I press “play” on the video on the screen, and a minute in, I realize Henderson’s wife is not insane—and that while she’s left the agency, the agency’s never left her.
88
Sara
I pace around the Esguerras’ dining room, anxiety drilling a hole in my chest. Nora and Yulia are both here, as is the young guard, Diego. He’s receiving live updates about the ongoing operation through his headphones, so I know that Peter has just entered the restaurant, braving the likely trap.
“He’s talking to her now,” Diego says, glancing up from his laptop screen after twenty agonizing minutes, and I rush over to see a blurry image of a man who looks nothing like Peter sitting across from a thin woman.
“This is from a long-range camera,” Diego explains. “We don’t want to spook them by getting too close.”
“But all is still quiet?” Yulia asks, leaning over his shoulder, and he nods.
“Henderson’s spooks are either preternaturally good—or there’s no one around.”
I look over at Nora. Unlike Yulia and me, she’s sitting quietly, not asking questions. If not for her death grip on Lizzie’s stroller, I’d think she was taking all this in stride.
Turning my attention back to the screen, I see that disguised Peter and the woman are still talking.
“Don’t worry,” Yulia says to me quietly. “If anyone in the restaurant so much as sneezes wrong, our snipers will get them.”
“Yes, I know.” A dry smile tugs at my lips. “It’s amazing how reassuring having snipers can be.”
She smiles back, and we share a moment. When I glance over at Nora, however, she’s not looking at either of us.
Of course. With all this, I’d forgotten that she’s on the outs with Yulia.
I wonder if she resents the fact that I’m not.
“He’s coming out of the restaurant,” Diego says suddenly, and my gaze snaps back to the screen.
Sure enough, Peter’s already on the street.
Diego falls silent, listening intently to whatever information the London team’s relaying to him, and as I watch a big smile creep across his face, my knees go weak with relief.
The email was from Henderson’s wife.
Peter and the others are safe.
89
Henderson
I’m going over the logistics for our operation on Saturday when a notification pops up on my screen. It’s an email from my CIA contact.
Sorry, the subject line reads.
Everything inside me turns to ice as I see the text and the video attachment it’s forwarding.
Feeling like I’m about to vomit, I press “play.”
My daughter’s dirty, tear-streaked face fills the screen. “Daddy,” she sobs as the camera zooms out, showing her tied to a chair in a nondescript room with white walls. “Daddy, please help me. They said they’ll kill us. Please, Daddy, help!”
The video cuts out, leaving me wheezing for air.
Sokolov has her. He has all of them.
It’s now a fact.
Shaking, I read the forwarded text.
You know what I want, it says. Plaza de Bolivar, Bogotá, 3pm Thursday. Be there or watch her die.
I expected this, knew it had to be coming, but it still hits me like a punch to the gut.
Amber. My sweet, loyal daughter.
That monster will kill her. He won’t spare her, even if I do what he says.
There’s no more time to plan the logistics, no chance to work out the kinks.
Operation Air Drop can’t wait until Saturday.
It has to happen tonight.
90
Sara
“Do you think it could still be a trap?” I ask Nora as we’re swimming in her Olympic-sized pool an hour later. With the immediate crisis over, Yulia has gone back to her room, tactfully sparing Nora her presence, so it’s just the two of us by the mansion’s gorgeous lanai.
Well, and Rosa with Lizzie, but they’re both napping in the shade.
“Anything’s possible, but Julian doesn’t think so,” Nora replies, flopping over to float on her back. Her body in a bikini is so sleek and athletic, it’s hard to believe she had a child only months earlier.
I’m wearing a bikini too—one that I borrowed from Yulia, as we’re closer in size despite the height difference. The shorts and T-shirts I’ve been wearing indeed turned out to be Yulia’s. She forgot them at Kent’s house when they moved to Cyprus, and she’s more than happy that I’m getting some use out of them.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she told me when we spoke about the clothes this morning. “Lucas keeps a suitcase full of my stuff on our plane, just in case, so I’m fully equipped.”
Turning my attention back to Nora, I ask, “What about what’s happening tomorrow? Does Julian think Henderson will actually show up in Bogotá?”
“That’s the hope,” she says, turning over to swim with a strong freestyle stroke. I’m a decent swimmer, but I have to strain to keep up with her as she cuts through the water, reaching the side of the pool in no time.
It’s clear that she doesn’t want to talk about this topic, but I can’t bring myself to leave it alone. “What if he doesn’t?” I ask when she slows down. “He didn’t turn himself over for any of the hostages.”