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rubbed his forehead then raked his hands through his long hair. A lot of fucking ifs.
    At first he thought he was the target, that they’d mistaken Lee for him. Becca was collateral damage. Then he learned the daughters of two military officers were taken. The officers had a connection to a company Becca was set to review. There are no coincidences . He called in favors and obtained the use of a satellite a few hours a day to search for proof in an off-the-books investigation. With abso-fucking-lutely no results.
    He blew out a long breath and headed downstairs to spend some quality mom-and-son time. In the kitchen over coffee he got the inevitable be careful lecture and gave it back, cautioning her to be extra vigilant. Clare O’Brien was an old hand at being careful. Her brother was a career agent. She was widow to one. Married thirty years. A rarity in the business. Mother to two sons who followed their father’s career path. She often said she was an agent by default. Ali was safe with her, but still he worried.
    He kissed his mom good-bye, drove Becca’s Passat to his storage unit and parked it inside. The unit was his safety net. He kept weapons there, Canadian, UK, French, and Turkish passports. Ten thousand in U.S. dollars. An equal amount in euros and the Hong Kong dollar. The unit wasn’t far from Dulles and a quick getaway. Tonight, getting to the airport was a problem. He didn’t even try to get a cab to come out here at four in the morning. Even if one did come, a good look at his long hair, beard, and work clothes and they’d be gone. He lifted his pack and began the hike to the airport. Twenty minutes later, he was proven wrong. A cruising cab stopped and asked him if he wanted a ride. Sometimes the world managed to amaze him. He climbed in, and after twenty minutes of listening to the driver complain about his wife, he was at the USAir curbside check-in. The inside counter wasn’t open yet and he waited another fifteen minutes for the guy to show. Jack gave him a twenty to boot up the system early.
    Jack pulled his ball cap low, keeping his face concealed from airport cameras, eyes sweeping the area looking for unknowns on his leisurely stroll to the men’s room. He was the only occupant and took time to improve his image. A red Nationals cap and sports jacket took the edge off the jeans and work boots. With his beard combed and reasonably tamed and his hair in a ponytail he looked like a rough tradesman and good enough to avoid a cavity search. At least he wouldn’t send little kids screaming and pregnant women into labor. He cleared through TSA, dropped into an uncomfortable seat, retied his boots, then slid to a slouch, stretching out his legs and hoping to catch some sleep while waiting to board. Within seconds a man sat next to him and opened a newspaper. Four hundred fucking empty seats and the guy had to sit next to him. Jack’s gaze tracked from white running shoes to khaki pants to an orange Hawaiian print shirt so bright it could probably be seen from orbit, and a boonie hat pulled low on his head.
    “Morning, Jack,” the familiar gravelly voice said.
    Neuberger. The agent glanced at him casually. Jack stayed slumped in the seat. “What do you want?” he said, irritated the man had approached him in a place with cameras and dressed the way he was.
    Neuberger tilted in his direction. “Nice to see you too.” He paused and straightened, still looking ahead through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the graying dawn. “If that is you under all that fur.”
    “How did you know I’d be here?” He’d used an alternate identity.
    “Come on, Jack. You get all those gizmos to dig around”—he glanced up—“ and in return, you get to be surveilled.”
    Yes, he knew only too well his comings and goings were monitored and the NSA satellite access he used was in turn used to keep tabs on him. He ran a hand over his beard. “I repeat, what do you want, Alan?”
    “I came in peace, as a