Page 37 of Presumed Dead

“Caleb.”

“How are you on the asset?”

Ethan watched a charter engine cycle off at the head of Pier One. The deck light on Catherine’s houseboat made a soft yellow square on the water. The watch on his wrist said seven thirty-eight. He thought for the count of about a quarter second longer this morning between the kiosk and the head of the boardwalk.

“She walked the dock at five forty-three the way she’s walked it for four years,” he said. “Today she had to work at not looking at Pier Three. Yesterday she didn’t.”

“That’s a piece of data.”

“It is.”

“Is it the kind of piece of data you’re going to tell me about because it’s relevant to the file, or because you needed somebody to hear you say it.?”

Ethan didn’t answer right away. The two of them had been working together for eight months, and Caleb was the closest thing Ethan had to a friend inside Shadow Ops, and Caleb was asking the question because Caleb had earned the right to ask it and not because Caleb was running a quality check on Ethan’s discipline.

“Both.”

“All right.”

“Caleb.”

“Yes.”

“I went forty-five minutes on George Halsey’s boat this afternoon without thinking about her, and the moment I knew I’d gone forty-five minutes, I thought about her.”

“Vale.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not a quality check question. That’s the question.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to be able to do this?”

“I’m going to be able to do this.”

“Are you going to be able to do this clean?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Caleb was quiet for the count of about four breaths. Then Caleb did what Caleb did when Caleb had decided to let something sit, which was to tap once on the keyboard at his end of the line.

“Eight months in,” Caleb said, “you’re the closest we’ve ever been to him. The file is the file. Get the man’s sister her brother. Then we figure out the rest.”

“Get her her brother.”

“Get her her brother. Pell’s intel goes into tomorrow’s briefing. Halsey’s confirmed friendly. Bonner pending. Sleep, Vale.”

“I’ll sleep.”

The line went dead.

Ethan set the phone face-down on the engine cover. The deck light on Catherine’s houseboat was still on. The kiosk light over the office side door was on, which meant Sloane was still in the office at seven forty, which meant she’d stayed at the office an hour and forty minutes later than yesterday. He took note of the difference.

Then his phone buzzed once. The screen lit. It wasn’t Caleb.

He picked up the phone.