“What did she know?”
“Pretty much everything.”
“I have no idea, son.”
“Guess.”
Hunter scratched his chin. “Like she said, information’s out there, all of it with a price. You know what they say about a secret: once more than one person knows it…it ain’t a secret no more.”
Gage crossed his arms and looked out the window.
“You’ve built a helluva reputation, son. I get requests all the time from friends of friends wanting to hire you for all manner of missions. What you’ve pulled off since leaving the team has been nothing short of remarkable.”
“Not always remarkable,” Gage replied. He thought back to Monika’s murder, recalling the blackness of that night and the period thereafter.
Hunter read him. “Be careful, Gage. You’re doing well. You don’t have to take this job.”
“I know.”
The colonel stopped what he was doing. “Keep me posted once you’re there, will you?”
“You know I will, sir.”
The colonel retrieved two cold bottles of water from the refrigerator, handing Gage one. “You gonna take a package with you?”
“Think I should?”
“I would, because you never know. Go talk to Mike Pastore over at Delta.”
“The endurance guy?”
“Yeah, I swear that sonofagun could run all the way around the earth if there was a trail. He owes me a favor and can set you up.” Hunter scrolled through his phone. “Just sent you his contact info. I’d grab what you can from him.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
Hunter sipped his water as his eyes twinkled. “This’ll be a fun one, I suspect.”
“You think?”
“Hell yes. There’s gonna be a shitload more to all this than sitting by a dying woman’s side. Watch and see.”
“How do you know?”
“Kids or caretakers murdering a wealthy patriarch? This is gonna be a shit-show, son.”
“Shit-show, smoke-show…how many shows do you have in your lexicon?”
“It’ll be a shit-show,” the colonel said with a wink. “Watch and see.”
Hunter had never been more correct.
From that point on, Gage began his preparations. Each subsequent hour before the trip crawled as his mind was bogged down in a tangle of memories and emotions.
His flight departed on Friday at 5:35 P.M. He shouldn’t have been surprised that he was seated in Lufthansa’s international business class at the front of the aircraft. He shouldn’t have been surprised that each of the flight attendants greeted him by name. And he shouldn’t have been surprised when a uniformed Lufthansa employee received him upon arrival in Frankfurt, escorting him via golf cart to the restaurant for his rendezvous.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by any of this—but he was.
CHAPTER THREE
In Gage’s estimation, few sensations were as distinct as arriving in a foreign land after the disorientation of an overnight flight. He was usually bewildered after what amounted to a restless slumber. Upon waking, he would stagger to the airplane bathroom before cajoling a paper cup of tepid coffee from the flight attendant. Then, as his fogginess began to clear, Gage would reclaim his seat and peer out the window. Although the rational portion of the his mind knew the airplane had just traversed six time zones, the literal portion wondered how the hell the sun was already up. He experienced all these sensations and more on this late autumn morning as the jumbo jet banked steeply, turning in on its final approach to Frankfurt International Airport’s runway 25L.
Although he’d noted such distinctions so many times before, the realization that the manmade portions of Europe are far different than what a person finds in most areas of the United States struck him immediately. In the States, most houses are constructed to last decades. In Europe, they’re built to last centuries. That’s not to say that things are shoddy in the U.S., and perhaps a great deal of it has to do with the population contraction—Europeans as a whole don’t multiply like Americans do, so why build new houses? He eyed the homes and buildings sliding underneath the descending aircraft, noting that most were constructed of stone and durable materials. Even such a trivial observation sent Gage’s foggy mind out into deep water.
This is no short stay, Gage. Holy shit…six months. I’ll experience winter, and spring. I’ll be here through the holidays, through snow, and New Year’s. I’ll smell the Glühwein; I’ll eat the Stollen; I might even be here for Fasching.
But, only if Claudia lives that long…
Slow down, Gage. One day at a time.
After gently kissing the ground with the aid of a steady headwind, the big Lufthansa aircraft taxied to the gate while Gage surveyed the ramp. The ground crew wore blue and yellow uniforms, another difference from the orange and yellow he’d grown used to seeing back in the U.S. The vehicles scurrying around the gate were of a much different design and manufacture than their American counterparts. The terminal in front of Gage gleamed, sleek and modern, made of polished steel and kilometers of tinted glass. He listened with interest to the flight attendant welcoming the passengers in English and German—she was Bavarian, judging by her distinctive accent. And though German and English had been spoken over the entire flight, hearing it now that he was on the ground provided him with a splash of eagerness.
Ich bin hier.
The business class passengers were ushered off the plane first. As Gage made his way to the mid-plane exit, he paused in the open gap between the aircraft and the jet-way, taking in a great breath of German air. He was determined to get these powerful feelings out of the way—he was here to do a job—he was here for a dignified lady’s death. Gage stepped into the jet-way.
Fine. You’re here. Be an adult now. Refocus.
This was a woman who Gage hardly knew, but she obviously thought a great deal of him. He owed her the respect of his full attention.
