Christopher Reich - Rules of Vengeance

“But how did they find you?”

“It was you.”

“Me?”

“You called. It was in April. They had your phone in their system.”

“But that’s impossible. I bought that phone in Nairobi. No one called me except my colleagues at camp.”

“I told you. They have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“But it was just the once…”

“That’s all they needed. They got my number, my GPS coordinates. They engineered a phony meet. They used the name of an old contact. Someone they knew I would trust. As I said, I broke every rule.”

“I’m sorry.” Jonathan sat down, crestfallen.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should never have kept the phone. The fact is that I wanted you to call. I wanted you to tell me that you had to see me. The hard part about running is that after a while you get tired. You forget that they’re there even if you can’t see them. You get lazy. Or, worse, sentimental.”

“And him?”

“Blakemore? He’s dead.” Emma said the words without emotion. It was her agent’s voice, the one she used when she talked about her work, businesslike and matter-of-fact, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about a man putting a knife into your side and you killing him in the ensuing struggle.

Jonathan looked on as Emma rubbed a finger across the scar. He saw a faint smile trace her lips. Where the hell did that come from? he wondered. A sense of victory? Survival? Revenge?

“I can go somewhere,” he said. “I can hide. After a couple of years, they’ll give up.”

Emma shook her head but said nothing.

“There has to be a way,” he continued.

Emma walked to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes. “Do you have any idea what it took to see you this evening? Can you even begin to imagine the risks I ran to get into this room tonight? Sure, I may know my way around a locked door, but I can’t outguess every goon in town. You know what the first thing is that they teach you? In every op, you only get one chance: your first and your last. I’ve used up my nine lives, Jonathan. I’m running on faith. What I did tonight was just plain stupid. The problem is that I knew it all along and still I did it. I had to see you. You’re dangerous, Jonathan. You’re my poison.” Emma let go of him and walked toward the window. She stood, framed by the dawn sky, the curtains billowing gently around her bare legs. She turned to look over her shoulder and smiled sadly. “Emma Ransom died tonight.”

Jonathan stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He had mourned her once. He knew the misery that came with the loss of a spouse. But somehow this was worse. The idea that Emma was out there alive somewhere and that he could not see her was too much. A profound sadness settled on him.

They stood that way for a long time, watching as the sun warmed the trees in Hyde Park and the horses and their riders appeared along the serpentine trails, listening as the impatient, mechanized sounds of the city rose around them.

Emma’s phone rang. Without a word, she freed herself from Jonathan’s arms and found her phone. She checked the incoming number, then looked up at him. In an instant her disposition had changed. Her eyes stared at him with abandon, as if he were a stranger or, worse, the enemy.

Emma turned away and walked into the bathroom. She did not answer the phone until she’d closed the door behind her. When she came out two minutes later, the transformation was complete. She was no longer Mrs. Jonathan Ransom. She was the woman he had discovered went by the call sign Nightingale, a former operative for the United States government, and now a fugitive at large.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, gathering up her clothes in her arms.

“Who was that?”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

Emma sidestepped him, but Jonathan quickly blocked her path. “Where are you going when you leave here?” he demanded.

“Get out of my way.”

“In a second. First tell me where you’re going.”

Emma lowered her eyes and began to walk around him. Jonathan grasped her arm. “I asked you a question.”

“And I gave you an answer. It doesn’t concern you. Please, Jonathan-”

“You didn’t come here to say goodbye to me. You’re on assignment or whatever they call it. You have it written all over you. One second you’re Emma-I mean, my Emma-the next you belong to them. Who was that on the phone?”

“Let go of me, Jonathan.”

The words were spoken crisply and with an absence of emotion that angered him that much more. Jonathan yanked her toward him, causing her to drop her clothes to the floor. “I want to know where you’re going.”

Suddenly the world was in motion. His feet were rising, his head was rushing at the carpet, and his arms were searching for something to grab on to. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Hastily Emma scooped up her clothing and walked into the bathroom. The door slammed and he heard the lock engage.

Jonathan struggled to his feet and lumbered toward the bathroom. If she thought the matter was finished, she was mistaken. He was through letting her dictate the terms of their relationship. She couldn’t just pop in and pop out of his life whenever she felt like it.

Emma’s cell phone lay on the carpet, half hidden beneath the sofa. Evidently it had fallen from her clothes when he’d boorishly tugged her toward him. He glanced at the bathroom door, picked it up, and hit the send button. The number of the incoming call appeared on the screen. A text message was attached and it read: “Package ready for pickup. ETA 11:15. Parking arranged. LT 52 OXC Vxhl. Meet WS 17:00.”

He accessed the call register and scrolled through the calls she’d received. He saw the same number again, and others listed as “restricted.” He thumbed to the second page and saw a familiar international country code: 33, for France. He didn’t recognize the city code. He scrolled down and saw that the call had been made a week ago.

A loud noise came from the bathroom. Hurriedly Jonathan returned the phone to the floor and busied himself dressing. Emma emerged a moment later, looking distressed. “Where is it? Where’s my phone?”

“I have no idea.”

“Bullshit. You took it.”

Jonathan repeated his denial, but Emma wasn’t listening. She marched past him and grabbed the phone from where he’d put it beneath the sofa. “Tell me you didn’t take this and I’ll believe you.”

“I didn’t take it,” lied Jonathan.

“Thank you,” said Emma, softening. “Believe me, it’s better this way.”

Jonathan stared at her, not answering.

“I’ve decided to tell you where I’m going,” she said.

“Why the change of heart?”

Emma approached him, cocking her head. “I don’t want us to part on bad terms. That was a friend who called me. Someone who’s helping keep me safe. He’s set it up for me to leave the country this morning. I’m catching a flight from City Airport at ten. I’m going to Dublin. I won’t be staying long. From there, I don’t even know myself.”

“I guess I’ll have to be happy with that.” But in his mind, he had a dozen other questions. What was “the package”? Whose estimated time of arrival was 11:15? What did LT S2 OXC mean? And finally, who was Emma supposed to meet “at WS at 17:00”?

Emma stared at him from beneath her brow. It was her way of showing that she wanted peace. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you,” she said. “No matter what you may hear about me in the future, no matter what people say, you must always believe that.”

Jonathan put his arms around her and hugged her to him. Finally Emma pushed herself away.