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  “Traci isn’t feeling well. And she refuses to go to the doctor.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She says she’s fine, but she isn’t. She looks terrible.”

  The two old friends sat in silence, gazing out at the sea.

  “You don’t think she could be expecting, do you?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what’s worrying me. She has all the symptoms. She’s my grandchild, and I love her dearly, but I also know she has been unfaithful to Thomas on more than one occasion. Perhaps she’s afraid to find out.”

  “Aye. That would explain the change in her behavior. If that low-life Rossellini left her with child, she would have no one to turn to, except Thomas. And she’s afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out.”

  Nanna gave a solemn nod. “Exactly.”

  

  Fergus rose to his feet. “We have to know. Call Frank. Tell him to get the plane ready. We’re going back to Izmir.” Fergus stormed up the stairs and into Traci’s room without knocking. He strode across the room, and grabbed a robe from her closet. Pulling back the cover, he tossed her the robe. ‘Put this on.”

  She peered at him through weak, bloodshot eyes, so pale it evoked a pang of sympathy in spite of himself.

  “Fergus...what are you doing?”

  After she put on the dressing gown, he lifted her into his arms. “Come on, lass. Ye have a doctor’s appointment in Izmir.”

  

  Izmir, Turkey

  Thursday, June 22

  Mercy arrived in the hospital emergency room too weak to care what happened to her. All she wanted was to curl into a little ball away from the headache and queasiness.

  In minutes, technicians surrounded her, taking copious amounts of blood and then sending her to the bathroom for a urine sample. Later they came back and removed a few strains of hair.

  Nurses who spoke no English wandered in and out, faces scrunched into long frowns, and communicating in sign language.

  Mercy wondered if it was their usual demeanor or if they were concerned about her health. After receiving medication for her head and nausea, she felt almost human again and stopped worrying about it, grateful just to feel better. She tried to sleep, but the bed was too narrow, and the lights and noise around her made it impossible.

  Finally, a dark-skinned man in a white smock stepped into the cubicle, followed by Fergus.

  The doctor spoke in very precise English. “Mrs. Wallace, I asked your father to step in while I go over my diagnosis.” He pointed Fergus to a chair. “You came into the hospital just in time to prevent acute arsenic poisoning.”

  “Poison?” she and Fergus echoed.

  The physician gave a solemn nod. “I’m afraid so. All the tests were positive. I’m putting you on a low dose of dimercaptosuccinic. That is normally used in acute cases, but I want to take all necessary precautions.”

  The doctor inclined his head towards Fergus. “Your father thought you might be pregnant, but I’m happy to report you are not. Arsenic poisoning during pregnancy would be devastating to the fetus.”

  Mercy made a conscious effort to keep her mouth from dropping open. So that’s why he and Nanna acted so strange and disapproving. She cooled her temper with the realization their suspicions had saved her life. Still, it was humiliating. Her anger refueled—tired of the bullying and being treated like a six-year-old with no mind or will of her own. Why didn’t they just ask her outright? But if she had denied their suspicions, they wouldn’t have believed her.

  The old curmudgeon would probably have been a good father, if he wasn’t so stubborn and such a determined bachelor.

  She put on a serene mask and looked from the doctor to Fergus. “Yes, Dad is always looking out for me.”

  Fergus’s face turned a subtle shade of red, and he suddenly found his shoes of great interest.

  The doctor ripped off a sheet from a pad on his clipboard. “Here’s the prescription. I’d also like you to pick up garlic extract and take the pills as directed. Garlic has proven very successful in treating arsenic poisoning.”

  Mercy admired Fergus’s nerve as he pushed off his embarrassment and went into security mode. “Doctor, can ye recommend a good home-care nurse? I’d need someone to live in while my daughter recovers. Someone who can cook her meals and make sure she stays well.”

  “I’ll get you a list of names to choose from.”

  “Preferably, someone who speaks English,” Fergus added.

  “That will shorten the list considerably, but I think we can accommodate you.”

  When the doctor had gone, Mercy cast a cold glance at Fergus. “This will never happen again, Fergus. I’m tired of being pushed around like a pawn on a chessboard. Thomas snatched me away from Bermuda; you charged into my room and brought me to a hospital. Both actions without my consent. Admittedly, you most likely saved my life, but for the wrong reason. Do you understand me?”

  He looked into her eyes without anger. “Aye, lass.” Fergus stepped off a few paces to make several phone calls while they waited for Frank.

  Mercy couldn’t overhear but assumed he arranged for a nurse.

  “Yer in luck, lass. I found a nurse, an American. She’ll meet us at the airport.”

  Once in the car, Fergus turned to her, his face solemn. “Yer right, lass. I owe ye an apology. It’ll not happen again.”

  The physical and emotional rollercoaster she’d been on since leaving Bermuda left her weak and depressed. She glanced out the window, not looking at him. “It doesn’t matter. This probably falls under your job description.”

  “Aye, it does matter. I should have given ye the benefit of the doubt, especially after the shooting. I won’t make that mistake again, ye can be sure.”

  Mercy rested her head against the back of the car seat and didn’t respond, her thoughts clouded with the dilemma she faced. Her illness, her situation here on the island, and her doomed-to-fail attachment to Daniel.

  Minor issues by comparison to her present predicament. Someone at the villa wanted her dead. It was too much pressure to shoulder in her weakened condition. Righteous anger bubbled up. “What were you planning to do, if I had been pregnant? Leave me at the nearest airport with a ticket home?”

  The old man dropped his head. “No, lass. Thomas would never allow that. Ye are, after all, the mother of his son. He will always see to yer welfare. That’s the kind of man Thomas Wallace is. Aye, I’ve met none nobler.”

  She found herself wishing for Thomas’s return, remembering his kindness in London. But she had no claim on his protection. No right to expect anything from him. He was married She must keep reminding herself of that fact.

  There was a long silence before Fergus spoke again. “Until we find out who’s responsible for this bit of mischief, ye’re to accept nothing that isn’t delivered by the nurse, Nanna, or me. No one else. Understand? I don’t know who yer’ve angered, lass, but whoever it is seems determined to take yer life, one way or another.”

  A short while later, Mercy watched through the open stateroom door as the nurse boarded the plane and headed straight for her. She was medium height, medium build, with wispy auburn hair and an infectious grin. “Hi, Missy. I’m Katy Martin, and I’m gonna take good care of you.” Her gaze roamed over the well-appointed stateroom. “Although it looks like somebody’s already taking good care of you.”

  “You’re a Texan. Where?”

  “And here I thought I’d lost my Texas twang. Guilty as charged. San Antonio’s my home base. You?”

  Tears stung the back of Mercy’s eyes. “Houston. You can’t imagine how good it is to hear your voice.”

  17

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Thursday, June 22

  Thomas secured his cash in the money clip Aref passed to him. Using the clip openly should alleviate suspicion about its real purpose. The afternoon was busy, keeping him occupied until closing time. He accompanied a group of Wallace salesmen to a nearby Lebanese restaurant. />
  He spotted the tail almost as soon as he left the showroom. Was he being paranoid? He was always suspicious when on a mission. It had helped him stay one step ahead of the Grim Reaper.

  These two men were not figments of his over-active imagination.

  During dinner, he pulled his sales manager aside. “Josh, when dinner is over, go to the hotel and reserve a room under the name of James Jameson. Charge it to the company account. Get the key-card and bring it back to me here when you’re finished. I’ll stay and socialize until you return.”

  “You got it.” A puzzled expression crossed Josh’s face, but he didn’t ask questions. He placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. “This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.” Josh returned and slipped Thomas the new room key.

  Thomas paid the restaurant tab and then shook Josh’s hand. “See you in the morning.”

  Outside the restaurant, he stepped into the hot night air. The pungent smell of onions, garlic, and cumin followed him outside.

  The night was too warm for the six-block walk to the hotel, but Thomas wanted a closer look at the men following him.

  Both were most likely connected to a local terrorist cell. They were big, at least six feet, dressed in western clothing, rather than native garb, and they weren’t pros.

  He’d spotted them too quickly.

  The big question was, why were they targeting him? Had someone witnessed the exchange at the showroom? Were they on to Aref? If so, he was probably in a torture chamber somewhere, where they would bleed all the information in his head before killing him. Information about Thomas and the money clip.

  He called the hotel and asked if Aref was still registered and was told he’d checked out. Further questioning revealed that the Iranian entourage was still registered. No question. They were on to Aref.

  In his room, Thomas went straight to his laptop and uploaded the data from the clip onto two small USB disks. One he inserted into a tiny slot in his watch, the second he would attach to the video equipment in the sales booth that would go back to Wallace Limited in Edinburgh. Task completed, he started a program that destroyed all data on the laptop, and then returned the money clip to his pants pocket.

  He pulled the SAT-phone from his luggage and punched in the number Paul had him memorize. His message was brief. “Package received, but delivery vehicle is missing. Send mechanics ASAP. May need repair.” His first priority was to get the data in safe hands.

  Then he would come back to find Aref if Redford didn’t send help before he left.

  Thomas packed and took his luggage to the room reserved for James Jameson. Changing rooms wouldn’t ensure his safety, but it would take the tail a while to find him. If whoever was shadowing him crashed into his room, he would be defenseless without a weapon, the downside of taking a mission in a country that didn’t allow visitors to bring in weapons.

  As he tossed and punched his pillow into submission, Daniel’s face ran through his thoughts. Death was one of the risks that came with the job, and something he had never worried much about. But he wanted to see his son grow into manhood, to guide him over the rough spots. Try to keep the son from repeating his father’s mistakes.

  Mercy, too, absorbed his thoughts. As much as he’d tried to avoid it, she had awakened old longings. Seeing her in the kitchen without makeup, and the quiet, glamorous beauty at the embassy, were sides of her personality he wanted to know better.

  But his most vivid memory was of her standing in the moonlight on the balcony. And the surge of warmth as his lips touched hers in London, and the day he left the island. She was totally fascinating and infinitely desirable. She wasn’t Traci.

  His every instinct confirmed that. And he was a married man. That put her off limits. He’d loved only one woman in his lifetime.

  She had broken his heart and almost crushed his spirit. He could face a band of terrorists without fear, but a small woman had brought him to his knees. He didn’t think he could bear that much pain again.

  He’d left the agency before his marriage because marriage was a handicap to an agent. Families were a distraction he couldn’t afford. Not in the middle of an operation. When this was finished, it would be his last assignment.

  Lying awake, he punched the pillow again and forced his thoughts to his next move. Before the showroom opened to the public tomorrow, he would hide the USB drive in the slide-projector and then head for the airport.

  A car rental would be safest. He didn’t want to put his people in danger by asking them to drive him to the airport. With luck, he would make his scheduled flight out. The sooner he left Saudi Arabia, the better.

  

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Friday, June 23

  He awoke the next morning, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep, deciding to skip breakfast. Best not to alert the hotel to his room change.

  Pulling the satellite phone from the night stand, he dialed Fergus’s number. “I’m headed home today. I’ll call when I reach London so you can send Frank to pick me up.”

  “Did everything go all right?” Fergus asked.

  Thomas couldn’t explain. Anyone could be listening. “There...may be complications. I’ll fill you in when I get back.” He punched end and placed the phone in his briefcase.

  Dressed in casual jeans and a long-sleeved polo, he walked the six blocks to the trade center. Heat radiated from the early morning sidewalk like a furnace on full blast. Through the mirrored surface of buildings along the route, he confirmed he still had his escort service.

  The two men followed him to the showroom and stopped outside. They couldn’t come inside until the conference opened, and then they’d need a badge. Whoever these people were, they wouldn’t strike in the open. The Saudis wouldn’t knowingly sanction an open murder or kidnapping on their streets.

  The conference center was almost empty, except for a few early birds getting ready for the day’s exhibits. Thomas taped the UBS drive in the projector case. Before leaving the showroom, he peered through the sliding doors, scanning the sidewalk.

  The two-man surveillance team was nowhere in sight.

  Thomas hailed a cab, directed the driver to the hotel for his luggage, and then to the car rental agency. After the paperwork was finished he headed to the car he’d rented.

  King Khalid International lay thirty-five kilometers outside Riyadh, a well-traveled thoroughfare.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d missed something—the internal warning bell that always signaled a mission was about to blow up clanged loudly.

  After a stop at the airport rental depot to leave the car, he strode into the terminal. He filled his lungs with air and released it slowly. It seemed his paranoia was working overtime. He hadn’t even spotted a tail on the trip to the airport. Just a few more steps to the terminal. Once on board his flight, he would be home free.

  Thomas headed into a short hallway just inside the terminal. The corridor in the busy airport was empty, and it registered too late.

  Two men in black appeared, and although he didn’t look back, he knew there were others behind him. The men in front charged forward, cutting off his path into the terminal.

  He dropped his luggage and laptop, and landed a blow on the first man to reach him. A sharp pain at the back of his head stopped him cold, and a dark tunnel opened up and swallowed him.

  

  CIA Headquarters, Washington, DC

  Friday, June 23

  Paul Redford paced his office and re-read the Air France passenger list. He hadn’t overlooked it. Thomas Wallace wasn’t on the flight. That meant trouble. That, and Thomas’s message that Aref was missing.

  His phone buzzed and he snatched it up. “Heim, thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Thomas missed the plane.”

  “I know. I checked the passenger list, also. Do you know if he and Aref made the transfer?”

  “Yes, they made the transfer. Thomas called after the exchange was made. He also said Are
f was missing.”

  “If his missed flight means what I think it does,” Heim said, “the terrorists know Aref passed the timetable to Thomas. Which means they will change the strike date. But the data on the progress of the nuclear program should be good. We’ll at least know when they project to have a bomb ready to launch.”

  “Aref may have passed on other useful intelligence. Can you do anything on your end to find out what happened? Where they’ve taken them?”

  “I’m already on it. I’ll contact you when I know something.”

  “Heim, do whatever it takes. We both know what happens to Thomas and Aref from here. You have my backing, men, and resources, anything you need. I want both men home. Alive.”

  18

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Friday, June 23

  Thomas opened his eyes in almost total darkness, relieved only by rust holes that sent tiny shafts of sunlight into the trunk of the moving car. His large frame was folded into a fetal position and stuffed into the cramped quarters.

  No limousine. Whatever the model, the car traveled at high speed, forcing dirt and sand into the small space.

  He tried to shift position to relieve cramped muscles. The airport. The deserted corridor. Four men attacked him, two in front, two behind him. They pinned his arms to his sides, but he’d managed to take one man down before he was overpowered. That was the last thing he remembered.

  What happened next would follow one of two scenarios. They would take him to a cellar somewhere, strip, torture, and then kill him. Or, they would give him a very public execution, getting as much mileage as possible for kidnapping and killing the Wallace heir. Either way, he wound up dead. He couldn’t allow that to happen. If they got him into a building, it would be all over. There would be no escape.