downright dangerous decision is beyond me. By my calculation, Cobalt’s money has enabled terrorists to kill at least seven thousand people during the last five years.”
“Our most conservative assessment is three times that figure.”
“And you could be right.”
“I should still be looking for Cobalt.”
“I agree, but like it or not, we’ve both been given a different assignment.” Alistair took a step closer to the map and put on his reading glasses. “What’s motivating Cochrane right now?”
“To stay alive, evade capture, vanish, probably change identities and live out the rest of his life in a country without a U.S. extradition treaty.”
“Maybe. Come closer.”
Marsha took a step forward.
Alistair pointed at the map. “It was a good hunch to look west.”
“Just covering bases. It produced shit.”
Alistair turned toward her, and in a flash his icy demeanor was replaced with a look of utter charm. “My dear, you underestimate yourself that easily?”
“Hell, no.”
“That’s my girl.” His icy expression returned. “It’s quite possible that Mr. Cochrane has an altogether different motivation. Have you heard of a CIA operation code-named Ferryman?”
“Means nothing to me.”
“Nor us, but Ferryman protocols are responsible for putting my boy on the run. And he won’t like that one bit.” While keeping his eyes fixed on Marsha and without looking at the map, he stretched out his arm and placed a finger on a country. “Keep looking west, because I think Cochrane’s motivation is to find pure gold.”
Marsha looked at the map. Alistair’s finger was positioned in North America.
THIRTEEN
D espite his best attempts not to, Will imagined that the noise of his boots crunching over ice was rather the sound of his vertebrae grinding together. Though it wasn’t carrying anything aside from the weight of Will’s muscular physique, his back was in agony from his efforts to get across a landscape that was equal parts beautiful, undulating, frozen, and terrifying. He’d trained and operated in places like this many times before, but this was different because he had no backup, no job, no identity, and no purpose beyond establishing why his former employers had turned on him.
For years he’d felt dislocated from the real world. But it was perverse compensation that the secret world had made up for that by embracing his flaws and unique talents. Now that that world no longer wanted him, he felt more alone than ever, and he could feel the weight of the planet crushing him with the heel of its boot.
At some point soon it would snap his spine in half, but not yet, because Will had to keep going to find the truth about Ferryman. Whatever the CIA operation was, there was no doubt that it had a vested interest in keeping Antaeus alive. Getting to the bottom of that reason had been plaguing Will ever since he’d walked away from the aftermath of the gunfight in Norway. He’d considered the possibility that Antaeus had been recruited by the CIA, but had immediately discounted that option because the spymaster would never betray his motherland or, more important, abandon his achieved ambition of being the West’s most formidable espionage opponent. Perhaps the Agency needed Antaeus alive as part of a bigger operation to disrupt Russia, one within which Antaeus wittingly or unwittingly played a crucial role.
No. That too just felt wrong. Antaeus couldn’t be manipulated by anyone, knowingly or otherwise, because he was always several steps ahead of even the brightest minds in Western intelligence. That left the bad-taste-in-the-mouth option. One that dovetailed with Herald’s declaration. Antaeus had recruited a high-ranking mole in the Agency, someone who was powerful enough to warn Antaeus off if danger was drawing close to him. Perhaps, given who was called in by the Agency duty officer when Will had the spymaster in his sights, that person was Charles Sheridan.
But that still
“Our most conservative assessment is three times that figure.”
“And you could be right.”
“I should still be looking for Cobalt.”
“I agree, but like it or not, we’ve both been given a different assignment.” Alistair took a step closer to the map and put on his reading glasses. “What’s motivating Cochrane right now?”
“To stay alive, evade capture, vanish, probably change identities and live out the rest of his life in a country without a U.S. extradition treaty.”
“Maybe. Come closer.”
Marsha took a step forward.
Alistair pointed at the map. “It was a good hunch to look west.”
“Just covering bases. It produced shit.”
Alistair turned toward her, and in a flash his icy demeanor was replaced with a look of utter charm. “My dear, you underestimate yourself that easily?”
“Hell, no.”
“That’s my girl.” His icy expression returned. “It’s quite possible that Mr. Cochrane has an altogether different motivation. Have you heard of a CIA operation code-named Ferryman?”
“Means nothing to me.”
“Nor us, but Ferryman protocols are responsible for putting my boy on the run. And he won’t like that one bit.” While keeping his eyes fixed on Marsha and without looking at the map, he stretched out his arm and placed a finger on a country. “Keep looking west, because I think Cochrane’s motivation is to find pure gold.”
Marsha looked at the map. Alistair’s finger was positioned in North America.
THIRTEEN
D espite his best attempts not to, Will imagined that the noise of his boots crunching over ice was rather the sound of his vertebrae grinding together. Though it wasn’t carrying anything aside from the weight of Will’s muscular physique, his back was in agony from his efforts to get across a landscape that was equal parts beautiful, undulating, frozen, and terrifying. He’d trained and operated in places like this many times before, but this was different because he had no backup, no job, no identity, and no purpose beyond establishing why his former employers had turned on him.
For years he’d felt dislocated from the real world. But it was perverse compensation that the secret world had made up for that by embracing his flaws and unique talents. Now that that world no longer wanted him, he felt more alone than ever, and he could feel the weight of the planet crushing him with the heel of its boot.
At some point soon it would snap his spine in half, but not yet, because Will had to keep going to find the truth about Ferryman. Whatever the CIA operation was, there was no doubt that it had a vested interest in keeping Antaeus alive. Getting to the bottom of that reason had been plaguing Will ever since he’d walked away from the aftermath of the gunfight in Norway. He’d considered the possibility that Antaeus had been recruited by the CIA, but had immediately discounted that option because the spymaster would never betray his motherland or, more important, abandon his achieved ambition of being the West’s most formidable espionage opponent. Perhaps the Agency needed Antaeus alive as part of a bigger operation to disrupt Russia, one within which Antaeus wittingly or unwittingly played a crucial role.
No. That too just felt wrong. Antaeus couldn’t be manipulated by anyone, knowingly or otherwise, because he was always several steps ahead of even the brightest minds in Western intelligence. That left the bad-taste-in-the-mouth option. One that dovetailed with Herald’s declaration. Antaeus had recruited a high-ranking mole in the Agency, someone who was powerful enough to warn Antaeus off if danger was drawing close to him. Perhaps, given who was called in by the Agency duty officer when Will had the spymaster in his sights, that person was Charles Sheridan.
But that still
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