Page 27 of The 9th Man

“I’m leading the team personally for the intercept.”

“Find that rifle. Get. It. Done.”

He ended the connection and stepped away from the desk.

Everything was proceeding ahead.

Daylight was flooding the Chesapeake. Another day. Another opportunity. That had always been how he lived his life. But now, approaching ninety-three years old, his time was coming to an end. Thankfully, he enjoyed a robust constitution with few to no physical afflictions. That good health had been aided by a life of nonsmoking, smart eating, and limited alcohol. Long lives ran in his family. His father lived to be ninety-one, his grandfather to nearly a hundred.

But they’d spawned heirs.

Sadly his wealth, and all of the favors and promises he’d amassed, would die with him. No one would carry on after he was gone. No heirs. No assigns nor designees. It would all just end, with his fortune going to the Smithsonian Institution. He’d always loved that place. One condition of the multimillion-dollar gift was that something prominent bear his name. What? Didn’t matter. Just as long as something did. He liked the idea of that.

TheTHOMAS HENRY ROWLAND EXHIBITION HALL.

Some would be glad to see him go, their debts remaining unpaid. Others would mourn, wanting favors previously given repaid. Of course, he wasn’t dead. Not yet. And this was all about what would survive death.

His legacy.

How he would be remembered.

And that was important.

Talley had already reported in, so little of what Persik had said was news to him. Talley and his team were on the ground, landing in Belgium hours ago, already acting on information Persik had provided earlier on a rental car the white knight in Genappe had utilized, one they’d managed to electronically tag the night before. That’s how Persik knew Jillian Stein and her savior had met in Brussels, then returned to her grandfather’s house. They also had a license plate, which led to the rental company, which led to a name.

Luke Daniels.

Whom Talley knew.

“Special forces is a relatively small community. He and I crossed paths. Daniels was an Army Ranger. A damn good one, too.”

“You said ‘was.’ What is he now?”

“To the best of my knowledge, a private citizen.”

“Who shows up out of the blue. What might be his interest in this?”

“Unknown, at this time,” Talley said.

“Find out…discreetly.”

“I shall. Sir, I should say, whatever his reason for being there, Daniels is a—”

“Speed bump. Flatten him out.”

He’d sent the second team to Belgium to provide him with choices.

Just in case. Thank God.

He stepped back to the desk.

And called Talley.

12

LUKE SLOWED THE PEUGEOT AS THEY APPROACHED THE BORDERbetween Belgium and Luxembourg. The crossing itself was notional rather than physical, an invisible line down the center of Martelange’s main thoroughfare that magically shifted into Martelange-Rombach in Luxembourg. Residents could, in theory, buy a cup of coffee in Belgium, then cross the street for a croissant in Luxembourg. Usually, it was a nonexistent line. But today there was a line of cars being held up by guards checking each vehicle.

“Should we worry about that?” Jillian asked.