She spoke with a confidence that convinced Rook she would be. “Sorry,” he said.
She turned to him, confused. “For what?”
“Not freeing you sooner.”
She shrugged. “These things happen.”
There it was again. The familiarity. Something in the casual shrug. Or was it the indifference to being bound and tortured?
She noted his attention. “What?”
“I feel like we’ve met before,” he said.
After looking him up and down, she said, “No.”
He wasn’t convinced. “What’s your name?”
“Asya,” she said. “Asya Machtcenko.”
Nope. Didn’t ring a bell.
He turned back to the rail, looking at a small Norwegian village in the distance. The collection of small buildings looked like they couldn’t support a population of more than a thousand. There was a single line of electrical wires leading into the town and only two roads. A long pier stretching out into the ocean held ten fishing boats.
Dashkov rested his elbows on the rail to Rook’s right. “You don’t want to go there. Let me take you a bit further. To civilization.”
“Why?” Rook asked as he glanced down at the flask in Dashkov’s hand. “Is it a dry town?”
The man didn’t laugh. “It is a cursed place.”
Rook turned to him. “Cursed by what?”
“Wolves,” he said. “Even out here you will hear them howl at night.”
“Wolves aren’t so bad,” Rook said. As a native of New Hampshire, he had a long love affair with the outdoors, and the idea of living among wolves, no matter how afraid people were of them, appealed to him.
“You wouldn’t say that if you heard them,” Dashkov said. “I have never felt such fear.”
“Superstitions,” Asya said with a shake of her head. She wasn’t buying it either.
“If it’s so bad, why does anyone live there at all?” Rook asked.
Dashkov shrugged. “I have not stopped to ask. No one does.”
“Then it’s safe to say not many people visit?”
The fisherman frowned and nodded begrudgingly. He could see Rook making up his mind. He placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder. “Please, Stanislav. I will not come back for you here.”
Rook looked at the shoreline, frigid and barren. The town appeared empty, though a few lights glowed in windows. The place was quiet, and despite Dashkov’s tales of frightful wolves, peaceful.
“No one will come for you,” Dashkov added.
Rook looked back at his new friend. “That’s the idea.”
Dashkov looked beyond Rook and met the eyes of Asya. She nodded. The village was the perfect starting point for both of them. He pocketed his flask and headed back to the pilothouse. “I would look the other way one last time, Stanislav. For you. For Galya.”
Rook tilted his head in thanks. “That’s all I ask.”
EIGHTY-SIX
Washington, D.C.
THE FIFTH-FLOOR WINDOW provided a view of the oval courtyard in front of the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Queen stared out the window, arms crossed over her chest. Dressed in jeans and an army green T-shirt, she looked like any other concerned family member of someone in the armed services, with one blazing exception. The red star-and-skull brand on her forehead glowed in the late-day sun.
Knight sat in a chair next to her, feet up on the hospital bed next to him. He, too, was dressed casually, as casual as he dressed, in a black button-down shirt and black slacks. He looked down to his chest where Fiona’s head rested. It had been five days since the events in Turkey, and Fiona had been cleared to leave her room that morning. After four days on an IV, eating nonstop and receiving her glucose-balancing insulin, she had made a full recovery. She’d spent the day with Knight and Queen keeping vigil over Bishop and King, who were not recovering as quickly. In desperation, she had tried to remember the healing words Ridley had used, but could not remember the phrase. In fact, all traces of the language had been destroyed. The speakers of all the languages on earth that contained fragments of the mother tongue were dead, except for Fiona. All of the physical evidence Ridley collected had been condensed and destroyed within the super-dense golem’s body. Even Bishop’s camera, which held an image of the phrase Fiona scrawled on the wall had been destroyed in the battle. Nothing remained. The mother tongue had been buried deeper than ever before.
Losing hope, Fiona had spent the majority of the morning crying over King before falling asleep on Knight.
Bishop had several broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung, a fractured collarbone, and more than a few bruised organs. After a round of surgeries he’d been wrapped up tight and placed in a bed. But he was expected to leave within the week.
King, on the other hand, would not be recovering soon. If ever. The prognosis was grim. No one knew exactly what had happened to him—Alexander had disappeared shortly after their hurried departure from Turkey and returned to Iraq—but his symptoms were varied and extreme. His heart appeared scarred. Many of his veins had burst, leading to intense internal bleeding throughout his body, and in his brain. The resulting coma, according to the doctors, might be permanent, especially with the physical damage to his body being irreparable. On top of that, he had a shattered ankle, which was now bound in a liquid cast, and a four-inch-deep stab wound.
Fiona wished she had no memory of what she’d done while under Ridley’s control, but she remembered it all. Trapping Knight and Bishop. Stabbing King. But the worst memory was that of adoring Ridley. She remembered the joy of hearing his voice, of following his orders. Stabbing King at that moment was the happiest moment of her life. Until Bishop undid the spell. As her mind returned to her, all the bliss faded away, replaced by seething hate. She was dealing with the emotion now, seeking guidance from Queen and Knight, but also seeing a therapist.
Given the clandestine nature of their mission, family and friends hadn’t been notified of their return until that morning. Rook’s family was hit hard as they learned he was officially missing in action. As were George Pierce and Sara Fogg when they learned of King’s condition. Sara was still stuck in Africa, but would be returning in a few days. Pierce had hopped on the first available flight and would be arriving shortly. But the people everyone thought would be most eager to hear word of King, his parents, had not yet been reached. They’d been tried at their hotel room and at their home with no luck.
Queen, Bishop, and Knight had waited in silence for the next shoe to drop. Only they and a few other people in the administration knew it was coming, but they understood why it had to be done. With new strange and violent enemies cropping up around the world, Deep Blue and the Chess Team needed to respond without encumbrance, without public attention. And there was only one way to achieve that goal. It would be the greatest sacrifice of Duncan’s life, but to truly protect the people who had elected him to office, it was the best course of action.
Bishop picked up the remote from his bed and unmuted the TV mounted on the corner of the room. The voice of the reporter speaking on screen was excited. “We’re just moments away from President Duncan’s impromptu address to the nation. There has been a lot of speculation about what he’ll say. Since Senator Marrs revealed evidence that the president knew about the impending attacks on the Siletz Reservation and Fort Bragg and not only failed to act, but refused to act, he has remained silent behind the walls of the White House, giving no indication about his intentions. As the investigation proceeds, streamlined by CIA director Dominick Boucher’s full disclosure, the president’s options may be limited and out of his hands. Many expect him to fight the charges, but Boucher himself has asked for the president to step down.”
“This is bullshit,” Queen said.
“He’s doing the right thing,” Knight said.
“This is how it has to be,” Bishop said. “He understands that.”
Queen crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
/> The reporter held his hand to his ear. “Okay, the president is taking the stage. We now go live to the White House.”
The image cut to an empty podium. Duncan took the stage looking very serious, but well. His posture was straight. This wasn’t a defeat for him, it was a transition. To something new. Possibly something better. He paused before the microphone, looked over the gathered sea of reporters, and spoke in a clear voice. “As the president of the United States, I swore to protect this nation from all enemies. In this endeavor, I have failed. I have made mistakes that are unforgivable.” He paused and faced the camera. “Some have said the president of this country is the leader of the free world. I would disagree with that. I represent the people of this country and as such it is you who are the leaders of the free world. And you need someone who represents you … better than I have.”
He paused again. “As of nine o’clock this morning I have resigned as the President of the United States—” A loud murmur became a torrent of shouted questions as the press corps could no longer contain themselves. Duncan raised his voice over the din. “Vice President Chambers is now the president and he will answer your questions.”
With that, Duncan stepped down. The white-haired former vice president shook his hand and then took the stage.
Bishop shut the TV off.
In the silence that followed, Bishop, Queen, and Knight immediately became aware of a presence in the room. They turned to find George Pierce standing over King’s unconscious form—holding an empty syringe.
Queen stormed toward him. “What the hell are you doing!”
Pierce held his hands up defensively, still holding the syringe. “Trying to help.”
Queen snatched the syringe from his hand. “What was in this?”
“You won’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“An … an apple seed. Crushed. Liquefied.”
She whipped the syringe into a nearby trash can. It shattered inside. “You injected King with an apple seed?”
“From the Garden of the Hesperides. But I’m not really even sure they are apple seeds.”
The name of the garden sounded familiar to Queen, but she continued her death stare at Pierce. She knew the man would never intentionally hurt King. They were like brothers. But desperate people sometimes make deadly mistakes.
“I got them from Alexander.”
Queen’s temper flared. “Alexander!”
Pierce took a step back and found Queen more intimidating than a golem. “I stole it. In Rome. From Alexander’s gallery.”
Queen knew the story, how they found Alexander beneath the ruins of the Roman Forum. She took a deep breath and eased back. “Did you test it?”
“I only had enough to—”
“Can you two be quiet, please?” Fiona stood behind Queen rubbing her eyes. Knight stood behind her, urging Queen to calm down with his hands.
Queen shook her head and stepped back. “Sorry, kid.”
Fiona stepped to King’s bed and climbed up into it. Laying next to King, her wiry body dressed in pink sweatpants and a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt, Fiona looked more fragile than ever. But they all knew she was strong. She had proven that when she had faced down a one-hundred-foot-tall golem and saved all their lives.
“Remember, he can hear what we’re saying,” Fiona said. She turned to King’s face and said, “I love you, Dad.” She snuggled into him and felt a hand on her back, squeezing her tight.
She opened her eyes slowly as the realization of whose hand was holding her set in. George Pierce stood on the other side of the bed, his face smiling, his eyes wet. Then King’s other arm reached up and wrapped around her. She buried her face into his chest with a sob.
King was alive.
Her father was alive.
King opened his eyes. He saw Pierce first and grinned. “I heard what you said. Alexander won’t be happy if he finds out.”
Pierce shrugged. “What’s he gonna do?”
King surveyed the room, seeing Knight and Queen. Then he looked over at Bishop and eyed his mass of bandages. “No more regeneration?”
“No more regen,” Bishop said with a smile. “It’s gone.”
“And Rook?” King asked, looking at Queen.
“No word,” she said with a frown.
As he ran his fingers through Fiona’s hair, he asked her, “You’re okay?”
She just squeezed him in response.
“The docs gave her a clean bill of health this morning,” Knight said.
King’s eyes drifted around the room again, looking beyond the group. “Where are my parents? Do they know?”
“We haven’t been able to reach them,” Knight said.
As egocentric as it was, King knew his parents would be waiting by the phone for news. His mother always did when she knew he was deployed. And with them knowing exactly what he was up against and who he was fighting for, she would have—
A burst of panic made King feel queasy. He sat up straight. “Do I have any clothes?”
Fiona grinned. “I made them bring some. Just in case.” She pointed to the dresser across from the bed. On top sat his signature jeans and black Elvis T-shirt. He began to get out of bed.
“What are you doing?” Queen asked. “You just came out of a coma.”
King stood, steady, tall, and healthy. “Whatever he gave me has me back to normal. A little better than normal, actually, and I need to leave.”
King lifted his leg and unbuckled the liquid cast. After it fell to the floor, he wiggled his ankle. The apple seed was like a single dose of regeneration. He stood and bounced his weight on his legs. Never better.
“Where are you going?” Pierce asked.
“It’s likely there are other Ridley golems out there. If they know about my parents—”
He didn’t have to finish. Queen stepped out of his way. “I’m coming.”
“Me, too,” Knight said.
King turned to Pierce as he took his clothes to the bathroom. He motioned to Fiona and then to Bishop. “Keep an eye on them.”
Thirty seconds later, King was dressed, leaving the hospital and a string of stunned doctors and nurses behind him.
Twenty minutes later, Knight pulled his car into the parking lot of the hotel in which King’s parents had been hidden away. He pulled into a space and turned off the car. “They’re in two-twenty.”
Knight and Queen took out their sidearms and chambered rounds. “Have an extra?” King asked.
“Glove compartment.”
King opened it and found a Sig Sauer.
They exited the car and vaulted up the stairs to the second floor. King quickly led the way to room two-twenty. He paused outside the door, letting Knight and Queen take positions on the other side, just in case.
King knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again. Harder. Followed by, “Mom. Dad. It’s Jack.”
He tried the doorknob and found it locked.
“I’ll do it,” Queen whispered. She stood across from the door and slammed it with her foot. Wood shattered from the powerful blow and the door swung inward.
King moved in. Weapon raised. Prepared for anything.
Except what he found.
There were two queen-sized beds in the room. On each lay a blood-soaked human body.
King launched forward and flipped over the nearest body, dead for days. But the man was not one of his parents. Nor was the other body. Both men held weapons. And both had been shot through the head. King remembered the story his mother had told him, about shooting the man who had come for them. It now seemed all the more believable.
But the fact that these men were dead didn’t supply any hope. There was no way to know how many assailants there had been. And his parents were gone, perhaps dead, dying, or on the run.
King and Queen checked the bodies for identification, Knight searched the bathroom.
As Queen rifled through the dead man’s pockets, she spotted a necklace poki
ng out from under one of the beds. She picked it up and looked if over—a silver chain and cross. The cross design was simple and held a small black stone in the middle.
King saw it dangling. His eyes widened as he reached out for the necklace.
She handed it to him. “Recognize it?”
“Yeah,” King said. “It was Julie’s.”
As he looked the necklace over, memories of it around his sister’s neck came back to him. It had been a gift from their father. After she died in the plane crash, his mother wore it. Every day. He’d never seen her take it off. But here it was, on the floor.
King unclipped the chain, wrapped it around his neck, and refastened it. With the necklace hidden beneath his shirt, he turned to Queen. “Call it in.”
Queen nodded, switched on her cell, and left the room.
“King,” Knight called from the bathroom. “Check this out.”
The bathroom looked normal until Knight stepped to the side, revealing the sink. A board had been placed atop the basin, serving as a workspace. The makeshift countertop held several small electronic components, spools of impossibly thin wires, miniature microchips, a magnifying glass, soldering tools, and pill-sized capsules. Knight picked up one of the completed devices and handed it to King.
A mixture of confusion, anger, and sadness filled King as he looked at the tiny device that perfectly matched the tracking device he’d found hidden in his pocket. His chest ached as the memory of his last good-bye with his parents returned. His mother’s firm embrace. The slow slide of her hand against his side as they separated.
His mother had bugged him.
Betrayed him.
“What do you think?” Knight asked.
It pained him to say it, but he couldn’t deny the evidence. “My parents are still Russian spies, and they almost got us killed.”
As his mind raced to put together any missing pieces, anything he’d missed, something else nagged at him. Some other unanswered question. Then he remembered. Turning to Knight, he asked, “What happened to Ridley?”
EPILOGUE
Somewhere
THE TEN-FOOT-SQUARE CELL was empty, save for a single chair and its occupant, a prisoner, and his interrogator. The man in the chair was gagged—jaw spread wide holding a red ball gag. He was strapped to the chair around the chest and waist. There was no need to bind his arms and legs because he had neither.
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