submarines had. In an unprecedented move, the U.S. president had ordered the submarines to surface and rescue the Russian sailors. All of them had been saved before the destroyer sank to the seabed. As a result, relations between the United States and Russia were now the best they had ever been.
What really happened would be kept secret for a long time. The U.S. president had called the Russian premier and told him about the bomb on the Russian destroyer. The conversation hadn’t been easy, but eventually he’d persuaded the Russian leader that this wasn’t an elaborate ruse with ulterior motives. He’d also told him that the Ohio submarines were the only ones that could rescue the sailors before the bomb went off. They did precisely that and sailed quickly away. The bomb had detonated, obliterating the ship, but by then the submarines had been out of the device’s range. Nevertheless, a large area of the sea had been irradiated. Russian, U.S., and European nuclear specialists were collaborating to try to clean up the fallout.
Will tossed the paper to one side.
Alistair and Patrick were right. The mission had been successful, but that success had come with a significant loss of lives. Two of them lost at his hands.
Both were MI6 officers.
Four days ago, another had taken his own life.
Krystof.
The rest had been slaughtered.
He glanced at the bare walls, the wooden floor that desperately needed some rugs to give it some color and warmth, the functional kitchen chairs, and the plain white sofa. Pulling out Korina’s necklace, he looked at it.
She’d asked him not to open it until they were together in his apartment. For a moment, he wondered what to do. He weighed it in his hand. Then he sighed and opened the pendant. Inside was a photo. It was of a man.
Svelte.
A man who had risked his life in driving snowfall to send a coded message to the West. A message that could stop a war. An act of heroism that had cost him his life.
Next to him in the photo was his beautiful daughter, Korina.
A woman who had risked everything to do the right thing. A woman Will would have wanted to get to know. A woman he was sure he could have loved.
He banged a fist on the table, causing some of the contents of the grocery bag to spill out. Shallots, chicken, garlic, and herbs. The same ingredients he’d used to prepare a meal for Korina.
He stared at the food; his fist slowly unclenched. Lifting the pendant, he held it against his cheek. A tear ran down his face; he momentarily closed his eyes.
Standing, he looked around. He hated this place. He hated everything about his life. More than anything, he hated losing Korina.
He grabbed the kitchen table and threw it against the wall with sufficient force to break it. He grabbed the chairs and broke them into pieces as well.
He slumped to the ground, still gripping the pendant. His breathing was fast, but as he held the necklace against his chest, his breathing began to slow.
His cell phone rang.
Alistair.
That could mean only one thing.
Work.
He thought about ignoring the call, instead grabbing a drink in a bar, going for a walk through London’s streets, perhaps catching an evening show at a theater.
Will Cochrane desperately wanted to do those things.
But not alone.
With someone special.
Spartan answered the call.
