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woman who looked to be around the same age as him. She was very pretty, had a glass of wine, and was reading a book. She glanced at him; Will smiled wider, and she responded. Three men walked in. Dressed in nice suits, they appeared middle-aged. Sitting down at a vacant table, they ordered drinks and began talking to each other with earnest expressions on their faces. Will looked at the woman again and wondered if she would be offended if he offered to buy her a drink. He looked at the three men and saw a waiter approaching them, carrying a tray with glasses. One of the men’s cell phones rang. The man stood, listened to the call, closed his phone, and spoke to the other men while ushering the waiter away. The men clearly had urgent business elsewhere.
    That was not supposed to happen just yet.
    They were supposed to be there until closing time, when the café would be empty of innocents.
    Will put cash onto his table to pay for his drink, stood, pulled out a handgun, and shot the three men in their heads.
    Will opened his eyes as the memory faded, but he could still remember the expression on the woman’s face turning from shock to disgust as she looked at him. He could still hear the screaming from the other people in the café; he could still remember standing in front of his GCP commanding officer and an anonymous French intelligence officer from the DGSE three days prior to that event. And he remembered his commander’s words to him: This is your first black operation. If you do well on this job, you’ll be given plenty more just like it.

Chapter Five
    T he business-class section of the Ukraine International Airlines Boeing 737 was at full capacity, with most passengers eating lunch. Will looked out of the window and saw that they were traveling over the snow-covered Transylvanian Alps of Romania. He’d not slept since departing Washington, D.C., fourteen hours before, taking flights to London, then Vienna, and now onward to Odessa. The plane would be landing in approximately one hour. Soon after that, he would be meeting Sentinel.
    Not for the first time on the journey, Will wondered what Sentinel would be like. Alistair had forewarned him that Sentinel would be a complex and difficult man to deal with and rightly so. There were few men, if any, within the Western intelligence community who had proven, to such an extent, and over such a protracted period of time, that they were of such value.
    He tried to sleep, but his mind was too active. More than anything, he felt an overwhelming sense of unease.
    W ill walked quickly through the lobby of the Hotel Otrada toward the entrance. He’d landed in Ukraine six hours ago, taken a room in the luxury hotel, and was now heading to his meeting with Sentinel. Outside, it was twilight and icy, and a heavy fog lay motionless over the city of Odessa. He entered a taxi and soon was being driven north along a coastal city road straddled with old-fashioned lamps that cast a dim golden glow over the route. The Black Sea was beside him but barely visible in the fading light. After two miles, he was nearing the city’s old town and its adjacent port. The taxi slowed and the driver muttered in Russian, the common language of Ukraine, that they were close to his destination.
    They moved northwest, with the port to their right. The place was better lit, but the fog seemed even heavier here, allowing only glimpses of the freight ships and ferries moored alongside large jetties. Pedestrians and cars milled around the area. The taxi stopped by an arterial road entrance to one of the jetties, and the driver held out a hand. Will thrust hryvnia notes at the expectant man and stepped out of the vehicle onto Prymors’ka street.
    It was nearly night now and very cold, although the ground was free of snow. Will pulled up the collar of his overcoat and looked in the direction opposite to the port. Rising away from the road was the famous five-hundred-foot-long, broad stone Potemkin Stairs. On