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  Reid shook off the stunning blow, stood, and launched a drop kick at Thomas’s throat that would have crushed his larynx or broken his neck if it had landed.

  Enough.

  Thomas swept Reid’s legs, knocking him off his feet. He reached down and jerked the kid upright. Left arm across his opponent’s neck in a classic chokehold, Thomas tightened the vise by grabbing the kids shoulder. Reid struggled, but to no avail. Within seconds, he was unconscious. Out, but unharmed.

  The bout lasted less than a minute and Thomas wasn’t even breathing hard.

  He could feel the eyes of the other recruits following him as he left the mat.

  If Reid didn’t wash out, hereafter, he wouldn’t cast such a long shadow. His teammates had seen him beaten. They knew he could be taken.

  

  Paul Redford watched the bout from a window on the second floor above the arena. He turned to Clint Monroe. “Is he ready?”

  “I would say so. I’m surprised he could take Reid. The kid has been first in everything since he arrived.”

  The agency chief turned from the window, moved to the coffee bar, and poured a cup of the lethal looking brew. “You don’t read men very well, do you, Clint? If you did, you’d know Thomas Wallace has been right where he wanted to be since he arrived. I’m not sure even he knows what he’s capable of. He speaks half a dozen Middle Eastern dialects fluently. He’s one of the finest marksmen I have ever seen, and he has one of the best analytical minds I’ve come across. Indisputably, the best agent I ever put into the field. It killed me when he retired.” Paul sipped the hot liquid carefully. He gazed at Monroe over the rim of his cup. “Send Wallace to see me at the shack. We need to talk before he leaves.”

  Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded and Wallace entered, his hair still wet from his after-match shower. He strode across the room and extended his hand. “You wanted to see me?”

  Paul grasped his hand solidly and pointed to the bar.

  Wallace shook his head.

  “You ready to leave?” he asked.

  “Whenever you say. Have you got the details worked out on your end?”

  Paul tapped a folder on the table. “We’re set. You’ll fly in on a commercial airline. We don’t have a set time for the Iranians to arrive at the show, but we have confirmed Aref Latifpour is included in the entourage. You’ll need to be at the showroom every minute until he hands off the information. He’ll have only one shot. He can’t hang around your sales booth. After he makes the transfer, stay around for a day afterward to avoid looking suspicious.”

  “How will he pass the data?”

  “We don’t know exactly. My guess is, it will be a flash drive. As far as we know, he doesn’t have access to microdot technology. He went in with a couple of USB drives that look like money clips.” Paul set his empty cup on the counter. “The driver who picked you up at the airport will arrive at 7:00 AM tomorrow. He’ll take you to Charlotte Douglas International. A company plane will take you on to London. You’re on your own from there. Emergency numbers and funds are in the folder. You know the drill. Memorize the numbers, and then destroy them.”

  Thomas stood. “A word of advice. Get rid of Brad Reid.”

  “Not sure I can afford to. He has powerful connections in the Capitol.”

  “He’s sadistic and baits the men in his unit. He’ll never be a team player. You can’t afford not to lose him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He cleared his throat. “Thomas, I wouldn’t be sending you on this assignment, but you are the only operative with a legitimate excuse to be at that trade show. That, and Aref knows you. Be careful. It’s a very hostile environment and if anyone suspects your real purpose there...I don’t have to tell you what you’ll be facing.”

  “I knew that when I accepted the job.”

  Paul extended his hand. “I’m comforted knowing you are qualified to get in, get out, and come back alive.”

  Thomas gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Do me a favor and don’t tell the bad guys how much trouble they’re in.”

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Monday, June19

  Excitement on the island diminished for Mercy after their return.

  Frank had brought back four soldiers from Fergus’s old regiment. They took turns on sentry duty, patrolling outside the villa and the surrounding bluffs and hills. The men were a pleasant distraction, a rowdy bunch, but friendly and respectful.

  Fergus joined in their wild tales and teasing, his inhibitions lost around his war buddies.

  Evenings on the terrace were filled with the sounds of Hamish’s bagpipe playing Scottish ballads.

  Daniel was mesmerized. He slipped into the center of the group whenever the opportunity arose. The Scots often lifted him onto their shoulders, riding him around the island, and tantalizing him with embellished tales of their exploits. A diminutive mascot, they gave him a taste of his Highland heritage.

  Impromptu dances sprang up on the terrace, with all the ladies bid to dance by the light-footed warriors. Even Nanna joined in for a waltz or two, still as graceful as a sixteen-year-old.

  After such an occasion, Mercy leaned over and whispered to Nanna, “I’m going to put Daniel to bed and turn in myself. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You look a little pale. Are you all right?”

  “It’s just a headache, nothing serious.” A throbbing pain in her temples and an upset stomach had plagued Mercy for the past few days. A good night’s rest would put her back to normal.

  She read to Daniel and then tucked him into bed.

  In her room, she swallowed a couple of aspirin, succumbed to the persistent ache in her head, and went down for the night.

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Tuesday, June 20

  Morning came and Mercy’s headache hadn’t diminished.

  From across the breakfast table, Nanna’s gaze followed her as she picked at the food on her plate. “Still not feeling well? Have you taken anything? Perhaps you should see a doctor before the headache gets out of hand. Frank can fly you to Izmir.”

  “It’s nothing, really. It’ll be gone in a couple of days.”

  Mercy left the dining room table and joined Daniel at the pool. A little sun would make her feel better. She moved a deck chair into the sunlight and sat down, suddenly exhausted from the exertion.

  A light breeze from the sea ruffled the branches of the palm trees at the pool’s edge, bringing on a slight chill.

  What was wrong with her? A virus didn’t normally get to her this fast. Head resting against the lounge chair, she inhaled a few deep breaths and felt better.

  Edda entered the pool area with a tray of drinks. She smiled and handed Mercy a tall glass of ginger ale. “Nanna sent this to you. She thought it might make you feel better.”

  “Thank you, Edda. I appreciate it. It should help settle my stomach.”

  But it didn’t. Dizziness and a bout of nausea washed over her when she finished the drink. She almost didn’t make it back to her room before losing what little breakfast she’d consumed. Stomach empty, she sprawled across the bed, face warm, her skin clammy. Suddenly cold, she pulled the comforter up under her chin.

  Paddy snuggled in close, curling into her body, his purr loud in the room’s silence.

  

  The little girl, about ten years old, stood near a grave, crying.

  A pretty woman lingered nearby, her face frozen into a stone mask. The scene changed and the little girl became a pre-teen, standing beside a casket that held the pretty lady.

  Ominous figures moved around the child, and a harsh-faced woman led the girl from a large house surrounded by trees and flowers, to a sterile, cold building with rude, jeering children.

  Loneliness and fear enveloped her, but she found no comfort, no one to hold her. And no place to hide from the hands that reached for her in the night. Hands that cause her pain. But she knew she could not give up—couldn�
�t let them win. She tucked the horrible memory back into its hiding place.

  Mercy awoke, startled and frightened, reliving the images. Chilled by a cold sweat, she pulled the cover tight under her chin, staring at the carved ceiling above her bed.

  It hadn’t been a dream. It was a memory.

  Hand shaking, she picked up the phone and asked Lily to bring her some extra blankets. “Would you warm them, please? I’m having a chill.”

  Lily soon arrived with the warm cover which brought a measure of comfort.

  Confusion filled her thoughts. Whatever was wrong with her? Tossing in the damp, tangled sheets, the feverish dream returned.

  She was back in college and graduate school. The stress, the outsider, the loner. No time to make friends, join in the campus parties. Four years of cramming, working, and worrying about her financial problems—barely enough to cover the tuition and books. Watching every penny to pay for rent and food. Never enough. The pressure inside was mounting until she wanted to scream.

  16

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Wednesday, June 21

  Thomas buckled his seatbelt for landing at King Khalid International Airport. His plane arrived on schedule and pulled into terminal two, designated for the flight.

  He’d flown first class to avoid the chitchat necessary in coach, not wanting to answer questions about his purpose for visiting Saudi Arabia. He’d have to deal with that at customs.

  Deplaning with the other first class passengers, he stepped into the architectural splendor of the airport. Thomas had flown here many times on business and was always amazed by the lush landscaping in and around the terminal.

  His father served here during the first Gulf War as an administrator in the British Army’s General Evacuation Hospital. The United States Air Force had used the airport as an airbase for aerial refueling tankers.

  A mosque occupied the center of the passenger terminal. Thomas collected his luggage and walked around the temple with loud speakers that called the faithful to prayer five times a day.

  Outside the terminal, heat seared his face as he moved to a waiting taxi and gave the name of his hotel.

  Thirty-five minutes later, he checked into his suite, dropped off his bags, and went directly to the trade center.

  Trade shows were the same everywhere in the world. And this one was no different, except for the white thobes, and red and white-checked ghutras, worn by some of the customers. And, of course, the fact that several times a day while the trade show was open, the place almost emptied for Muslims to stop for prayer.

  The show room was massive. Every major drilling equipment manufacturer in the world had a booth. Wallace Limited secured a large space near the main entrance, giving Thomas an unobstructed view of the incoming crowd.

  

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Thursday, June 22

  The next day, the Iranian contingent was a no-show, but that didn’t surprise him. The oil producers’ meetings were still underway and the big guns wouldn’t make a showing until they had set the price of oil in an attempt to manipulate the world economy.

  Thomas scheduled lunch and bathroom breaks in conjunction with the prayer times, which left the showroom nearly vacant.

  

  Aref Latifpour assembled in the lobby with the rest of the Iranian entourage. Something was wrong. He’d felt it last night when members of the team began to avoid him. He would join a group, and it would slowly disperse, leaving him to stand alone.

  He couldn’t ignore his paranoia. Too many of his contacts had disappeared over the last six months. He was in double jeopardy. Being a Christian in Iran was worse than being a spy.

  Anxious to get started, Aref moved ahead of his friends to the hotel entrance. Two black limousines slid silently under the entrance portico, and the group piled in, Aref in the lead car with his boss. The vehicles drove the short distance and parked at the curb in front of the trade center. Double glass doors hissed cold air as Aref and the group entered the showroom.

  Thomas Wallace was the first person he saw inside the showroom. His handlers had sent help. He stuck close to the president whenever there was a photo op. But he had no way to know when, where, and how his people would contact him. His camera exposure had worked. They knew he was alive.

  But the president strode past the Wallace booth and Aref had no choice but to follow.

  

  Thomas had returned to the sales booth after lunch and spotted the Iranians coming through the entrance, and behind them, Aref Latifpour. He hadn’t seen his old friend in eight years, but there was no mistaking his slight frame and intelligent, dark gaze.

  Aref made casual eye contact, but the group moved on inside the exhibit hall.

  Now what?

  Chasing Aref through the showroom wasn’t an option.

  Chill.

  If Aref realized why Thomas was there, he would ensure his group stopped by the Wallace display before the Iranians left.

  Putting on his sales face, Thomas dealt with customers, answering questions and handing out product information brochures. In preparation for his eventual takeover of the business, his father had made him work in every aspect of the business, from maintenance, to personnel, and finally to sales.

  A few hours later, the Iranian group approached, minus the president. He must have stopped elsewhere. Even better.

  He caught Aref’s gaze and spoke in Arabic. “May I help you find something?”

  Aref moved to the counter and shook his head. “I’m not a buyer, but I am looking for any new technology you have.”

  “Great,” Thomas said as he reached under the counter and brought out a packet containing brochures and a CD. “We’ve recently developed something we’re excited about.”

  A few others in the group moved closer to listen. “I’m sure you know, water seepage into oil wells is a common problem. Removing the liquid is an energy intensive, costly process. Wallace has developed a new system that cuts the water accumulation as much as seventy percent at minimal cost.”

  “I would be very interested to see this.”

  Thomas handed the packet to Aref. “This explains the entire process.”

  Aref pulled out his money clip and offered it to Thomas. “I will buy this information.”

  Thomas put his hand over the clip and laughed. “No, it’s free. You don’t need to pay.”

  Aref removed his money from the clip under the cover of the CD, and Thomas palmed it. The spy returned the cash to his pocket. “Thank you. You have been most helpful.”

  As the group turned away, Thomas called, “Share the information with your buyer. I’m sure he’ll be interested.”

  It was almost too easy. In a matter of minutes, he had the timetable for the Iranian nuclear program. Now all he had to do was get out of Saudi Arabia with the information—alive.

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Thursday, June 22

  Thursday morning sunlight startled Mercy awake. The brightness hurt, sending sharp pains through her temples. Where was she? Certainly not her apartment. Much too elegant.

  Paddy stood by her pillow, his hazel eyes gazing into hers. He leaned down and touched her nose with his own. Her hand came out from under the cover and stroked his fur. “Hey, Paddy, you still hanging in there?”

  It all came rushing back. Wallace Island, Thomas, and Daniel.

  She closed her eyes and pushed the other memories away. Repressed memory. That’s what the doctor called it. Were the dark, lonely years after the death of her parents, the anguish of the orphanage, and the stress of college what she’d suppressed?

  A cool hand rested on her brow.

  “Traci, are you all right? I heard you moaning.” It was Nanna’s calm voice. She had pulled a chair close to the bed.

  Mercy sat up and smoothed her hair from her face. “Only a bad dream, Nanna. I’m fine. Just need to find something I can keep in my stomach.”

/>   “You must go to the doctor, child. You know this is not normal.”

  “If I’m not better in a couple of days, I’ll go. I promise.”

  Dizziness and a sick stomach overcame her again. She jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. But there was nothing left to lose.

  Nanna waited until she returned to bed. She heaved a deep sigh and stood to leave. “Traci, you haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Like your grandfather, Thomas Wallace is a one-woman man. Do you know how rare that is?”

  Mercy tried to shake off the fog in her mind. “I don’t understand...”

  “I’ve watched your husband since your return. He’s falling in love with you again. I hope you haven’t done anything to destroy...” Nanna crossed to the door. “I’ll have Edda send up some soup and ginger ale. Perhaps that will help.”

  After Nanna left, Mercy fumbled her way into the bathroom again and tried to vomit, but couldn’t. She turned on the shower as hot as she could stand to chase away the chill. She sat on the bench, letting the heat soak into her body.

  What was Nanna worried about? She’d done nothing to hurt Thomas. She leaned against the shower tile, too sick to piece it all together. Wrapped in a large white towel, she glimpsed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A gray face with sunken, bruised eyes stared back at her. Stumbling back into the bedroom, she slipped into a fresh nightgown and fell into bed.

  

  Nanna left Traci’s room, deep in thought. She made her way to the terrace. Even the fragrance and loveliness of the flowers didn’t calm her spirit. Her granddaughter was seriously ill, and she couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

  Fergus approached and pulled up a chair beside her. “Where’s Traci? Haven’t seen her in a couple of days. Fortunately, Daniel is occupied with Pal.”