Chapter 90

Anthony had learned not to trust his own eyes when it came to MRC, so she didn't look recognizable.

The woman now lowered her aviators and pushed back her cap, tapping once on the fencing competition credentials that hung around her neck.

A tiny, lit dot next to the printed name Jas Louis turned crimson. Jas Louis's visage distorted into a computer glitch and flashed out, or so Anthony believed.

It's you, of course.

Harper, Agent of MRC, the notorious Assassin Lioness herself, was hidden behind the projection mask, her eyes incredibly cold.

Harper.

Assassin. Agent. Warrior.

Anthony couldn't forget that face, even though he hadn't seen her since he was a child. Fire, death, and destruction had burned it into his mind. Anthony remembers it as a face capable of bringing the barriers tumbling down—and it had. It was a horrifyingly beautiful face.

It was a face that would not be forgotten, not even by a young lad. Nothing else like it existed anyplace in the world.

"What exactly is your Face tuning power?" Anthony inquired. She averted her gaze.

She didn't want her abductor—because that's exactly what she was, wasn't she?—to know how surprised she was.

Instead, Anthony kept his sentences steady. "You never returned."

Harper replied quietly, "No." She slid the glasses back up and the cap back down, even though no one could see her. She kept her true face hidden, but Anthony didn't need to be a spy to figure out that this was someone who desired to remain hidden.

Anthony sat on the roof's warm asphalt, his back to the parapet wall. She didn't say anything more for a full minute.

"You said you'd come, but you didn't." You turned me over to MRC and abandoned me to the Canadians and Americans."

"In certain quarters, that's referred to as maturing."

"I wrote you a letter. I went to the British embassy in London and tried to cash in your silly paper cat. They refused to let me in. They all laughed."

"I know. "Do you suppose they were told to do it?" Harper didn't appear to be sorry.

"But I didn't know anyone." I was by myself. Nobody gave a damn. You could have just as well left me to die."

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"Die? I didn't do it. Thank you very much. Now I realize I can only rely on myself."

"Exactly." Harper shook her head. "You're really welcome." Anthony remained silent.

Harper took a seat beside him.

"Such European issues." He pushed her against the wall.

"I know you're upset. You can be as angry as you want. But, regardless of how you feel, we need to get out of here. "All right?"

"Why should I do anything you tell me to do?"

"Because you can rely on me."

"Are you insane?" You're the only person I don't believe. You've taught me not to believe you."

"No. I told you not to put your confidence in anyone. "And you have to learn it," Harper explained. "Every boy, in particular." She sounded as obstinate as Anthony did.

"Am I meant to thank you for the lesson and then go on?"

"Things have evolved. You must now listen to me. You no longer have an option."

"Welcome to America." Big sister, I have a choice."

"You do not." Harper frowned, and for a brief moment, an expression far too human for the fabled Assassin Lioness flashed across her face.

"Not since six o'clock this morning, when Mexican customs officials flagged a passenger coming on a Panama-bound airplane."

"What, Panama?" Why?"

Harper exhaled a sigh. "Because Panama is the contemporary cartel's preferred airport." And because the country makes a lot of money cleaning up blood money."

Anthony was perplexed. "And what does any of this have to do with me?"

"Only that this traveller supposedly had over 200 Belarus Belomorkanal cigarettes on him, which had hidden files in the rolls, and also, as you undoubtedly don't know, Panama's legal limit on imported brands." Harper raised her head. "Disgusting."

"Cigarettes?" Anthony had no idea what was going on. "These aren't any ordinary cigarettes. Belomorkanal is an old brand in Moscow, where the passenger's flight appears to have originated." Harper locked his gaze on Anthony.

"After a three-hour rail journey from Odessa."

Anthony went completely still.

"That customs investigation raised another, may we say, less official flag."

This prompted one person in a specific network of unlisted and nameless pals to perform a check on an unpublished number.

"As a result, a single transmission via secure broadcast was made." Harper shook her head. "And now I'm here."

"What exactly are you saying?" Anthony was struggling to breathe.

"Thomas Miller did not pass away, Anthony. He's not in hell, where he should be. He's in America, and he intends to steal data files from the MRC and my boss, Microsoft X."

With a numbing weight, the words dropped between them. Anthony felt as if he'd been punched in the face. He believed he'd forgotten who it was, but he hadn't. He hadn't, of course. All he wanted to do was wish he could.