by Chad Zunker
With Charlie continuing to watch the cartoon, Sam got up, walked into the first bedroom. There was a small bag on the floor filled with brand-new boys’ clothes. Shirts, pants, shoes, jacket—the works. Pelini had gone shopping for him. The bed was disheveled on one side where Charlie must have slept. Zipping up the bag, Sam grabbed it and moved into the second bedroom, where he found another unmade bed and a small leather bag filled with Pelini’s clothes. He searched inside the bag to see if there were any items worth taking with him—cash and so forth—but found nothing. Pelini was obviously traveling light. Sam had no idea how Pelini had managed to hunt down info on the intelligence mole and recapture the CIA asset list while having a five-year-old boy at his side. It was an impressive feat, even for someone like the gray-bearded man.
Returning to the living room, Sam again knelt in front of the boy.
“We have to go now, Charlie,” Sam said to him.
Charlie turned, wrinkles in his forehead. “Go where?”
Sam gave him a reassuring grin. “On a big adventure.”
“Really?” Charlie smiled wide. “What kind of adventure?”
“Well, we have to avoid the bad guys and make it back to the Batcave.”
“But what about Uncle Marcus? He said he was getting doughnuts.”
Sam pressed his lips together, swallowed hard. Pelini had clearly not told the boy he was his real father yet. The boy should probably never know that information—or at least not for a very long time. Eventually, Charlie needed to know everything. Sam knew firsthand how damaging it was never to know who you really are in life.
“Uncle Marcus asked me to take you on this adventure.”
“Oh, okay. Will I be going home soon?”
Sam swallowed. “Yes, but the adventure first, okay?”
“Okay!” Charlie jumped up, ready to go.
Sam smiled, put his hand on the boy’s head, tousled his hair. A brother. It felt like a dream, not real. And yet, standing there, Sam knew he’d do just about anything right now to protect Charlie. The boy deserved a chance at a normal life—a chance that Sam had never been given.
After helping Charlie get his jacket on, they headed for the door. Sam let the boy punch all the right buttons on the elevator down. Once in the lobby, Sam asked the front-desk clerk if he could call them a taxi. They waited for a few minutes on a sofa in the corner of the lobby—mostly talking about superheroes—until the clerk alerted them that a taxi had arrived for them.
Stepping outside, Sam noted the rain was still coming down hard. A hotel valet held a big umbrella for them while the taxi driver opened the car door. Sam and Charlie climbed into the back of the taxi together. Sam was now eager to get to the CIA safe house and turn over whatever Pelini had placed on the flash drive.
He was ready for this to be over.
He was ready to get back home to Natalie.
Unfortunately, someone else was not yet ready.
Glancing a hundred feet down the sidewalk, Sam felt sideswiped by a surge of panic.
The man was swiftly closing the gap, eyes already locked in on Sam.
The Russian assassin.
SIXTY
Sam felt trapped. If he was by himself, he might have been able to dart straight back out of the taxi and get away. But he had the boy. That changed everything. He tried to quickly sort out his next move. They couldn’t just sit there in the back of the car. The Russian would be on them in seconds. Sam noticed the assassin reach inside his jacket. It was now or never. He had to do something, or he was dead.
And possibly Charlie, too, if the boy was returned to Zolotov.
Slipping between the front and back seats, Sam jumped into the driver’s seat, shoved the gear into drive, and punched the gas pedal to the floor with his foot. The car bolted forward. The taxi driver, who had just circled the back of his vehicle, tried to grab his door handle in a mad scramble, but it was too late—Sam already had the car away from the curb and speeding down the street.
“What’s happening?” yelled Charlie in Russian, alarmed.
Directly in front of them, the Russian assassin stepped off the curb into the wet street, boldly pointed his gun at Sam through the windshield.
“Get down, Charlie!” Sam yelled, reaching around with one hand, grabbing the boy’s jacket collar, yanking him to the floor.
Four consecutive gunshot punches hit the windshield. With only one hand on the steering wheel, Sam swerved, barely able to keep the taxi from spinning out of control on the rain-soaked street. He regained control of the wheel and sped straight toward the assassin, who dived out of the way but wasn’t finished yet. As the taxi raced past him, he raised his fist again, fired his weapon. Sam continued to hold Charlie down with one hand as the back window completely shattered, sending glass everywhere. This time the taxi did spin wildly, the tires slipping on the wet pavement, sending the car sliding straight into a sedan that was parked on the opposite side of the street. The taxi collided with the vehicle, side to side, as metal crushed and more glass shattered.
“You okay?” Sam asked, peering down at Charlie in the back seat.
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared, Charlie,” Sam assured the boy, with a forced smile. “This is all part of your adventure. It’s just fun and games.”
“Really?”
“Sure! But the only way for us to get you to the Batcave safely is for you to stay on the floor, okay?”
Charlie nodded but still looked terrified.
Sam noticed the Russian sprinting after them down the center of the wet street. He turned the key in the ignition. The taxi sputtered but didn’t start. Come on! The assassin was quickly gaining ground. A desperate prayer, another turn of the wrist—the taxi engine finally roared back to life. Both hands now on the steering wheel, Sam punched the gas pedal down again. As the tires spun, the car scraped away from the crushed sedan. Checking his rearview mirror, Sam saw the Russian stop running, take dead aim.
Sam whipped the steering wheel right, kept the gas pedal to the floor as the taxi skidded across slippery lanes. This time, he didn’t lose control.
Seconds later, he’d lost the assassin behind a block of buildings.
SIXTY-ONE
The taxi eased up a long hill about twenty miles outside of London and finally pulled to a stop fifty yards from an isolated bungalow. In the back seat, Sam wrapped his arm wrapped around Charlie, who couldn’t stop talking about his wild adventure back in the city. With Sam’s continued reassurance, the boy believed the whole experience with the Russian assassin outside the hotel had been created just for him—which was fine with Sam. He didn’t want Charlie to be further traumatized. The boy had been through too much already. The sudden death of his mother. What had to have been a frightening abduction from his own bedroom, where a man who’d called himself Uncle Marcus had somehow escaped Russia with him overnight.
And now Charlie sat next to yet another stranger in Sam. Although he didn’t want to be a stranger for long. So far, the boy seemed to be handling it all like a champ. But Sam didn’t know what was truly going on in the recesses of the boy’s mind and heart. Sam still felt haunted by traumatic events that had happened to him when he was the same age as Charlie. If these kinds of events were addressed poorly—or never addressed at all—Sam knew they could scar for a lifetime. Sam knew the right man to walk Charlie through all of this in a healthy way, if given the chance, but he wasn’t sure at this point what was next for either one of them. They’d soon find out.
Tommy sat on the other side of the boy. Once they’d escaped, Sam had immediately ditched the stolen beat-up taxi. Not only was the car barely drivable but it had surely been reported stolen to the police. They needed new travel arrangements. Taking Charlie by the hand, they’d hustled four blocks over, hailed a different taxi, then snatched up Tommy on their way out of the city.
The rain had stopped, leaving the lush hillside glistening under a sun that was finally peeking out. They all got out of the
taxi. Sam peered over toward the bungalow, noticed two identical black Ford Explorers parked out front. The address matched what Pelini had given him—the CIA safe house. They’d made it. But he had no idea what awaited them on the inside. Pelini only told him to get to the safe house with the boy and turn over the flash drive. Everything else was still up in the air.
Sam encouraged Charlie to go play near a pile of rocks next to the gravel road. He happily obliged and began picking up rocks and tossing them as far as he could. Sam turned to Tommy. It was time to part ways with his good friend. Tommy insisted he had no desire whatsoever to get involved with the CIA. He’d helped keep Sam alive—again. His job was now done. Time to go.
Sam put a warm hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to say to you that I haven’t already said ten times over during the past year.”
“So save it,” Tommy replied, grinning. “Let’s don’t get all mushy right now, okay?”
Sam smiled. “Okay. Where will you go?”
Tommy stared out over the English countryside. “Not sure yet. Thinking maybe the coast of Italy. Almost went there instead of Salzburg. There’s a place on the coast called Manarola—they say it’s the most colorful town in the world.”
“Send me a postcard, okay?”
Tommy laughed. “I don’t know, Duke. The last postcard I sent you ended up getting me into big trouble.”
“I’m done with all of that now.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They shared a brief hug. Moments later, the taxi turned around with Tommy inside and headed back down the hill. Sam walked over, corralled Charlie. Then the two of them covered the remaining fifty yards up to the bungalow. Before knocking, Sam took a deep breath, unsure how everything would play out from here. But this time he trusted that Pelini had steered him in the right direction. He knocked twice, waited. Seconds later, a buff guy with a buzz cut wearing a black polo and jeans answered the door. Sam noted two more men playing cards at a table in the background.
“Who are you?” the buff guy asked, clearly not expecting to find Sam or the boy standing outside the door.
“Marcus Pelini sent me.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed, then he cursed. “You’re Callahan, aren’t you?”
Sam nodded. “Please watch your mouth around the boy.”
He was already playing the role of brotherly protector.
“Sorry. But we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Here I am.”
“Where’s Marcus?”
Sam glanced down at Charlie, who was busy kicking dirt around with the toe of his sneaker and barely paying attention.
Quietly, Sam said, “He’s dead.”
The buff guy seemed stunned at this news, as if Sam had just told him their tribe’s great warrior had met his demise.
Sam pulled the flash drive out of his pocket. “He told me to get this to Barton ASAP.”
“Come inside,” the guy said, quickly ushering them into the bungalow.
He introduced himself as Agent Berg but told Sam to call him Manuel. Then he introduced the other two agents. Manuel said all three of them had been waiting several hours for Pelini to arrive. They all seemed shocked at the news that the man they referred to as the Lion was dead. Sam was having a hard time believing it himself.
The agent who called himself Shane took the flash drive from Sam. He immediately started uploading the contents onto a high-powered laptop where he said Director Barton could have instant access to whatever Pelini had promised him was there. Sam told Shane he didn’t know what was on the flash drive and didn’t want to know, either.
While Charlie played with a set of Jenga blocks on the floor in the next room, Manuel formally interviewed Sam about everything he’d been through over the past two days.
“Damn, Sam,” Manuel said. “Hell of a job surviving out there.”
“Well, the Russian is still on the hunt,” Sam mentioned.
“You guys are safe here,” Manuel reassured him. “This place is a fortress.”
Sam exhaled, felt a newfound wave of exhaustion. Was it really over?
“What’s next?” he asked Manuel.
“Barton is already on his way. So we sit tight.”
SIXTY-TWO
Two hours later, Manuel and the two other agents closed down the safe house and ushered Sam and Charlie into the back of one of the black Explorers. Manuel drove their vehicle and followed the other SUV down the long hill. Shane had given Charlie a tablet to play on and even downloaded several apps that were suitable for a five-year-old boy. Not surprisingly, Charlie’s favorite was a superhero game. The boy seemed delighted with his new toy and at ease sitting with Sam.
Watching the boy carefully, Sam noticed they shared several of the same physical mannerisms. They both fiddled with the back of their hair when concentrating. They both squinted and grunted slightly when they became frustrated about something—Charlie while playing the game on the tablet. Sam had lost so much this past year—first his mother, then his father—so it felt strangely comforting to have gained something as significant as a brother.
Staring out the window, he thought of Natalie. He was so desperate to call her, to begin to pour his whole heart out to her, but Manuel wouldn’t allow it without Sam having first spoken with Barton. Sam’s situation involved high-stakes geopolitical matters, so there was a proper protocol they all needed to follow right now. Manuel insisted it wouldn’t be much longer.
Twenty minutes into the drive, Manuel pulled the Explorer through an open gate and down a long road that Sam realized was a private airstrip out in the middle of nowhere. They followed the airstrip all the way to the end, where he spotted a hangar that was probably big enough to store two private planes. Both SUVs entered the hangar and parked over to the side.
Getting out, Manuel opened the back door. “Barton will be here any minute.”
Sam stepped out of the vehicle but let Charlie stay in the back seat, playing on the tablet. Within seconds, he noticed a plane descending out of the late-afternoon sky. It touched ground at the end of the airstrip, where it throttled to an easy speed and eventually came to a rolling stop right outside of the hangar. Manuel hustled over to the plane. The door popped open, and the stairs descended. Two men in dark suits exited first, met Manuel at the bottom.
Then Sam watched as Director Barton stepped out of the plane and joined them on the ground. It felt surreal that he was about to sit down with the director of the CIA. Wearing a tan jacket over blue jeans and what looked like work boots, the powerful man was tall and lean, with a thick head of dark hair. Several decades ago, Barton had starred as a basketball player at Kansas. He even spent a few short years bouncing around the NBA as a journeyman before eventually going into law enforcement.
Sam shifted awkwardly as Barton placed eyes on him. Then the director charged right over and stuck out his hand.
“Good to finally meet you, Sam,” Barton said.
Sam shook his hand. “Director.”
“Call me Cliff.” Barton’s eyes went over to a door that looked like it might lead to a small room. “Let’s go over here and talk. Agent Berg will watch the boy.”
Before following Barton, Sam made sure he told Charlie he’d be nearby if the boy needed anything. The room had a sofa and two brown leather chairs, along with a circular table in the corner surrounded by four chairs.
“Please have a seat.” Barton offered a hand toward the sofa.
Sam sat, and Barton joined him in one of the leather chairs.
“First off,” Barton began, “I want to offer you my sincerest condolences on the loss of your father. We hated to get this news.”
Sam shrugged it off. “I hardly knew the man.”
He had no real desire to share a heartfelt moment with Barton. After all, according to Pelini, Barton was the same man who had contracted Gerlach to put Sam through the ultimate test last month. Even though he was glad to be sitting there, Sam didn’t exactly have a lot of warm
and fuzzies about Barton.
Barton continued. “You never got the chance to know him, and for that, I’m very sorry. As complicated as your relationship might have been, Sam, you should know that your father was one of the most distinguished agents of my generation. No one was more respected than Marcus Pelini. His work over the years literally saved thousands of American lives. We’ve already recovered his body, thanks to you, and we’ll make sure he’s honored with a proper memorial. Marcus will be greatly missed by all of us who knew him and had the pleasure of working with him.”
Sam was having a hard time envisioning his father as some kind of hero. The man had caused him an insufferable measure of pain. “He also jeopardized our entire operation in Moscow for his own agenda,” Sam mentioned.
“True. And we’ll get to that. But you’ve gained a brother.”
Sam tilted his head. He had not told Manuel that Charlie was his brother. He’d just said the boy was fallout from an operation that went badly.
“I know everything, Sam,” Barton assured him. “Marcus detailed all of it on the flash drive he gave you. My deepest gratitude to you for delivering it. Because of that flash drive, we’re working with the FBI back home to make several significant arrests at this very moment.”
“So who betrayed us?”
“One of my own, I’m sorry to admit. Dan Bradley, one of my assistant deputy directors, put together an off-the-books special-ops team to take out the members of Black Heron. He tried to make it look like the work of the Russians. He might have succeeded had you not survived.”
“Bradley also hired Gerlach?”
“Correct. He sent a man to find him.”
“What about the Russian assassins who’ve been chasing me?”
“They work for Zolotov.”
“They still out there?”