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rendezvous. The son of a bitch had gone straight into the States.
    Luther’s heart began to race. He quickly got on his computer and accessed E-1’s mainframe. There he got the information on the Métier . It had landed in Baltimore, and only its captain had kept an official record of the midocean encounter.
    Alex had sneaked into the country and landed just miles from E-1 itself. It was quintessential agent logic: hide in plain sight.
    Luther called Hampton, who praised him on his sleuthing. Then he reported his findings to Kilmer and started planning his trip. He didn’t see it done, but he knew as soon as he hung up the phone that his little gold button was moved from Washington, D.C., to Baltimore.
    As Luther prepared to go, a thought crept back into his head. It was vague at first and then became focused and intense. Themark of a good agent is that his analytical mind processed information subconsciously. Since Kilmer had said these words, Luther had been haunted by them. It was a slip of the tongue from a man who never slipped, a lapse from a man who could not afford to have gaps in his logic. And for an agent it was undeniably a clue to something.
    â€œâ€¦in possession of that information, too.”
    Luther was tracking a dangerous man who held something that the leader of the agency did not want to tell him about. He’d be leaving for Baltimore with more than one mystery on his mind.

Luther
    Luther set out that day to make the short drive from D.C. to Baltimore, with Hampton riding shotgun. He and Hampton had done many missions together. They got along fine, but Hampton was a stickler for protocol, and Luther liked to wing it. Once, on an assignment in Korea, Hampton’s by-the-book attitude caused them to be discovered, and an ambush was set for them. Luther saw the sign of the trap, but instead of avoiding it, which was the standard policy, he engaged the men and killed them all. Hampton had almost been shot. Afterward they argued bitterly about who was at fault. In Luther’s mind Hampton was a stiff, and in Hampton’s mind Luther could be a loose cannon. It was a good match.
    The black Ford pulsed with the sounds of Biggie Smalls. The rearview mirror vibrated with the thick bass.
    â€œDo we have to listen to that stuff all the time?” asked Hampton, referring to the music. “I know it gets you in the mood, but it just gives me a headache.”
    â€œSorry, but I need my music.”
    â€œWould a little Coldplay kill you?”
    â€œYes, it would,” said Luther. He actually liked the group, but he was a creature of habit. “You always complain about the music. I would think that by now you would’ve established an appreciation.”
    â€œIt’s all derivative imitation, and you know it. Hip-hop is the beginning of the end of society.”
    They laughed, and Luther drove on. To anyone on the freeway, they could have been two friends off to a fun weekend, not two men looking for a third man who had to be killed.
    â€œDo you think anyone else knows about our mission?” asked Luther.
    â€œNo, but it’s not impossible that someone would know,” said Hampton. “Even secret agencies have leaks. Why? Someone say something to you?”
    â€œNo,” said Luther. He started to tell Hampton about the note but thought better of it.
    Hampton flipped open a laptop computer and accessed the mainframe. Luther saw a map of Baltimore pop on-screen. Then the screen split, and a list of weapons and devices appeared. Hampton was mapping out a strategy and scenarios for finding Alex. That’s why he was the best TWA in E-1. He was always thinking ahead.
    Luther let Hampton go to his business and immersed himself in the throbbing bass of the song. He was in full mission mode now, ready for anything.
    Luther Martin Green had been born into a normal midwestern family. His parents, Roland and Theresa, were both from the South—Kentucky and