Private Moscow (Private 15)

It had taken three hours of surgery, and weeks of special rehabilitation exercises, but I was almost back to full mobility. “I hardly notice it,” I replied honestly.

“I …” Justine began, but she hesitated. “I don’t know what I would have done, Jack.”

I could sense her anguish at the thought of losing me, and felt my own emotions rise. “I know,” I replied.

I didn’t trust myself to say anything else, and our shared fears of what might have been hung over us.

“But we came through it,” I said at last, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah,” Justine agreed with a hesitant smile. “We did.”

We spent the journey from the Parkers’ Long Island home to John F. Kennedy Airport talking shop. Private had been exonerated and the handful of clients we’d lost had returned. Most offices were seeing an uptick in business thanks to the high-profile success of the Bright Star investigation. But with success came a different set of challenges: mundane issues such as hiring, budget approvals and hundreds of other operational decisions, many of which needed my attention. The distraction of the day-to-day kept us occupied until we reached the perimeter of JFK Airport, but when we turned onto the North Service Road, I sensed a change in mood. Justine was building up to something, and as we approached the perimeter airfield gate, she finally said, “I’ve been replaying the conversation we had in the bar before you went to Moscow, and I’ve been wondering whether we need some confusion in our lives. Maybe we’d make the same mistakes all over again, but what if we didn’t?”

I thought back to my unfinished highball at the Library bar in the Nomad Hotel and searched for a reply, but was distracted by the scene on the other side of the gate. A Gulfstream G550 waited at a stand, and there were four vehicles parked beside it: three town cars and another Nissan Rogue, this one in red.

“A powerful friend insisted we fly private,” Justine revealed.

A crowd of people stood near the airstairs, and I recognized some of the faces. Mo-bot and Sci were there, along with Jessie Fleming, the head of Private New York, and Rafael Lucas, our legal counsel. They were talking to Eli Carver, the Secretary of Defense. His Secret Service detail stood a few paces away, and kept a close eye on him and his surroundings.

The gate guard checked our credentials, and waved us through. When we pulled up by the aircraft, Secretary Carver came over to greet us.

“Jack Morgan,” he beamed. “I wanted to thank you in person.”

He wore a silk scarf tucked into his shirt collar, no doubt to conceal the scar that encircled his throat.

“I appreciate it, Mr. Secretary,” I responded. “But you didn’t have to.”

“It was the least I could do, and please call me Eli,” he said. “I owe you my life. If that doesn’t put us on first-name terms, I don’t know what will.”

“You don’t owe me anything, sir,” I began, but I registered Carver’s raised eyebrow, “Eli, I mean,” I continued without skipping a beat, “I did what anyone in my situation would have done.”

“Well, let’s just agree to disagree about that,” Carver said with a smile. “If there’s ever anything you need, you call me.” He handed me a card. “My cell number and my private line.”

“I appreciate it, Eli,” I replied.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to Washington. We’re still dealing with the fallout from this thing,” he said, moving toward the convoy of town cars.

“You take care, Mr. Secretary … Eli,” I corrected myself.

I joined Mo-bot, Sci and the others as Secretary Carver and his detail got in their cars and drove away.

“Thanks for everything,” I said to Jessie and Rafael.

“Just doing our jobs,” the lawyer replied.

“We’ve got our weekly call next Wednesday,” Jessie reminded me.

I smiled, grateful for a return to the mundane. “I look forward to it,” I said.

“Have a safe trip,” Rafael responded.

He walked toward the red Nissan, and Jessie took the black one Justine and I had arrived in.

“Shall we?” Mo-bot asked, gesturing at the airstairs.

“After you,” I said, and she and Sci headed into the aircraft.

I took Justine’s arm, and gently pulled her toward me.