'The farm run by the Viatus Corporation.'
'So far the deaths of the two Americans-Jason and his professor-are tied to that project. How and why we don't know. But that's where we need to extend the investigation. We need more details. Information that can only be found in one place.'
'You're talking about Viatus itself.'
'There's a conference starting tomorrow in Oslo. The World Food Summit. The CEO of Viatus, Ivar Karlsen, is speaking at the conference. Someone needs to corner him, get him to talk, to open up about the true nature of the research that was under way in Africa.'
'I've heard about Karlsen's reputation. He's no pushover. Strong-arming him will get you nowhere.'
'I understand.'
'He also has powerful friends-including here in the U.S.'
'I'm well aware of that.'
Painter had a complete dossier on the man and his company. Viatus had made vast inroads into the United States: financing a biofuel consortium in the Midwest, partnering with a major petrochemical company that produced fertilizers and herbicides, and of course sharing several lucrative patents with Monsanto for genetically modified seed strains.
Metcalf continued. 'In fact, I already know about the summit in Oslo. A mutual friend of ours will be attending. Someone who's been riding DARPA for answers to his son's murder.'
'Senator Gorman?' That surprised Painter.
'He's already in Oslo. Despite the circumstances surrounding his son's death, he remains a close associate of Ivar Karlsen. You don't want to make either man angry. Any interrogation of Karlsen will have to be done with the greatest discretion.'
'I understand. Then that further supports the second reason I asked for this meeting.'
'And what's that?'
'Due to the delicate nature of the matter and the threat of international ramifications, I'd like to conduct Karlsen's interview myself.'
Metcalf hadn't expected that. He took a moment to digest the request. 'You want to go out into the field? To Oslo?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Who will oversee Sigma while you're gone?'
'Kathryn Bryant. She's been acting as my second-in-command. She has a background in Naval Intelligence with ties throughout the international communities. She'll be perfectly suited to maintain command and coordinate any field op.'
Metcalf leaned back as he pondered this plan.
Painter knew the man had a firm code about personal accountability. It was why he had climbed so swiftly up the ranks in the Armed Forces. Painter pressed that very issue now.
'You've already explained how thin the ice is under Sigma,' he said with conviction. 'Give us this chance to prove ourselves. And if this blows up, let it be by my own hand. I'll take full responsibility.'
Metcalf remained silent. He again fixed Painter with that steely gaze. Painter matched it, as firm and unyielding.
A slight nod and the man stood up. He held out his hand this time. Painter shook it across his desk.
Before Metcalf let go, he squeezed a notch harder. 'Tread lightly over there, Director Crowe. And speak just as softly.'
'Don't worry. It's what my ancestors are known for. We're very light-footed.'
This earned a small crooked smile as Metcalf let go and headed toward the door. 'Perhaps. But in this case, I was referring to Teddy Roosevelt.'
As the general left, Painter remained standing. He had to give the guy credit. He was right about Teddy. The motto was fitting for any agent heading out into the field.
Speak softly-but carry a big stick.
4:10 P.M.
'And those were the words Director Crowe used?' Kat asked.
Monk stood in front of her. She was seated on the sofa in her office. 'His exact words. He needs a big stick.'
'But do you have to be that big stick?'
Monk crossed to her and dropped to one knee, getting eye-to-eye with his wife. He knew this was going to be a hard sell. He had spoken to Painter thirty minutes ago. The director had offered Monk a field position, to accompany the big man himself to Oslo, Norway. Still, it had taken until now to get up enough courage to broach the subject with Kat.
'It's really nothing more than a glorified interview,' Monk promised. 'Like I've been doing here in the States these last months. This assignment's only a little farther away.'
She wouldn't meet his eye. She stared down at her hands, which were clenched together in her lap. Her voice was low. 'Yeah, and look how easy your last assignment ended up being.'
Monk scooted closer and pushed between her knees. 'We all made it out safely.'
In fact, he had just checked on Andrea Solderitch. She'd already been moved to a guarded location, protected by Homeland, personally watched over by Scot Harvath, an agent Monk fully trusted to keep her safe.
'That's not the point,' Kat said.
Monk recognized that. He reached forward, slid his hands under the bottom of her blouse, and gently palmed her bare belly. Her skin was hot under his palms. She trembled at his touch.
'I know the point,' Monk said huskily. 'My memory might be a little like Swiss cheese, but I don't forget what's truly important, not for one second of any day. And that's why I'm going to make sure nothing happens.'
'You can't control everything.'
Monk stared up at her. 'Neither can you, Kat.'
Her eyes remained wounded. He knew how hard she had fought to watch over him during his recovery, how she hated being apart. Even now. Her protectiveness was born out of raw fear. For months she had believed Monk was dead. He could only imagine what that must have been like. So, though it wasn't healthy for either of them, he didn't press the matter.
Even now, he refused to force her hand.
If she didn't want him to go, he wouldn't.
'I hate the idea of you out in the field,' Kat said. She pulled his hands out of her shirt and clutched them tightly between hers. 'But I'd hate myself more for telling you not to.'
'You don't have to tell me,' he said quietly, suddenly feeling selfish. 'You know that. I get it. There will be other missions. When we're both ready.'
Kat stared hard at him. Then she sagged slightly, rolled her eyes, and reached out to grab the back of his head. She pulled him forward. Her lips hovered over his. 'Always the martyr, aren't you, Kokkalis?'
'What-?'
She silenced him with her lips, pressing hard, parting her mouth, tasting him. Then she pulled back, leaving him gasping, leaning forward for more.
'Just make sure you come back with all your parts intact this time,' she said, poking his prosthetic with a finger.
Always the slower of the two, Monk struggled to catch up with her thoughts. 'Are you saying-?'
'Oh, dear God, Monk. Yes, you can go.'
Joy, along with a large measure of relief, swept through him. He cracked a huge smile, but it just as suddenly slipped into something more lascivious.
Kat read his thoughts and pressed a finger over his mouth. 'No, not even one joke about you being a big stick.'
'Oh, c'mon, babe...would I do that?'
She removed her finger, leaned down, and kissed him again. He slid his hands under her rear and dragged her onto his lap.
