Private Moscow (Private 15)

“You think he might have been Agency?” Justine asked.

I’d clutched at that hope too. The CIA recruited from the armed services, and had a track record of supporting businesses of strategic importance. Karl’s firm, Silverlink International, certainly fit that category.

“Maybe,” I replied. “But he’s dead. Why go to all this trouble? If he was Agency, why not just leave a note?”

“To protect a source or a mission maybe?” Justine suggested.

I smiled. I knew she was trying to make me feel better by suggesting a scenario that didn’t involve my friend being a bad guy. She looked at me and the light caught her eyes, making them shine. I thought of the times we’d spent together and wanted to feel her in my arms.

“I know that look,” she said, laughing and turning to the barman as he brought her drink. “Thanks.”

“We weren’t so bad together, were we?” I asked as she took her first sip.

“Not bad,” she replied. “Just complicated. Grief can do strange things, Jack. It makes you yearn for things that are gone.”

She looked at me pointedly

, and I held her gaze. She was right. Death had a way of distorting emotions, but my feelings for Justine had nothing to do with Karl’s murder. I’d often thought about how good the two of us were together.

“I don’t want to complicate what we have.” Justine reached out and put her hand on mine.

Her touch was exactly what I needed. Reassuringly familiar and gentle.

“Justine …” I began.

“I don’t think we can afford the confusion, Jack,” she said, cutting me off. She looked as though she was about to say something else, but she never got the chance.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” Sci said, appearing suddenly at our shoulders. “It’s brutal out there.”

Justine withdrew her hand, and Sci shot me a questioning look.

“You find anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing useful yet. Footage shows the shooter wore gloves throughout, and traffic cameras picked him up coming out of the Broad Street subway station. We tracked him back to Classon Avenue in Brooklyn, but after that the trail runs cold.”

“Same with the chopper,” Justine said. “It crashed with three on board. It was chartered by a service company acting for Antares Futures and Investments, a corporation based in Belize. NYPD has asked for FBI support, and the Bureau is trying to find out who owns the Belize firm.”

“So we’ve got nothing?” I asked.

Justine glanced away, and I wondered whether she thought I was talking about the case, or our relationship. She’d been right. It had the potential to get complicated, and right now my mind wasn’t completely on the investigation.

“Sorry, Jack,” Sci replied. “I’ll get back on it first thing.”

“Thanks. I’m calling it a day,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” Justine asked.

“Another time, maybe,” I replied.

“Night,” Sci said.

“Night, Jack,” Justine added, and I could have sworn I felt her eyes on me as I left the bar.

CHAPTER 27

I COULD STILL taste the highball when a phone call woke me at six thirty. I saw Mo-bot’s name light up the screen, and answered: “Yeah.”

“And good morning to you too,” she responded cheerfully. “I found something. When can you get here?”