the world at large—he would be far, far away, in London or beyond, deeply enmeshed in a brand new, entirely fictional life and off the radar forever.
Forever.
“Enough,” he heard himself say.
It had simply become too much for him. Everything he had done, everything he had learned—and not just in Antarctica, but everywhere: in the UNED headquarters, at Langley, in nameless facilities in anonymous countries all across the globe…no, he couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to.
“Hello, Jon.”
Jonathan stopped moving. Stopped breathing. He turned on his heel to his right, very slowly.
His body froze for an instant—he had to realize what he was seeing. He had only heard of the woman through conversation and had seen her photo. It was Takara, an Asian beauty and one of the most efficiently trained assassins in all of UNED.
Takara was standing five feet from him, looking him straight in the eye.
How did I let her get so close? he asked himself. A rookie mistake. I was just feeling…good. I let my guard down.
“You need to come back now,” Takara said. Her dark eyes flickered for an instant to take in the few other commuters waiting for the train. They were a fair distance away at the opposite end of the platform near the ticket booths. No one was even glancing at the two people having a casual conversation in the far corner of the station.
“How did you find me?” he asked, less out of curiosity than as a delaying tactic. He needed to give himself a moment to put a plan together.
“Your…reluctance…to deal with the project in Antarctica made us take a second look.”
Jonathan nodded. “Ah,” he said.
His hands were already in the pockets of his raincoat. Now he shoved them in even deeper and stepped away from the wall. He let his shoulders droop. He lowered his head and sighed deeply, the very picture of a weary, guilty man.
“I’m sorry, Takara.” He took one step to the side, away from the wall. Takara side-stepped in the opposite direction, careful to keep facing her renegade employee full-on. He was tense, ready for a fight.
A careful woman, Jonathan thought. Which was absolutely no surprise.
“It doesn’t matter,” Takara said, clearly uninterested in making a scene. “We’ll just go back to the office and sort this out.”
Sort this out was his unit’s special code for severe interrogation, followed by imprisonment until he was no longer of value, followed by death. They both knew it. His scheme was exposed. His lies were laid bare. The game was over.
Jonathan took one more step to the side, as if he was simply shuffling his feet in embarrassment. Once again, Takara automatically compensated, putting her long, lithe body directly in front of the corrugated concrete wall. Jonathan couldn’t help but admire the lightweight camelhair coat she wore. Beautifully tailored. “All right,” he said. “You—”
Without an intake of breath, without drawing back, and with his hands still deep in his pockets, Jonathan launched himself forward, straight into Takara. He hit her hard, butting her squarely in the throat with his upper body. It took the woman completely by surprise—I’m not the only one feeling overconfident, Jonathan thought distantly as he rammed her back into the solid wall and drove the air out of her lungs. He heard Takara’s skull bonk against the concrete like a bell made out of bone.
It gave Jonathan only a moment, a bare instant while Takara recovered, but he used it well. He reversed direction, pulled himself straight back, and dragged his hands out of his pockets.
In his left was a telescoping baton, a brutal variation of an old-fashioned car antenna, as thick as an index finger at its base. In his right was a man’s sock filled with nickels—a cosh and a bludgeon. They were crude, yes, but Jonathan’s experience had taught him he could never be too careful. Both weapons cleared their pockets with a single, swift snap of each wrist, out and up
Forever.
“Enough,” he heard himself say.
It had simply become too much for him. Everything he had done, everything he had learned—and not just in Antarctica, but everywhere: in the UNED headquarters, at Langley, in nameless facilities in anonymous countries all across the globe…no, he couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to.
“Hello, Jon.”
Jonathan stopped moving. Stopped breathing. He turned on his heel to his right, very slowly.
His body froze for an instant—he had to realize what he was seeing. He had only heard of the woman through conversation and had seen her photo. It was Takara, an Asian beauty and one of the most efficiently trained assassins in all of UNED.
Takara was standing five feet from him, looking him straight in the eye.
How did I let her get so close? he asked himself. A rookie mistake. I was just feeling…good. I let my guard down.
“You need to come back now,” Takara said. Her dark eyes flickered for an instant to take in the few other commuters waiting for the train. They were a fair distance away at the opposite end of the platform near the ticket booths. No one was even glancing at the two people having a casual conversation in the far corner of the station.
“How did you find me?” he asked, less out of curiosity than as a delaying tactic. He needed to give himself a moment to put a plan together.
“Your…reluctance…to deal with the project in Antarctica made us take a second look.”
Jonathan nodded. “Ah,” he said.
His hands were already in the pockets of his raincoat. Now he shoved them in even deeper and stepped away from the wall. He let his shoulders droop. He lowered his head and sighed deeply, the very picture of a weary, guilty man.
“I’m sorry, Takara.” He took one step to the side, away from the wall. Takara side-stepped in the opposite direction, careful to keep facing her renegade employee full-on. He was tense, ready for a fight.
A careful woman, Jonathan thought. Which was absolutely no surprise.
“It doesn’t matter,” Takara said, clearly uninterested in making a scene. “We’ll just go back to the office and sort this out.”
Sort this out was his unit’s special code for severe interrogation, followed by imprisonment until he was no longer of value, followed by death. They both knew it. His scheme was exposed. His lies were laid bare. The game was over.
Jonathan took one more step to the side, as if he was simply shuffling his feet in embarrassment. Once again, Takara automatically compensated, putting her long, lithe body directly in front of the corrugated concrete wall. Jonathan couldn’t help but admire the lightweight camelhair coat she wore. Beautifully tailored. “All right,” he said. “You—”
Without an intake of breath, without drawing back, and with his hands still deep in his pockets, Jonathan launched himself forward, straight into Takara. He hit her hard, butting her squarely in the throat with his upper body. It took the woman completely by surprise—I’m not the only one feeling overconfident, Jonathan thought distantly as he rammed her back into the solid wall and drove the air out of her lungs. He heard Takara’s skull bonk against the concrete like a bell made out of bone.
It gave Jonathan only a moment, a bare instant while Takara recovered, but he used it well. He reversed direction, pulled himself straight back, and dragged his hands out of his pockets.
In his left was a telescoping baton, a brutal variation of an old-fashioned car antenna, as thick as an index finger at its base. In his right was a man’s sock filled with nickels—a cosh and a bludgeon. They were crude, yes, but Jonathan’s experience had taught him he could never be too careful. Both weapons cleared their pockets with a single, swift snap of each wrist, out and up
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