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  Scott slammed his fist into Townsend’s face, making the man’s head snap backward. When he righted himself, he spit out a gob of blood.

  “Say I killed my wife again,” Scott said. “Say it.”

  Townsend showed no interest in taking the bait. He rubbed his mouth where he’d been hit. “I’ll pass.”

  Mara crouched down next to him. “Jim Hawthorn took my nephew. Is Hawthorn CIA only? Or does he work for someone else?”

  “What am I? The goddamn missing persons bureau? How would I know anything about some missing kid?”

  “You said you thought we were here because of a book. What information do you have that people want silenced?” Mara asked.

  Townsend pointed at her. “See, she knows what matters. That’s the question that needs answering. And it might just tie into your first question.”

  Scott pulled his fist back. “Then answer it.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  Mara’s fist connected with the other side of Townsend’s face. His head snapped back again. This time when he righted himself, he spit out a tooth.

  “Jesus, you hit harder than he does.”

  Mara couldn’t deny that she loved hearing that. She snuck in a discreet look at her dad, not bothering to hide the smirk on her lips. He let out a humph and turned his body as if to make sure he had a better angle if he needed to hit the president again.

  “How about in exchange for keeping that telegenic face of yours pretty? Or I can let my daughter knock the rest of your teeth out,” he said.

  “Daughter?” he said, surprised. He glanced between her and her dad. “What does she know?”

  “She knows how to get answers in a hurry, just like I do,” Scott said. “She knows the value of sticking only to the salient facts. Do you?” He pulled a knife from his side, then grabbed one of Townsend’s hands. “Which finger are you least fond of?”

  “Stop,” Townsend said. “Okay, listen. I’ll tell you. But not because I’m a coward. But because you knowing the truth might be the only way to stop these people.”

  “Omega?” Scott said.

  Townsend smiled. “That’s one of the names for them. I don’t know if Jim Hawthorn gave them the name or he uncovered it. The last letter of the Greek alphabet. The end times. These people, they’re outside government. Outside any jurisdiction. Old money. Old power. Old ideas about how power ought to be wielded over the masses.”

  “And they helped you get elected?” Scott said.

  “Don’t you get it? They’ve helped every president get elected,” Townsend said. “If there was an order to kill your wife, then I’d look at your employer.” He noticed the puzzled look on Scott’s face. “You are working for them, aren’t you?” When Scott didn’t respond, Townsend began to laugh.

  “I’m not working for anyone,” Scott growled. “You said they’re worried about what you’ll say in the book. Give me the names.”

  Townsend leaned back, suddenly looking very old. “They didn’t even need to buy you off. You’re working for them and you don’t even know it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “They aimed you at me and let you fly.” Townsend righted himself, some of his dignity seeming to come back to him. “Think about it. I start work on a memoir where I plan to share what I know about them. It’s not much, but a former president, even if it’s me, giving credence to all the conspiracy theories out there is more than they could handle. They want me dead to silence me. How better to accomplish that than send you?”

  “No way,” Scott said. But his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

  “Why such an elaborate plan?” Mara said. “Whoever these people are, if they’re so powerful, why not kill you with a simple hit?”

  “He knows,” Townsend said.

  Scott’s face was a mix of disbelief and awe. He was buying what Townsend was saying. “Because if I did it, the investigation would be one of the shortest in history,” Scott said. “Rogue CIA agent who blames the ex-president for his wife’s death gets his revenge in a bold assassination plan. Motive, means, and I always make my own opportunity.”

  “Only this time you’ve taken the opportunity to do exactly what Omega wanted you to do.”

  Mara saw the logic. “And if they hired an assassin, then it’s all-hands-on-deck to solve the mystery,” she said. “Over fifty years after JFK and we’re still investigating.”

  A sense of dread wormed its way through her. She thought through the path that had brought them here. How she’d been given this assignment. Her dad’s release from custody under the cover story of her assignment to kill him. Their escape from the prison parking lot. How they had evaded the manhunt up to that point. The relative ease of kidnapping the former leader of the free world. It was all too simple.

  She made eye contact with her dad. She could tell he’d reached the same conclusion.

  Nearly in unison, they said, “Oh shit.”

  * * *

  “That’s why getting in was so easy,” Mara said.

  “But you can bet your ass getting out won’t be,” Scott said. He turned to Townsend. “If this is true, then Jim Hawthorn is pulling the strings. Why does he want you dead?”

  “Jim and I go way back,” Townsend said. “Might be the best friend I have, even if he did abandon ship with the other rats when it all went to shit. You don’t ask why Jim wants me dead. The real question is, who is Jim working for and why do they want me dead? Answer that question, and I think you find out who really gave the order to have your wife killed.”

  Scott grabbed Townsend. “Tell me. Tell me who it was.”

  Townsend laughed. “You think I was the most powerful man in the free world when I was president? There are far greater forces in the world. Behind the scenes. Staying in the shadows. They went through Jim. Always through Jim. He has the answers you need.”

  “Bullshit, you know more than you’re letting on,” he said. “I need a connection into Omega. Who do you know?”

  Townsend shook his head, but he wasn’t convincing. He glanced at the wallet and cigarette case Mara still held in her hand. It was only for a second, but both Mara and Scott caught it.

  Mara tossed the wallet to Scott and he dug through it. She opened the cigarette case. Five Marlboro Reds were lined up in a row, each secured by a small elastic hoop. She pinched the end off one and it crumbled into dry flakes. “These have to be a few years old.”

  “I kicked the habit a long time ago,” Townsend said. “I keep them around as a reminder of my self-control.”

  She wasn’t buying it. Quickly, she broke up each cigarette to see if anything had been stashed inside one of them. Nothing.

  Rolling the case over in her hands, she looked for anything she might have missed. Townsend’s body language told her there was something more there.

  Then she saw it. A tiny button on the inside edge. She pressed it and the inside of the case levered open. She pulled out the thumb drive and held it out to Townsend.

  “Pretty elaborate way to hide your porn,” she said. “Or maybe there’s info here about Omega?”

  “You two don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Townsend said.

  “No, but I have a feeling based on how you’re acting that what’s on that drive will fill in a few gaps.” He threw Townsend to the floor. “If I find out you lied and that you ordered Wendy’s death, I will find you again. And I will make you pay. You got that?”

  Townsend didn’t reply, but met Scott’s stare. He’d caught the implication just like Mara had that they were going to leave him alive.

  “We can work together,” Townsend said. “Think about it. They tried to use you to kill me. You don’t think they’ll just figure out some other way to do it? I want them found and destroyed as much as you do.”

  “Then give me the names. Or are they already on the drive?”

  “I only have names of people who accepted the bribes from Omega, not the people who paid them,” Townsend said. “Worth millions to a publ
isher in a tell-all book, but not so much to law enforcement. I’ll tell the world that Omega exists, but I can’t reveal who they are. I have some ideas, but no proof. My thinking is once I admit Omega exists, others will seek them out and find them.”

  “Or people will think you’re a crank,” Mara said.

  “I am an ex-president. That still means something to people.”

  “Look what Jimmy Carter’s UFO sighting did to that movement,” Mara said.

  Her dad nudged her to be quiet and she did so.

  “If my name or my wife’s name appears in that book,” he said to Townsend, “I’ll be at your first book signing. You got that?”

  Townsend looked dismayed, but seemed to remember quickly that he was bargaining for his life. “I’ll take it out. You have my word.”

  “Good, now when they find you, I want you to say you were taken by some protesters. Young guys with masks. They lectured you about climate change or animal rights or something.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You said you wanted to help; that’s what I need you to do,” Scott said.

  “Besides,” Mara added, “if the headline reads ROGUE CIA OPERATIVES DETAIN PRESIDENT, then all your old scandals about the CIA during your administration get recycled. If it’s climate protesters that kidnapped you, then everyone will just feel sympathy for you. Only the Secret Service comes out looking bad in this.”

  Townsend eyes lit up, liking the idea. “This one has a nose for politics. That’s too bad.”

  “Why’s that too bad?” Mara asked.

  “Because you’re not going to survive this. These people you’re up against are everywhere. You don’t stand a chance. Neither of you. Not for long anyway.”

  Mara pulled a syringe from her pocket. Another present from Harry.

  “Thank you for your concern. Good night, Mr. President. I’m sure they’ll find you in an hour or two.”

  “No, wait. You don’t have to—”

  Mara injected the entire syringe and then pulled the needle out of Townsend’s arm, put the cap back on, and slid it back into her pocket. In only a few seconds, Townsend slumped to his side and Mara rested him against the wall.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said.

  Scott didn’t need to be asked twice. He carefully opened the door and checked the hallway. They’d scoped the area out well and chosen part of the building that was under construction and so the least likely to have someone randomly walking the halls, especially on a Saturday afternoon. They left the storage closet, closing and locking the door behind them. There were five different egress routes from this point in the mission.

  “Let’s split up,” Scott said. “I’ll take exit one and fall back to two if it’s blocked. You take three and fallback four.”

  “And five?”

  “If the shit hits the fan, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Rally point?”

  “Field Museum, midnight. If one of us is detained, two-hour checks until noon, then clear out.”

  Mara didn’t like the idea of separating, but she knew it was the right call. But still, right then, she felt like she needed to be by her dad. She was coming to terms with the idea that the man she’d hated for the last four years for killing her mother and betraying his country may have been telling her the truth. That he might have been innocent all along.

  “Dad . . .”

  He looked at her and gave her a smile. He knew.

  “We’ll talk about it later. Be careful. If they start shooting, duck.” He struck off down the hall and took a right turn.

  “Be careful yourself, old man,” she said under her breath, then headed left to the exit, wondering just how foul the Chicago River was going to be for her upcoming swim.

  * * *

  Mara ran toward the back of the new construction area, letting the level of finish work be her guide toward the more unfinished area. Soon, she was running on bare concrete floors, the skeletal framework of hallways and rooms laid out in metal studs and what looked like miles of wiring. The lack of drywall was unnerving because it left her exposed to watching eyes anywhere on that level. But it was a necessary evil to get to her destination.

  She pictured the building from the outside and recalled the position of the scaffolding. She cut to her right and ran that direction. The plan was simple. Crawl out onto the scaffold, shimmy down, and jump into the river. She pulled the rebreather out of the pocket on her hip. It was a small bottle, the size of a bottle of sunscreen spray. A rubber tube was attached the top, terminating in a mouthpiece the same as one found on a SCUBA regulator. The rebreather contained three cubic feet of air, enough for her to make an underwater escape away from prying eyes. Piece of cake.

  Until she realized she’d make a miscalculation.

  She was at the side of the new construction facing the river, and she could see the scaffolding set up outside. The only problem was that while the windows on the lower floors had yet to be installed, the ones on this floor were already in place.

  She rapped her knuckles against the window. Thick safety glass that would take her firing her gun at it to get through in a hurry. The noise that would make would bring all kinds of unwanted attention. The place was certainly already crawling with law enforcement. She didn’t want to bring them all to this spot while she was climbing down six flights of scaffolding.

  There had to be a better way.

  She spotted it just when the first voice shouted from behind her. Without looking at the direction of the sound, she took off for the end of the hallway. A shot rang out and sparks flew off the metal stud to her right. Another shot, this one to her left.

  Either the shooter was making a point, or he was just a shitty shot. It didn’t matter. Both ways it was a problem for her. She darted left and right, swerving through the metal studs, careful not to trip on the electric wire strung between them.

  Another shot and the rebreather flew out of her hand, hissing from air rupturing through the breach. So much for her river escape plan.

  She pulled her Sig from her shoulder holster, a smooth move that didn’t cause even the smallest stutter in her step. Then she lifted it over her shoulder and fired off two quick shots behind her.

  There was no chance she’d hit the shooter, but she wasn’t trying to. It was the few seconds pause that came next as her pursuer took cover that she was after.

  It was just enough for her to reach the end of the hallway, a rough opening in the concrete exterior wall that would one day provide a nice scenic view of the river. But right then it was lined with orange heavy mesh sheeting that opened like a monster’s throat, a trash chute for the construction workers to toss debris to the bottom of the building.

  Mara jumped into it at full speed, just as another bullet zipped past her head.

  She scraped against the mesh and fell faster than she expected. She had a sudden panic that she was simply going to fall six floors and crush her legs and spine in the process. A miserable way to end an escape.

  But once she reached out and dragged her hands on the side, thumping against the ribbed joints that held the chute open, she began to slow.

  Then the chute curved, the rough material giving enough friction to stop the free fall. Still, when she hit the bottom, the force of the impact knocked the wind out of her. She rolled and landed in a rat’s nest of excess telephone wire that she fell into like a pillow. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air, seeing that a few feet to her right was a nasty pile of two-by-fours with nails sticking out of them like some kind of medieval torture device.

  She pulled one of the boards, and a section of the pile moved with it. With a heave, she hauled enough of them over to the mouth of the rubbish chute to make for a tough landing for anyone who followed behind her. Not enough to do any permanent damage. As far as she knew, the men following her were Secret Service just doing their jobs. She’d allow herself to be captured before seriously wounding one of them.

  The area arou
nd her was fenced in with high chain-link covered with green tarp. A couple strands of barbed wire circled the top, but nothing serious. There was a double gate in the middle of the fence big enough to back a truck into. It was chained shut, but that wasn’t a problem. They’d come down during their recon and cut the lock, carefully putting it back in place in case there were any workers grabbing double pay for working on a weekend. A second lock, this one uncut, hung open next to it.

  Mara stopped at the trash can beside the gate. She picked through it, pulling out straws from the fast-food drinks she found inside, collecting five or six in only a few seconds. The lock slid off and she pried the gate open a few inches to see that she was alone. By ordinance, every building on the river had to provide public access to the water, so there was a chance she’d run into pedestrians in addition to Secret Service agents who wanted to shoot her dead.

  Luckily, there was no one there.

  A commotion behind her and then a yell in pain. One of the Secret Service agents had made the jump down the rubbish chute and found the boards with nails she’d left behind.

  It was time to go.

  She darted out of the gate and used the second lock to chain it shut behind her. At a full sprint, she ran to the river, half expecting a torrent of gunfire to follow her.

  But none did. She reached the river’s edge and dove straight down, trying to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

  The water was colder than she expected and it took her breath away. Her clothes clung to her body and made her motion sluggish as she swam underwater downriver, using the current to give her speed.

  She gave herself thirty seconds to add as much distance as possible from her entry point before she grabbed hold of the wall on the embankment, so that she was three feet underwater. Bracing herself with her legs to stay in place, she slid straws into one another to create two long straws. These she raised to the surface until they broke free. Once cleared of the river water, she was able to draw in fresh air and use the straws like a snorkel. She was counting on the Chicago River’s notorious lack of clarity to give her the cover she needed. Even if someone was on the river’s edge right above her, she doubted they would see anything of her in the water.