Page 25 of The Shadow Friends

She turned to him. “You found four dead men at the safe house.”

“And you told me you saw five in the SUV.”

“If one of them escaped—if he’s still alive—”

“He’d be getting up in years.”

“So are we, Rodrigo. That doesn’t mean we’re decrepit.”

He smiled. “Certainly not you.”

“Where has this fifth man been all this time? What’s he been doing?”

“Well, he hasn’t been idle. He’s still active.”

“What?” She frowned. “How do you know?”

“Do you remember what I told you, about Argus? That we have collectors in thirty-three countries, gathering intel? We also have sources inside Interpol, British intelligence, and agencies around the world. After you told me about the stiletto, I reached out to those sources. Asked if there’ve been similar killings in the last three decades, anywhere in the world.”

“You found others?”

Rodrigo nodded. “Eighteen years ago, a Bulgarian journalist in Sydney. Thirteen years ago, a Russian businessman in London. Six years ago, another Russian, this one a banker, in Bangkok. All the victims had angered Moscow, in one way or another. And that symbol engraved on the handle? The circle with the dot inside? It seems to be a Vory symbol. Russian organized crime, hired by the GRU. These killings were clearly state sponsored.”

“Why is this the first time we’ve heard about these other stiletto killings?”

“Because we weren’t looking for them. Because I never believed there was a fifth man. And because these incidents were so spread out, both in time and geography, that I didn’t make the connections. Now I have a client who’s eager to pursue the matter.”

“Which client is that?”

“When I reached out to my contacts about stilettos, it caught the attention of a certain agency I’d rather not reveal. They require absolute secrecy, so this needs to stay strictly within Argus. But trust me, this is a legitimate ally.”

“Yet you won’t tell me who the client is?”

“I can’t. They demand complete deniability, so we can’t talk about this to anyone. But this client is ready to throw resources behind it.” He came toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “The truth is, I never really believed in your fifth man. Now I think he’s real. I think he’s alive, and he’s still killing.”

And he’s in Purity.

She paced the clearing again, her shoes rustling through the fallen leaves as she struggled to see through the concussive fog that blurred her memory of Provence. From the trees came the chirp of a red squirrel, alarmed by two humans so close to its nest, but the birds were strangely silent. The forest itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her to speak. She sagged against the trunk of an oak tree. So solid, so reliable, unlike memories, which can twist and deform, as untrustworthy as smoke.

“This conference was a target-rich gathering,” she said. “Retired spies. Diplomats. Journalists . . .”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“So why would he kill a forty-eight-year-old waitress from Maine? Or is there something we don’t know about her?”

“It could be a case of mistaken identity.”

“Or . . .” She went still. “It was a matter of necessity, and she wasn’t the real target. Maybe she saw something. Or someone.”

“You see? This is why I need you, Ingrid. We made a fine team. We still do. I have to leave tomorrow, for a meeting in London. Join me, and let’s track down this fifth man together.”

“Where would we even start? By now he could be anywhere.”

“That’s where Argus comes in. The giant with a hundred eyes, remember? I trust my sources to deliver.”

“Tell me when they do. Then I’ll think about it.”

“And London? There’s a seat for you, on my plane.”