THE RECEPTION WAS IN full swing.
Holding the wedding at the White House had brought out friends J. J. hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t mind. The more people, the happier Tess grew. He would have been happy with just a few people on some beach. He had never dreamed he would be celebrating his wedding on the lawn of the world’s most famous building.
“Hey, J. J., you got a sec?”
J. J. turned as Zinsser approached. He held a wooden box with a hinged top. “Sure.” He and Tess excused themselves from the conversation they had been in with Moyer and his family.
“I got you a little something.” Zinsser held out the box. It had a weight to it. The box looked new and bore a shiny finish. “Is this rosewood?”
“Good eye. I had it made. The guy did a good job.”
“It’s beautiful,” Tess said.
Zinsser chuckled. “You guys know the gift is inside, right?”
“You want us to open it now?”
Zinsser nodded. “Yeah, I want to see your face.”
“Now I’m nervous. Is it filled with snakes or something?” Tess took a step back.
“I hope you like it. Go on, kid. Pop the top.”
J. J. shrugged. “If you insist.” He lifted the lid, which rode on a pair of brass hinges—then stared. He felt his mouth drop open. “You’re kidding me.”
“You’re the weapons guy. I thought you might like this for your collection.”
J. J. blinked several times. “I don’t have a gun collection.”
“You do now.”
Tess peered in the box. “Is that what I think it is?”
Inside, resting on a royal blue, velvet pad was a Colt .45 1911A1 handgun. It was clean and recently polished. “Is this real . . . I mean it’s not a replica?”
“My grandfather carried it in World War II. It’s as real as can be. You can see why I didn’t want to leave it on the gift table.”
J. J. stared down at the gun, then shook his head. “I can’t take this. Not if it belonged to your grandfather.”
“Nonsense. You’ll treat it better than I have. Besides, it fits you.”
Tess gave Zinsser a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“A Colt handgun for a man whose friends call him Colt.”
It was a good thing the guys weren’t standing around. They’d never let J. J. forget he was standing there all soggy eyed.
THE MOON SHONE THROUGH a cloudless sky over Tehran. Several security men escorted Tony Nasser in to the Iranian president’s office. The men hugged.
It had been a long journey here. The sailboat captain had sailed slowly south along the Italian coast, stopping in nearly every port to throw off suspicion. In each port Nasser had remained below decks to avoid eyes that might identify him. A week later they sailed past Sicily and on to Tunisia. From Tunis he flew to Alexandria, Egypt. He arrived after El-Sayyed. His followers had scattered. There was nothing left in Egypt for him.
It had taken days of working the back channels of communication, but Nasser had been able to arrange this meeting.
The Iranian president tented his fingers. “So, I hear you have had quite an adventure.”
“My life has been spared so that my service may continue.”
“I was grieved to hear of your leader’s murder. Tragic. Immoral. The work of cowards.”
“I agree, Mr. President. My heart is broken into a thousand pieces. I weep for him every night. Still I must face the future.”
“You have something in mind, my friend Nasser.”
“I do, Mr. President.” He couldn’t restrain the smile. “Indeed, I do.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Jonathan Clements at Wheelhouse Literary Group, to Julie and Karen at B&H, and to the Wilhite and Waller families. And thanks most of all to my King, Jesus Christ, for giving me the gifts of faith, family, and friends.
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