by Brett King
“Almost six,” Cori said, smiling.
“Tall for her age,” the woman observed. “Long legs.”
Jared walked up, holding a T-shirt. “Can I get it for her?”
He unfolded the white shirt. The front featured a playful cartoon figure—almost like a ghost—holding hands with a little girl. The word BIFF was centered in bold letters at the top of the shirt. At the bottom it read, “Best Imaginary Friends Forever.”
“Buy it,” the older woman ordered, then turned to find her husband.
Shay saw the shirt and tackled Jared with a hug.
Asking her brother to watch the girl so she could find clothes for herself, Cori grabbed the first T-shirt she could find along with a pair of gray sweatpants with the letters NYPD emblazoned across the butt. She also snatched a baseball cap before noticing another customer.
A guy with hair graying at the temples and puppy-dog blue eyes was watching her. The slender man wore a pinstriped Toledo Mud Hens jersey. The customer made her nervous until he turned away to examine a movie prop, a black statuette of the Maltese Falcon.
Shay came over as Cori paid at the counter. She held the BIFF shirt Jared had bought her. The child studied a row of snow globes, each encasing a miniature Empire State Building, before noticing an iconic photograph of John Lennon posing with the Statue of Liberty as a backdrop. He wore a dark coat, trademark round glasses, and a wry expression. His raised fingers formed a peace sign.
“That’s the Smart One, isn’t it?”
“In all his glory. He loved New York City.”
Shay narrowed her eyes. “He looks sad.”
“Maybe he was. He had Nixon and Elvis and everyone else after him.”
After paying, Cori told her brother to wait. He nodded, but didn’t look up from his phone as he laughed at a video of PewDiePie and his dog.
She led Shay to a small restroom at the back of the store. Locking the door, they changed their clothes. Cori popped open the swing lid on a trash can and ditched her dirtied tee and pink cap inside, then pulled on the new shirt, a powder-blue one that was a size too big. She then pulled out her ponytail before combing through it with her fingers. Beside her, Shay changed into the BIFF shirt and admired her look in the mirror.
Emerging from the restroom, Cori spied her brother on the opposite side of the store, near the entrance. Jared waved, then returned his attention to the PewDie video. Not far from him, two men dressed in suits walked into the shop. In unison, they removed sunglasses and looked around.
The men approached Jared.
Cori couldn’t hear their conversation, but she saw Jared say something, then point to the storefront window where a bustle of people wandered Times Square. Following his direction, both men turned away to look outside. Taking advantage of the distraction, Jared glanced back at her and mouthed, “Go.”
Cori pulled the baseball cap onto her head and tugged down the stiff brim. Turning around, she grabbed Shay’s hand and guided her back toward the restroom, blocking the men’s view of the child as they walked.
“Where we going?” Shay asked. “Is Jared coming?”
“He’ll catch up later.”
Passing the bathroom, they found an exit door. Cori didn’t like leaving Jared back there. Still, she was confident her brother knew how to take care of himself.
Stephen Angelilli hurried up a constricted stairwell leading to a second-floor comic book shop on West Fortieth. Taking a turn, he walked the hardwood floor, passing aisle after aisle of comics and trade paperbacks. The wall ahead featured a life-size replica of the Incredible Hulk busting in from Times Square. As he passed a counter filled with props and statues, a shaggy-headed fanboy wearing a faded Green Lantern shirt moved aside and looked over at the dark-suited CIA officer like he was an alien life-form.
Mason “Dixon” Eisermen saw him coming. An oversized Avengers poster hung on the wall behind the CIA officer. With his square jaw and grim expression, Eisermen almost looked like he belonged up there with the superheroes. He opened the door to the manager’s office and Angelilli stepped inside.
Stacks of narrow white boxes filled the cramped room. A guy in his midtwenties hunched over a table, flipping through a comic book. Jack Rickerson and Patrick Langston stood behind Jared Cassidy, arms crossed, keeping him in their vigilant gaze.
Jared closed the Batman comic, smiling ironically at the agents. “So, the CIA makes its headquarters in a comic-book store. Tough times, huh?”
Angelilli kept his face expressionless. “Hey, kid, think this is a good time to be a smart-ass?”
“Probably not.”
“One of my men has a brother who runs this place. And it’s close.” Angelilli wheeled around a chair, then eased into it. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Come on, Jared. Your sister’s up to her eyeballs in trouble. We need her. And she needs us.”
Jared glanced down, suddenly interested in his interlaced fingers. He thought it over.
“I have questions,” Jared Cassidy said.
“You and everybody else. We’re not in the business of answering questions.”
“Why is the CIA interested in my sister? And the little girl?”
“Where’s your sister?”
His gaze shifted to the Batman paperback. The cover had the word Hush in the title. Maybe it gave the kid ideas that he could shut up.
“You’re not gonna find answers in a comic book.”
“It’s a graphic novel,” he answered. “And I’d like to speak to my attorney.”
“Yeah, well, your daddy’s not here.”
“Then someone at his firm.”
“Let me impress this upon you, Jared. There are people out there who will do anything to get that little girl. Today, they killed one of my men. They shot the girl’s mother. They will kill anyone who gets in their way.” Angelilli sneered, “Right now, one person stands in their way. Your sister. Let me assure you, they will be more than happy to kill Cori.”
“Who we talking about? Who are these people?”
Angelilli wasn’t answering.
“The longer we sit here playing games, the closer those people get to finding your sister. Understand me, Jared?”
The kid raised his fist to his mouth, running the edge of his thumbnail along the bottom row of teeth.
Angelilli glanced at his watch.
Jared sighed. “We were in that shop. I don’t know where they went. Even if I did, Cori wouldn’t want me to tell you.”
“I met your sister once, you know,” Angelilli said. “We were on a flight from Europe a few years ago. Cori’s a sweet kid.” He rose from the chair and headed for the door. “After they recover the body, I’ll be sure to send flowers to her funeral.”
Midnight opened the door. Angelilli stepped into the hallway.
“Wait,” Jared called.
Angelilli stopped, closing his eyes. A thin smile crossed his lips.
Chapter 21
New York City
7:40 p.m.
Cori was grateful her brother had made hotel arrangements. The two-room suite was more upscale than she had expected. He’d paid over the phone, so all she had to do was check in. She hoped Jared would join them soon.
Propped on the bed, Shay curled up next to her, wearing the BIFF shirt that Jared had bought. Cori stroked the girl’s blonde hair, noticing the color was a near match to her own. It was also about the same thickness, although Shay’s hair was longer. With similar eyes and features, they could pass for sisters or maybe mother and daughter. She was certain the guy down in the Hilton lobby had thought so.
“I miss my daddy.”
A deep sigh. “I know, sweetie. We’ll find him. I know he wants to see you.”
“Are you and my daddy best friends?”
“Um.” Cori swallowed. “I like your daddy
. He’s smart, he’s a really good guy, and he has clear blue eyes, like you.”
“You have blue eyes.”
“Yeah, but not like you and your daddy. Your eyes are light blue, almost like Cinderella’s dress.”
The child giggled.
Score a point. That line seemed to comfort her.
Cori remembered seeing something in the report from Shay’s school. It was about a skill she had called the Hollow. She wanted to ask about it, but she didn’t want to push the child. Was now the time?
“Shay, I have a question about the researchers at your school.”
“Like Dr. Resnick?”
“Yeah.”
The little girl looked up. “Hear that sound?”
Cori raised her head.
A card swiping in the door.
She moved off the bed.
“Where you going?” Shay asked.
“Jared’s here.” Her feet touched carpet as she pulled away from the little girl.
“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.
“Honey, I’ll be right back.”
She hurried toward the door as it opened.
“Jared,” she called.
It wasn’t him. A man in a dark suit stepped into the hotel room, looking around. Three more came in behind him. The first guy saw her and raised an identification card.
Cori didn’t make a sound. She pivoted on one foot, turning toward the bedroom. Running, she made it inside and reached for the door to shut it behind her. On the bed, Shayna’s face was alight with fear. She could see the man. Eyes wide and her mouth open, she screamed. Cori slammed the door and wished the thing had a lock. Didn’t matter because the man kicked it open, ripping the knob away from her hand.
Shayna was all that mattered. Cori had to get to the child.
As Cori reached the bed, the man wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her feet from the floor. He swung her around to face the bedroom door. She twisted in his grip, elbowing him in the ear as she struggled to get free.
The child stood on the bed, her face scarlet as she screamed with outstretched arms. “Don’t leave me, Cori!”
She remembered the little girl building a fortress of ponies around her. A little girl who needed to feel secure and who needed to protect the people in her life so they didn’t go away.
Don’t leave me, Cori.
Stephen Angelilli watched as agents Jack “Ripper” Rickerson and Patrick “Midnight” Langston grappled with the woman. A wildcat in a T-shirt and sweatpants, Cori Cassidy was tiny, but a fighter. They dragged her into the next room. Back in the bedroom, Wonderland was holding her own, locked in Mason Eisermen’s grip. He was now heading this way with the girl.
“Hold up, Dixon.”
The man stopped at the door.
Angelilli studied Wonderland. For the past several years, he had been on special assignment, following orders to watch John Brynstone’s daughter as part of Operation Red Opera. They had documented her every move, most of it mundane activity. CIA Director Mark McKibbon had handpicked Angelilli after he had had flown with Cori Cassidy from Europe to the United States. During the flight, Angelilli had riddled Cassidy with questions and listened to her unsatisfying answers. He had always sensed the woman was hiding something.
Over the years, he had watched Wonderland grow up. He witnessed virtually every public move she had made. Though he felt like he knew her almost as well as his own children, he’d never spoken to her before this moment.
“It’s okay, Shayna,” he said, softening his voice. “We’ll help you.”
“I…I want Cori,” the child choked. “Cori.”
“I need to talk to Cori for a minute,” Angelilli said. “Be a good girl and go with this nice man. He’ll get you candy.” He shot a quick look at Dixon. “Get Wonderland inside the Suburban. Don’t attract attention in the lobby.”
As they went out the door, Angelilli turned back.
The Cassidy woman was still fighting, a whirlwind of rage as she hammered fists at Midnight and Ripper.
“Stop it, Cori,” he said in a commanding voice. “Stop it right now.”
As the tall officers held her arms, she finally stopped fighting. Ripper and Midnight backed off. Both seemed relieved.
“I know you,” the woman said.
“Good memory.”
“How do I know you?”
Angelilli slid onto a sofa. He motioned for her to sit.
“You got into trouble once upon a time. The police took you into custody; then I showed up and saved your ass.”
“Paris.” She eased into a chair, watching him. “You’re the CIA agent who brought me back to the United States.”
“You trusted me back then, Cori. You can trust me now.”
Sniffing, she wiped her nose. “Where’s Shayna?”
“Eating candy.”
She made a face. “She’s had a lot of sugar today.”
“Why did you take her, Cori?”
No answer. The woman stared at the white tips of her manicured nails.
“We want to protect her,” Angelilli said. “As you know, she’s a special little girl. We’re not the only ones who know that. Who were the people at the school today?”
“It was all so confusing,” Cori muttered. “Tell me about Kaylyn Brynstone. Is she okay?”
“Dead.”
Angelilli could have been less blunt, but he decided against sugarcoating the facts with this woman.
Cori sunk her face in her hands. She said something like, “Oh, God. Oh, God.” At least, it sounded like it.
“Has Shayna asked about her mother?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said in a teary voice. “She knew that Kaylyn was shot. I talked with Shayna about her mom after we checked into this hotel room. She’s a tough kid. Shayna wants to see her father. She keeps asking about him.”
“John Brynstone.”
“Have you talked to him?” she asked.
“Not so far. You?”
“We haven’t talked in years.”
“Sure about that?”
“I sent a couple e-mails, the last probably six months back, but he never answered.” She looked at him. “I left two messages today. He isn’t returning my calls. How did you find me?”
“Your brother.”
“You have Jared?” Cori exhaled forcefully. “He didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Angelilli held up a hand, stopping her. “We talked to him.”
“I want to see Jared.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Angelilli said. “I can reunite you with your brother. Maybe Shayna, too. First, though, you have to talk to me. No bullshit. Deal, Cori?”
Chapter 22
Airborne over Germany
2:19 a.m.
There were three people flying on the private jet, none of whom liked each other. Who among the three, Rashmi Raja wondered, would be the first to stab the other two in the back? She didn’t think it would be the professor.
That left Brynstone.
She had mixed feelings about the man. His dark and rugged American look fascinated her, and she marveled at his intelligence and his nomadic spirit. She sensed an instant and odd connection back in London.
Could she trust him? Probably not.
Did she want to trust him? Maybe.
That troubled her more than anything.
Back in her native India, her parents had hosted social gatherings for an elite circle of friends. Even as a child, Raja knew how to charm guests. Before long, she had learned to take command of any situation. At age eighteen, she had moved to the United States, where she had lined up her first jobs in adventure theft—something her family knew nothing about. Her career demanded a more solitary existence. Brynstone seemed to share that with her.
> Tapping into the collective wisdom of Brynstone and McHardy would be an advantage—but could she do that without them knowing? And could they all work together?
McHardy looked relaxed in a leather club chair aboard his Bombardier aircraft. The midcabin interior was accented in cream hues and soffit lighting with polished rosewood doorways. The professor was filthy rich. Not as wealthy as her family, but enough to afford this jet.
“You hurt me, you know,” McHardy grumbled. “Knocking me around like a punching bag.”
“Be glad I went easy on you,” she countered. “You should see what I can do to a punching bag.”
The old man leaned forward. “I know we agreed to work together, Dr. Brynstone, but I do not want to work with that woman.”
Raja made a hurt look, mocking him a little. She liked the way he talked. She’d always been a sucker for Scotsmen, even one as impossible as McHardy.
It shocked her when Brynstone answered, “I don’t want to work with her, either.”
The man was full of surprises.
“We don’t have a choice, gentlemen,” she said, tapping the arm of her chair.
They were seated around a small table attached to the midcabin wall. The polished black surface displayed the facemask she had taken from Nessa Griffin’s people at the London warehouse. “We want the same thing,” Raja continued. “And I have something you need.”
“Show us,” Brynstone said.
His voice was rich and deep. His eyes were icy blue, a striking contrast against his tanned skin. Her mother wouldn’t approve, of course. Too American.
Raja dug in her backpack and brought out the Roman cheek guard. She placed it on the table beside the facemask.
“We cool now?” she asked.
Brynstone studied it. “Where’d you get that?”
“Bulgaria.”
“Excellent.” McHardy grabbed the cheek guard. He glanced up with a sly grin. “You paid a visit to Nikola Paskalev.”
“Who’s Paskalev?” Brynstone asked.
“His father was an Olympic athlete before joining the mafia. Some time ago, I tried to buy this piece from the old man. He was a monster.”
