ll find her.”

Ren nodded, still staring at the bird. “We have to.”