Black List

“Well, I do mind,” said the nun. “And if you had seen yourself with those children the way I did, you’d mind too. Is it that you have trouble establishing relationships? Is that it?”

He was convinced that somewhere in the Vatican someone was running a sales contest to get single people married. He didn’t disagree with the concept, he was just getting tired of having to defend himself. “Starting relationships isn’t my problem.”

“But finishing them is.”

Harvath nodded. “It takes a special type of woman to put up with my career.”

“What is it exactly that you do?”

“Let’s just say I travel a lot.”

“And the woman in your life couldn’t accompany you on these trips?”

An image of Riley Turner flashed into his mind, and he kept it there as he spoke. “That would take a very special woman.”

“Have you ever met such a woman?” Sister Marta asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“What happened?”

“She was killed,” he replied as the image of Riley disappeared from the forefront of his mind.

“I’m very sorry.”

“So am I,” he replied.

“At least she knew that you cared for her.”

“Actually, Sister, I’m not sure she had any idea.”

The nun turned onto a busier street, and there was a sign for the airport up ahead. “She knew, trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“It is very difficult to hide when something or someone makes us happy. Even if you had wanted to, you couldn’t have hidden how the children made you feel at breakfast.”

She was wrong, but simply by virtue of the fact that she had no idea who the man sitting in her passenger seat was. He had been trained to hide everything and to lie as if he was telling the most honest truth held in the deepest part of his soul. Had he wanted to, he could have convinced everyone, even Sister Marta herself, that he didn’t care the least bit for children.

That of course wasn’t the truth. She had caught him in a rare, unguarded moment—something he didn’t normally allow strangers to see.

“I’m not only a nun,” she continued. “I’m also a woman. Women can see many things in men that they themselves may not see or choose not to see.”

A faint smile creased his face. She was relentless. “What do you see in me then, Sister? What is it that I don’t see or don’t want to see?”

“I think you are quite complicated, but as for most men, what you want, what you truly desire, is quite simple.”

“Which is?”

“I think that—like the children God has entrusted to our orphanage—you want what all of us want. You want to be understood. You want someone to care for you and you want to have your own family.”

“I’d also like to win the lottery,” he remarked.

“Is humor something you use to avoid problems?” she asked.

It was a reflex. He didn’t even realize that he’d made the joke until the words were already out of his mouth.

“You may think it takes those kinds of odds, but it doesn’t,” Sister Marta continued. “All it takes is faith. And the best part is that when God does bring the right person into your life, it really will feel like you’ve won the lottery.”

Harvath didn’t want to argue with her. She was a wonderful, well-intentioned woman. “I’ll tell you what, Sister. If you promise to keep praying for me, I’ll keep looking. Deal?”

“I will pray for you either way,” she stated as they arrived at the private aviation section of the airport.

The nun parked her Volkswagen and led Harvath to the terminal, where she introduced him without giving his name. The pilot didn’t seem to mind and only asked if Harvath had a passport, upon which Harvath patted his backpack and nodded. He had left the wheelie bag at the orphanage and told Sister Marta to do whatever she wanted with it. He was supposed to look like a tourist who had flown up to Texas for a day of shopping, not someone who was staying overnight.

As the pilot did his preflight check and the other passengers, most of whom seemed to be acquainted, mingled, Harvath thanked Sister Marta and told her to be careful. When he asked where he should pay for his ticket, she told him not to worry, that it had already been taken care of. He wasn’t sure if Nicholas was behind it or if the nun had paid directly out of her pocket, but either way, it was money that she could have used at the orphanage.

He tried to argue with her, but she wouldn’t have it. “Keep your heart open,” she said with a smile, changing the subject on him. “When God brings someone special into your life again, grab on with both hands and don’t let go.”

Harvath laughed. He didn’t mean to, he just did. “Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Your faith in my capabilities in that area may be a bit misplaced, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“I’m in the business of faith,” she replied as the pilot signaled that the passengers could begin boarding. “I’m blessed with a never-ending supply.”

? ? ?

The flight was a bit choppy on the climb out of Monterrey, but once the plane had leveled off, it was smooth sailing all the way to Texas.

The Cessna Caravan aircraft landed at McAllen-Miller International in McAllen, Texas, and taxied to the immigration terminal. The pilot chatted amiably with the personnel in the small processing area as his passengers’ passports were scanned and stamped. Once his own passport had been scanned and stamped, he led his customers back outside to the plane for the short taxi over to the general aviation area.

In front of a blue-roofed building labeled McCreery Aviation, he shut the plane down and the gaggle of cheerful passengers disembarked. As he had done for customs and for immigration, Harvath mixed himself into the middle of the crowd. It was amazing how many Regios had blond hair and either green or blue eyes. They were also a very international set, which played well for him at immigration, because two women had girlfriends visiting from Germany and another had a male friend in from Spain. Harvath’s Italian passport didn’t even draw a second look.

Waiting just beyond the McCreery building was a fleet of stretch limousines. Their drivers were holding up pieces of paper with the names Melendez, Casas, Calleja, and Esquivel written in heavy black marker.

Harvath wasn’t looking for a name, though. He was looking for a symbol: three triangles that looked like jagged mountain peaks or a row of shark’s teeth.

Once a handful of passengers had piled into one of the limos and it pulled away, he spotted a white Ford F- 150 pickup with the three triangles painted on the side, along with the words Three Peaks Ranch.

As he moved toward it, his eyes swept the parking lot for any sign of danger. Fifteen feet from the vehicle, the driver’s side door opened and an attractive woman with long blond hair, blue jeans, and cowboy boots climbed out.

CHAPTER 31

Maggie Rose introduced herself to Harvath, and the pair shook hands. She looked to be about his age, or maybe a couple of years younger, and spoke with a Texas drawl.

“We’ve got about an hour’s drive,” she said. “Is there anything you need before we get going?”