‘I’m going to the DRC’s mission at the UN and tell them everything. I expect them to burn the wires to Washington or wherever and lodge this issue with the Secretary-General.’

‘Well, hell, why didn’t you do this before?’

Zeb shrugs. ‘Time was on our side. Now it isn’t.’

‘I think I’ll tag along. You have a habit of finding trouble…even your shadow steers clear of you.’

‘Don’t. I’ll go alone. You try to find out where Holt is holed up. Do another search, this time for houses or apartments that have been leased out in the last two to three months to start with.’

‘I end up doing the dirty work while you get the glory,’ grumbles Broker as they part.

The next day sees Zeb struggling to get around the Congo’s bureaucratic reception desk to set up a meeting at their mission in the UN. Exasperated, he puts his phone down, thinks for a moment, and then dials a number he thought he would never have to use.

‘Hello,’ says the dry precise voice.

‘Sir, this is Zeb, Zebadiah Carter. We met–’

‘I remember, Major. How can I help you? I didn’t think I would hear from you again,’ says the Secretary-General.

Zeb explains his predicament to him and goes silent as the Secretary-General thinks.

‘Major, may I ask why you want to meet with them?’

‘I would rather you didn’t, sir.’

‘Is this related to Luvungi?’ and then he continues when Zeb doesn’t reply, ‘Of course – it has to be. Very well. Someone will be in touch with you.’

A couple of days later, Zeb gets the call from the DRC mission asking him to meet with the Permanent Representative of the DRC in the UN.

Jimmy Atoki, a tall African with regal bearing, is waiting for Zeb once he has cleared security. After introductions, he leads the way silently to his offices, and once there, he regards Zeb, expressionless.

‘Major, I have taken time to meet you because I got an intriguing call from the Secretary-General suggesting that meeting you would be worthwhile to my country.’ He gestures to Zeb, saying, ‘Make it worth my while.’

Zeb looks around, taking his time to frame his words, knowing that the PR’s office would be recording the conversation.

The PR observes him with a knowing look. ‘You requested this meeting, Major. It’s a bit late to be thinking about blowback.’

Zeb looks back at him and does something he has never done in a long time: takes a leap of faith. He tells him everything, without naming the agency or the key players in it.

The PR sits without moving, without emotion, looking right into Zeb’s eyes as he listens.

‘An interesting story, Major. Luvungi happened, but why should I believe it happened the way you say it did? Back home the story is that it was a bunch of rebel soldiers who committed the atrocities.’

‘Sir, there is no reason for me to spin a story and waste your time and mine. I have been to your country a few times. There are a few people in your current government who can vouch for me.’

Atoki’s eyebrows rise as Zeb mentions a name. He gestures towards a telephone and lifts it when Zeb gestures a ‘sure’ back.

Atoki speaks in rapid-fire French to the person at the other end, raises his eyebrows, then hangs up the phone.

‘You are well connected, Major,’ he says in French, the official language of the Congo.

‘Requirements of the job,’ Zeb replies in the same language, impressing the PR twice in as many minutes.

‘So you want us to shake your FBI tree and be a nuisance so that you can deal with this Holt? And what will you do with Holt once you capture him?’

‘That will depend, sir, upon how we capture him.’

A silence fills the room, and then Atoki smiles faintly. ‘And if you arrest him as he is jaywalking?’

‘I shall hand him over to you.’

The smile grows brighter and then fades as Atoki stares into the distance, letting the silence build, noting that Zeb is relaxed, yet alert. ‘Very well. We’ll see what falls out when we shake that tree. No doubt you’ll discover how successful we are through your connections.’

He escorts Zeb out, and as Zeb is leaving, he calls out, ‘Major.’

Zeb turns back.

‘We are a nation rich in minerals and yet a poor nation. Our people fight one another and others while our women and children die of hunger. Many here’ – he indicates the UN – ‘look down on us and deem us unworthy of their attention. But we are also a proud nation. We would not want to see Holt live a comfortable life.’

Zeb looks at him, tall, dark and hard angles, comfortable in a Western milieu but equally comfortable in the warrior’s garb in the plains of Africa.

‘You are Zande?’ Zeb asks.

Atoki inclines his head.

‘Holt will not live.’

Atoki looks at him. Zeb is standing relaxed, something in his eyes that Atoki recognizes, another warrior who would be equally comfortable in the African plains. Atoki nods.

Zeb leaves the building. At the gates he sees Broker waiting in a Jeep.

He knows immediately.

Broker speeds off without a word as soon as he seats himself.

‘What?’

‘Lauren and Rory.’

Chapter 16

Broker looks at Zeb out of the corner of his eye. No reaction, not a single muscle twitch on his face, just a quiet stillness surrounds the most lethal man he has ever come across.

He sends the Jeep barreling through New York, through red lights and pedestrian crossings, controlled madness at the wheel, motion unleashed on the streets. The streetlights whiz past, etching streams of light on Broker’s face.

‘He made a big mistake,’ Zeb says finally, and Broker just nods.

It is time to rectify the mistake.

Bear and Chloe are outside the apartment and nod in greeting. They are alert, and the bulges under their jackets are reassuring.

Inside, Connor is slumped over in his armchair, with Anne and Mark fussing over him when they reach his apartment.

Cassandra briefs them calmly.

Lauren and Rory had gone to play in the park after Rory’s return from school, and they never returned. Connor organized a frantic search for them when he came home from work, but he couldn’t find any trace of them.

Before he could call the police, he received an anonymous call. The message was chilling.

Lauren and Rory had been abducted, and Connor should stay by his phone for further instructions.

‘I should have listened to you.’ Connor looks at him with dull eyes. ‘I wrote my story the day you told me about Holt and included him in it. I contacted Hardinger, wanting to get a quote from him before running it. He denied knowing Holt, just as you said he would. In fact, he denied everything in the story and said he would sue me into oblivion.

‘I then told him that there were eyewitnesses to Holt’s atrocities in Africa and the photograph linked him directly to Holt. My ego got the better of me, and I mentioned you by name.

‘I returned home and…’ He trails off, waving his hand around helplessly.

‘What did the caller tell you?’ Broker asks.

‘That I should stay by the phone and not call the police. That I should await instructions.’

Broker turns to Zeb. ‘He’s moved fast in just one day. Assuming it’s Holt.’

‘It’s Holt. He said he was Holt,’ says Connor.

Zeb nods and looks at Broker. ‘Can you–’

‘Of course I can. I have everything in the Jeep.’ Broker cuts him off and heads out.

‘Shouldn’t we be calling the police, the FBI?’ Anne asks.

Zeb looks at Connor. ‘Yes.’

Zeb drifts outside and joins Broker in his Jeep.

Broker is looking at some graphical image on his laptop. ‘I narrowed down the recently leased houses in Williamstown to about ten, and I’m looking into who rented them.’

‘If a phone got turned on in any of those houses, would you be able to pinpoint which house it was?’