Evocatus II Bloodline: Evocatus, #2

By Steven J. Daniels

This second book of the Evocatus Series begins three years after 9/11. Lauren Hunter is living the good life on the French Riviera—a world away from Tel Aviv, Israel where her estranged son Ryan is a CIA officer.

 

Ryan Hunter believes his mother, a Port Authority police officer, was killed in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on 9/11. He has no idea Lauren was part of a clandestine black operation responsible for the attacks.

 

Ryan is shown evidence his mother is alive and leaves the CIA to search for her. He is unaware a sinister group of elitists known as The Ring is attempting to locate and silence Lauren and her fellow conspirators.

 

The Ring has hired former US Army Delta Force member Nate Lashlie to lead a group of mercenaries on a mission to follow Ryan to his mother and force her to reveal the location of her former 9/11 compatriots. They have orders to kill them all and collect the bounty.

 

Ryan enlists the help of a fellow CIA officer, a former White House terrorism czar, and an NSA deputy director in the race to find his mother ahead of the mercenaries.

 

This fast-paced suspense thriller takes the reader on an exciting worldwide quest as a son struggles to find and save his long-lost mother from certain death.

 

Along the way, he learns the shocking truth she vowed to keep secret. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Unknown Publishing Company
• Release date: Nov 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201076498

Steven J. Daniels

Steven J. Daniels transitioned from a comedy writer/performer to an author of mystery and political thriller novels. He has worked in the entertainment industry, professional sports, law enforcement, commercial aviation, and politics providing him a unique perspective on life. He lives outside Toronto with his family.

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evocatus  n. Latin  - A veteran Roman legionnaire called again to service

Novels by Steven J. Daniels

Evocatus Series

Evocatus Inception

Evocatus Bloodline

Evocatus Stratagem

Standalone

Weeds in The Garden of Love

Evocatus Bloodline

Copyright © 2021 Steven J. Daniels

Published by The Unknown Publishing Company

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. Your support of the rights of authors is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Businesses, locations, and organizations, while real, are used in a purely fictional manner. Names, characters, characterizations, and dialogue are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

"AND YE SHALL KNOW THE TRUTH AND

THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE."

JOHN VIII-XXXII

Etched in stone in the original headquarters building of

The Central Intelligence Agency

Inspired by actual events

ONE

Ryan

October 2004

Vehicle tires screeched and car horns blared outside her apartment building in Tel Aviv. Ryan rolled over. Hannah’s dark chocolate-brown hair cascaded down her perfect olive-skinned back. He moved her hair aside and kissed her neck. She nudged back against him.

Mmm, Hannah said. You are ready again.

Not my fault—he has a mind of his own. Hannah giggled. Ryan glanced over her shoulder at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The numbers were flashing. Dammit!

Hannah rolled over to face him. What is problem?

The power musta gone off. Ryan leaned over her and picked up his wristwatch from the nightstand. Oh, man, I’m gonna be late!

Hannah wrapped her arms around him and hooked her leg over his backside. She pulled him in against her naked groin. If already late, why not be later?

Ryan kissed her and then pulled away. I can’t, Hannah. Any other time you know I would, but I—I can’t miss this meeting. He leaped out of bed and threw on his clothes. He hopped on one leg as he pulled on a shoe. You know I’d rather stay here with you.

Hannah nuzzled down under the sheet. I know.

Ryan stopped at the bedroom door and turned back. I’ll make it up to you.

Hannah fixed her eyes on him. This—I also know.

* * * * *

Tel Aviv CIA Station Chief Harlan Jenkins strode out of his office to his secretary’s desk. Has Hunter called in, Val?

I was about to call you, Harlan. He’s on his way. Said his cab had a flat.

When his royal f**kin’ highness decides to show up—send him right in.

Do you and Agent Bitton need more coffee?

No. What we need is Hunter. Harlan stormed away to his office.

Harlan’s a dick, Val thought.

Back in his office, Harlan sat down at the conference table across from Avi Bitton. Claims his cab had a flat tire, Avi.

You don’t believe him.

I don’t. Hunter’s a cowboy* and ignores normal procedures. He’s a handful to manage. (*slang term for a rebellious and uncontrollable officer)

I take it your Ryan Hunter does not like rules, Mr. Jenkins.

No, but he’s new to this station. I’ll tune him in.

Sometimes, Mr. Jenkins, my best men break rules to get job done.

I enforce rules to save lives, Avi.

Out in the main office, Ryan rushed in and stopped at Val’s desk. What’d you tell him, Val?

Your cab had a flat. Good luck.

You’re a doll. Ryan hurried into Harlan Jenkin’s office. Hi, Chief. Thanks for waiting for me. My cab had—

Harlan interrupted him. Nice of you to join us, Hunter. This is Avi Bitton of the Mossad*. (*Israeli Intelligence Agency)

Avi, Ryan said and sat down. Cool lookin’ guy, he thought.

Listen up, Hunter, Harlan said. We’ve been discussing intel on a bomb plot. Avi will fill you in.

We have received reliable information, Avi said. Soon Palestinian terrorists will attack American and Israeli tourists in Eilat on Red Sea

Any indication of tangos*? Ryan asked. (*targets)

Not as yet, Avi replied. There are many tourist destinations in area. We continue to search for information.

Harlan sat up straight. Avi has requested our help, Ryan. I volunteered you. You’ll team up with two of his agents in Eilat.

Nothing like a free trip to a Red Sea resort, huh, Chief?

Harlan pointed at Ryan. Listen, Hunter, you’d better get f**kin’ serious about this one. You’re new to the region. The Gulf of Aqaba is a powder keg. Israel, Egypt, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia all converge there and there’s all kinda s**t in play.

Mr. Jenkins is correct, Avi said. You are heading to dangerous place. Only trust my Mossad agents. Avi handed Ryan a business card. My agents will meet you at airport in Eilat and ask you if you want tour of botanical gardens. Look on back of card. Your code word response and my personal mobile there for you.

Ryan turned the card over. Thanks.

That’s it, Hunter, Harlan said. Val has your travel details. And, for once, don’t be a f**kin’ cowboy.

All right, Sheriff. Best I saddle up and hightail it outa here. Harland glared at Ryan. Avi covered his mouth and snickered.

Ryan left Harlan’s office and went down the hallway. I gotta phone Hannah and tell her I’ll be out of town. Katie Turner came out of the break room carrying a cup of coffee. Hey, Katie, Ryan said. Busy day?

Dario and I have a couple of meetings around town. What are you up to?

Headin’ down to Eilat for a meet with the Mossad. They have intel on a bomb plot.

Saw Avi Bitton come in this morning, so I figured something was goin’ on. Oh, and I hope she was worth it.

You hope who was worth it?

The woman you were with last night. I hope she was worth the wrath of Jenkins.

Ryan smiled. Hannah certainly was.

You were with Hannah again? Are you guys an item?

We simply enjoy each other’s company, Katie.

Don’t s**t me, Hunter. You guys are getting serious.

Ryan tapped his wristwatch. I gotta go.

All right, you’re off the hook—for now. Oh, did those guys brief you on the Triangle*? (*slang term for Eilat-Aqaba Region)

They did, and before you say anything, Katie, I’ll be careful.

You keep your head up, cowboy, and remember not all bad guys wear black hats.

I will. See ya soon. Ryan stopped at Val’s desk. He waited until she hung up the phone. Thanks for coverin’ for me, Val.

You’re welcome, Ryan, but a word to the wise. Harlan has made it clear he doesn’t like you. That’s why he’s sending you on this dodgy mission. If you keep pissin’ him off, he’ll make your life even more miserable. I’ve seen him do it before.

I’m gonna outlive the son-of-a-b****h and totally piss him off. You got my travel?

Val pulled a manila envelope out of her desk drawer. Your plane leaves for Eilat this afternoon out of Ben Gurion. Oh, and this came in for you. She handed him a FedEx envelope.

Ryan checked the return address. New York. I wonder who’s sending me international love letters?

Val waved him away. Don’t miss your flight, lover boy.

Ryan stopped at his desk and opened the envelope. There were two letters inside. He checked the return address on the first one. Hmm, New York law firm. He tore open the envelope and read the letter. My mom set up a trust fund for me. How cool is that? He opened the second envelope containing a letter from a Swiss Bank. Ryan read the letter and stopped. He flopped down in his desk chair, read the letter again, and tossed it on the desk. Holy s**t! he whispered. I’m a multi-millionaire. He paused. And as Avi said, ‘heading to dangerous place’.

* * * * *

Ryan’s Arkia Airlines flight from Tel Aviv parked outside the main terminal of Ovda Red Sea Airport. He stopped at the bottom of the airstairs to put on his sunglasses. An attractive young woman was standing beside a black SUV. Good afternoon, sir. Would you like to take tour of botanical gardens?

That’s the right question. Only if the Goldilocks are in bloom, Ryan replied.

Yes, sir, they are, the woman said.

Good. Let’s go.

A man wearing a black suit stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door for Ryan. The woman climbed in beside him."

Ryan held out his hand. Ryan Hunter.

She shook his hand. Kayla. Pleasure, Mr. Hunter.

Please call me, Ryan. And the pleasure is mine, Ms... sorry, no last name?

Kayla is good.

What’s the plan, Kayla?

We go and meet my partner Ben and we brief you. Much has changed in the past hours.

That’s normal in the Middle East, huh, Kayla?

That is why we are always vigilant.

* * * * *

In a hotel room in Eilat, Kayla introduced Ryan to her partner. Nice to meet you, Ryan, Ben said. Please sit. I bring you up to speed on what we know. Can I get you water?

No, thanks, Ben. I’m good.

Here’s the— Ben’s cell phone chirped. He opened it and checked the number. Excuse. Ben listened, spoke in Hebrew, and then folded his phone. We get update. Palestinians not bombing here. Across border in Taba. We must go.

Egypt, right? Ryan asked.

Yes, Kayla replied.

No trouble crossing?

Ben held up his camera. We are tourists who want to do sightseeing.

* * * * *

On the way down the coast to Taba, Kayla and Ben filled him in on the bombers. They are Palestinians, but they recruit both Egyptians and Bedouins, Ben said. They use car or truck bombs. They tried to enter Israel last night but were refused. Guards check their vehicles, found no devices, and could not hold them. They identified one of the terrorists. He is well-known bomb maker—Iyad Saleh.

You guys know his signature, Ryan said.

For sure, Kayla said. He’s been active for years. We suspect he blew up bus in Cairo last year. He and his group buy old TNT from Bedouins in Sinai. Lots there from the wars.

These guys connected to al-Qaeda? Ryan asked.

We suspect only, Kayla replied.

Where do you think these guys’ll hit? Ryan asked.

Our Egyptian contact is not sure, Ben replied. There are rumors Iyad will bomb tourist campsite. Baddiyah site is most popular with Israelis. We pick up our contact and go there first.

Did your government put out warnings? Ryan asked.

Yes, Kayla replied. But most people ignore. Israelis are used to warnings about bombings. Many decide to live their lives and not fear.

I understand, Ryan said. Makes sense when you know the odds.

* * * * *

Ben turned onto a side street in downtown Taba. There is contact, Ben said. He pulled the SUV over to the curb. An Egyptian man climbed into the front seat beside him. What is latest, Nour? Ben asked.

Still campsite, Nour replied. Best bet Baddiyah.

Ryan listened to Nour’s heavy Egyptian accent from the backseat. There’s something about this guy, he thought. I shouldn’t worry. The Mossad musta checked him out.

They drove for a half-hour down the Red Sea coast and stopped at the guard gate for the Baddiyah campsite. Let’s go, Nour, Ben said. We show them photos of bombers.

Nour and Ben went over to the guards and explained the situation. You trust this Nour? Ryan asked Kayla.

Of course not, he’s Egyptian.

I imagine you have a thorough vetting process for contacts.

We do, but best to remain wary. People can turn.

True, Kayla, and they sell you out for all kinds of reasons.

Especially in Middle East.

Your phone has a picture of a young girl on it. Your daughter?

My daughter Shira, Kayla replied. She’s ten.

She’s cute as a button. You’re married?

I was. My husband was officer in Sayeret Matkal*. He was killed in Lebanese rocket attack up North. (*Special Forces Unit of the Israeli Defense Forces)

Sorry for your loss, Kayla.

Thank you.

Your husband must have been something special to be part of that unit.

He was—and special to me too. Kayla’s cell phone chirped. She said something in Hebrew and hung up her phone. She rolled down the car window and yelled at Ben in Hebrew. Kayla turned to Ryan. Two bombings. One at campsite called Ras al-Shitan and other at restaurant Moon Island Resort. Sources suspect Taba’s next.

Ben and Nour ran back to the SUV and jumped in. The tires churned out dust and gravel as they fishtailed out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Kayla was filling in Ben on the bombings when her phone chirped. She listened and hung up. Bomb explode outside Baddiyah camp. Bombers turned away by guards. No one hurt.

Are we lucky or what? Ryan asked.

Guards too, Ben replied. They are lucky we show them photos of bombers.

Nour, Kayla said. Where do you think they bomb in Taba?

Nour was dazed. We were at campground and bomb could have—

Kayla interrupted him. Nour! Where in Taba?

Tourist hotel.

Which hotel, Nour? Ben asked.

Nour turned to him. Hilton. Big target. Go quick. Many tourists.

* * * * *

They entered Taba and sped along Nuweibaa-Taba road. Nour pointed. There is Hilton. Turn on next road.

The tires squealed as Ben wheeled onto the hotel access road. He sped up the ramp to the front of the hotel and screeched to a stop under the canopy. Let’s go, he said. Assume this is trap. Be ready for anything. First, we must clear people away from lobby. Is most ideal strike-point.

Kayla, Ben, and Ryan rushed into the hotel lobby. Where’s Nour? Ryan asked.

Kayla shrugged her shoulders. Ben looked back. Not here.

A vehicle crashed through the front doors and into the lobby. Incoming! Ryan yelled and hit the floor. The lobby shook from the explosive shock wave. A deluge of debris crashed around Ryan before he lost consciousness.

TWO

Nate

As per instructions, Nate Lashlie exited the elevator on the 42nd Floor. He turned right, located office number 4224, and punched the code into the keypad. The windowless room was pitch black except for ceiling pot lights illuminating a chair and a small table.

A speaker on the table clicked and a man’s voice said, Right on time, Mr. Lashlie. Delta Force* trained you well. Please have a seat. You will notice a file folder in front of you. It contains a detailed dossier on our subject. (*U.S. Army Special Forces Unit)

Nate opened the folder. A photograph was paper clipped to the top page. He peered up at the video camera mounted in a corner near the ceiling. When was this taken?

A few weeks ago. A handsome young man—wouldn’t you agree?

Nate checked the dossier. Six two and one-eighty? He’s a tall drink of water. Says here he was on the dean’s list in college, graduated top of his class at spook school, and is an expert marksman. You guys are thorough.

Now down to business, Mr. Lashlie.

Nate tossed the file folder onto the table. Is the plan ready to go?

It is, but we have received some unfortunate news. Ryan Hunter is missing in the Middle East. He was in the Hilton Hotel in Taba, Egypt during the recent bombing. Our friends are keeping us informed.

S**t. Wasn’t the CIA supposed to keep him safe?

They were, Mr. Lashlie, but someone ignored the message.

Who was the idiot?

That is our concern, Mr. Lashlie, not yours.

This guy is such a prick, Nate thought. Is Hunter aware he’s inherited a s**tload of money from his dead mother?

Yes, but the money has not been transferred to him. Her former law firm is arranging a meeting. Of course, this Taba situation will delay that.

Nate folded his arms. You said the plan was ready to go, so what is it?

As you are aware, Mr. Lashlie, we suspect many of our former contractors obtained secret identities unknown to us. They have not used the post-nine-eleven IDs we supplied them.

Smart f**kin’ spooks.

That’s why we hired them. Our investigation has confirmed Woody Travis committed suicide, but we suspect Lauren Hunter, Sam Saunders, and the others are still alive.

What about that Mick Taylor, guy?

Him too. We also suspect during the confusion of nine-eleven, their off-shore bank accounts were transferred to their new identities.

And you’d like to have your money back.

We don’t care about the money, Mr. Lashlie. Our concern is the elimination of witnesses. These people planned and executed the nine-eleven mission and with so many people involved, a security breach is inevitable.

Nate smiled at the camera. Mark Twain said three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

"Benjamin Franklin said it first in Poor Richard’s Almanac, Mr. Lashlie, but let’s not digress. These former CIA operatives downloaded computer files on nine-eleven in Building Seven of the World Trade Center. This had made certain people nervous."

That’s the Solomon Brothers building, right? Came down late in the afternoon on nine-eleven.

That is correct. The building was scheduled for an earlier demolition, which has led us to conclude the download of the files caused the delay. Our audit software on the files confirmed our suspicions. We know when they were accessed.

Did they know the computer files contained incriminating evidence?

They did, Mr. Lashlie. We told them we wanted Building Seven brought down to destroy computer files. They put two and two together.

So you’re concerned the information will be leaked to the media.

Not at all. We control the media, and, besides, the files have symmetric key encryption making them near impossible to read without the key.

But, as you know, good hackers can crack any key which is why you’re paranoid about what’s in the files.

We are never paranoid, Mr. Lashlie. We simply don’t like loose ends that threaten our anonymity.

Nate shook his head. You guys should have never trusted f**kin’ spooks.

We trusted them to be loyal, Mr. Lashlie, and they disappointed us. They also underestimated us. They trusted the fog of nine-eleven would hide their download. This will prove to be an unfortunate error on their part. We want these nine-eleven operatives to be eliminated as soon as possible.

Something you guys planned to do right after nine-eleven?

Yes, but they obtained covert IDs and disappeared.

Lauren Hunter is the prime target?

She is, Mr. Lashlie. We require you to convince her to reveal the whereabouts of her co-conspirators.

Not a problem.

You sound confident, Mr. Lashlie.

I am. She won’t hesitate when we have a gun to her son’s head. There’s one big problem, however. Lauren Hunter is an experienced spook with foolproof ID. She is elusive and smart, so she’ll be difficult to find.

That’s why we’re using her CIA son to find her. Word is, he’s an excellent investigator and—we’ll motivate him.

How do plan to do that?

We’ll convince Ryan Hunter his late mother is, in fact, alive and in grave danger.

You’ll need proof to convince him.

Proof is forthcoming, Mr. Lashlie.

Should come from someone he trusts.

It will.

Nate opened the file folder. From what I know about this Ryan Hunter, he’ll want to play the f**kin’ hero and save his mommy. Which means he’s gonna lead me and my boys right to her.

Mr. Hunter is a fully-trained CIA officer. You will have to stay close when he begins his search.

We’ll stick to him like a handshake in a glue factory.

Good. Your mission will be complete once you terminate all the nine-eleven operatives.

With extreme prejudice.

That’s what traitors deserve, Mr. Lashlie. Our previous discussion on loyalty is something to always keep in mind.

Nate gave the camera a dark look. We’ll carry out your orders to the letter—sir.

And you will be paid handsomely for your efforts. I needn’t remind you of the bounties we have placed on these people. You and your men will receive substantial compensation for each confirmed kill.

Which we look forward to collecting.

This arrangement will prove to be beneficial for all of us, but never forget, we will be watching.

Got it.

Good. Have a pleasant stay here in New York, Mr. Lashlie.

* * * * *

Lewis Myers entered the CIA Director’s outer office and his secretary waved at him. Go on in, sir. He’s expecting you.

Thanks, Nicole. You’re lookin’ good today.

Thank you, sir. Up yours, Lewis, she thought.

CIA Director Darius Campbell was on his desk phone. What the f**k do you mean you don’t know where he is? He paused. Lewis is here, Palmer. Call me the minute you hear anything.

Lewis stood by the credenza. Darius hung up the phone and wiped his face with his hands. Palmer said that idiot station chief in Tel Aviv doesn’t know any more than we do. He doesn’t even know if Ryan’s alive for f**k sake.

Why the hell did Jenkins send him out on a dangerous mission?

Harlan Jenkins isn’t onside, and I’ve heard he doesn’t like Ryan. Thinks he’s insubordinate.

Lewis picked up a model of a Gulfstream Five business jet. "Well, he’s right about that, Darius. Ryan is a handful to manage. He held up the model aircraft. This is a nice lookin’ aircraft, Darius."

Should be delivered next week. You said Cairo Station called, Lewis?

One of the Mossad agents with Ryan was killed in the blast. No ID yet.

S**t. We gotta find him. I don’t have to tell you how important that is.

I’ll stay on top of Palmer, and make sure ops has the best people on this, Darius. I’m also calling in a favor from some of our friends over there.

All right. Needless to say, but keep me up to speed.

Lewis placed the aircraft model back on the credenza. You know it, boss.

I gotta go, Lewis. The White House wants a briefing on this.

* * * * *

Lauren Hunter waited on the platform of Nice Riquier Station for an eastbound train. A middle-aged man was standing about twenty feet away reading a newspaper. He glanced at her several times. Is he curious or a tail? she thought. Lauren checked her handbag, took the stairs down to the tunnel, and crossed to the other side of the station. She purchased a bottle of Evian water from a machine and moved around the corner out of sight. The man on the platform did not follow her. The rumble of the approaching train above her grew louder. I’ll catch the next one.

The train from Nice to Monaco sped alongside the sparkling azure waters of the Mediterranean whizzing past quaint French seaside towns and coastal resorts. I love it here, she thought. There’s no place on earth I would rather be.

The train entered a long tunnel and slowed as it approached Monaco-Monte-Carlo railway station. Lauren grabbed her parcels and waited by the exit on the lower deck. She followed the gaggle of tourists and commuters through the station and up to the street. Lauren stopped at Francine and Emile’s Marche´ near her apartment.

Good afternoon, Joy*, Francine said. Find any bargains in Nice? (*Joy Wellner – Lauren Hunter’s secret identity after 9/11)

Lauren held up a shopping bag. Shoes, she replied. Oh, and thank you, Francine. On our way to Nice this morning, we stopped for lunch in Eze Village at the hilltop restaurant you recommended.

Did you and Mr. Rafe enjoy the Chateau Eza?

We loved it, Francine. It’s our new favorite—incredible cuisine and the view is spectacular.

Is Mr. Rafe waiting for you, Joy? I shouldn’t hold you up.

Rafe’s not here, Francine. He went on to Brussels to present a case to the World Court. He’ll be back in a few days.

Your Mr. Rafe Cooke is a well-respected lawyer.

And, as you know—a perfect gentleman.

That he is. Now, is there something I can help you with?

Emile ordered a selection of cheeses for me. Have you received them?

Let me check.

Lauren glanced at a rack of newspapers. There was a headline about a hotel bombing. Taba, Egypt, she thought. I sure hope Ryan isn’t— She paused. Now, why would I think that? He’s still at Bangkok Station. Odds are he’s sitting in a restaurant right now enjoying a cold Singha with his Pad Thai.

* * * * *

CIA Officers Katie Turner and Dario Philips arrived at the bombing scene in Taba. The entrance and lobby areas of the Hilton Hotel were strewn with rubble. Emergency personnel were utilizing rescue dogs to search for survivors. A handsome man with a police badge clipped to the pocket of his suit jacket was standing a few feet away. S**t, Katie thought. He looks like Omar Sharif. Katie showed him her ID. Excuse me, sir. Who’s in charge of this scene?

He pointed across the rubble. See tall man with mustache in blue windbreaker? That’s Ethan Weiler of the Shabak*. He is assisting us. (*Israeli Internal Security Service)

Katie and Dario approached Weiler and showed him their ID. CIA, he said.

Yes, sir, from Tel Aviv Station.

I been expecting you. You are here about your Mr. Hunter.

Yes, sir, Dario said. No sign of him?

Sorry, but no. All injured have been removed to hospital. We are searching, but slow going. Ten floors at front of hotel collapse.

What about his Mossad contacts? Katie asked. Kayla and Ben?

Kayla dead. Ben in hospital in Eilat.

Katie sighed. That’s so sad.

And the bombers? Dario asked.

Bombers died in blast—which is strange. This group never been suicide bombers. My people believe the idiots set timer wrong. I think TNT was old and unstable.

Nitroglycerin sweat got ‘em, Katie said.

Undoubtedly, Ethan said. Now, I must get back to work.

Thank you, sir, Katie said. Here’s my card. Please let us know if you find anything.

Of course, Miss Katie. You be first on my list.

* * * * *

Jason Slaughter entered the front doors of CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He crossed the gleaming marble floor embedded with the CIA seal and stopped at the main security desk.

How may I help you, sir? a security guard asked.

Jason handed him his business card. I have an appointment with John Francis, the deputy director of operations.

The security guard picked up his telephone. One moment, sir.

The guard hung up the phone. He asked Jason to sign the visitor’s book and empty his pockets before stepping through the metal detectors. Then the guard handed him a visitor ID badge.

Please wait here, sir, the guard said. I’ll request an escort.

* * * * *

Harlan came out of his office. Katie called, Val. They found Hunter. He’s alive.

Thank goodness. Is he going to be okay?

He’s busted up a bit, but nothin’ serious.

Where did they find him, Harlan?

Under a marble coffee table buried in the rubble. He’s in a hospital in Eilat. Katie and Dario are on their way to see him.

I’ll get the director on the line for you, Harlan.

Thanks. Harlan went back into his office. As he closed the door, Val heard him say, Can’t believe that f**kin’ cowboy survived.

*