Target Zero. Джек Марс

if someone breaks in, and you can’t get to the basement?”

      “Then we go to the nearest available exit,” Maya droned. “Once outside, we make as much noise as possible.”

      Thompson was a lot of things, but hard of hearing was not one of them. One night Reid and the girls had the TV on too loud while watching an action movie, and Thompson came running at the sound of what he thought might have been suppressed gunshots.

      “But we should always have our phones with us, in case we need to make a call once we’re somewhere safe.”

      Reid nodded approvingly. She had recited the entire plan—except one small, yet crucial, part. “You forgot something.”

      “No, I didn’t.” She frowned.

      “Once you’re somewhere safe, and after you call Thompson and the authorities…?”

      “Oh, right. Then we call you right away and let you know what’s happened.”

      “Okay.”

      “Okay?” Maya raised an eyebrow. “Okay as in, you’ll let us be on our own for once?”

      He still didn’t like it. But it was only for a couple of hours, and Thompson would be right next door. “Yes,” he said finally.

      Maya breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. We’ll be fine, I swear it.” She hugged him again, briefly. She turned to head back downstairs, but then thought of something else. “Can I get away with just one more question?”

      “Sure. But I can’t promise I’ll tell you the answer.”

      “Are you going to start… traveling, again?”

      “Oh.” Once again her question took him by surprise. The CIA had offered him his job back—in fact, the Director of National Intelligence himself had demanded that Kent Steele be fully reinstated—but Reid hadn’t yet given them an answer, and the agency hadn’t yet demanded one of him. Most days he avoided thinking about it altogether.

      “I… would really like to say no. But the truth is that I don’t know. I haven’t quite made up my mind.” He paused a moment before asking, “What would you think if I did?”

      “You want my opinion?” she asked in surprise.

      “Yes, I do. You’re honestly one of the smartest people I know, and your opinion matters a lot to me.”

      “I mean… on the one hand, it’s pretty cool, knowing what I know now—”

      “Knowing what you think you know,” Reid corrected.

      “But it’s also pretty scary. I know there’s a very real chance that you could get hurt, or… or worse.” Maya was quiet for a while. “Do you like it? Working for them?”

      Reid didn’t answer her directly. She was right; the ordeal that he’d been through had been terrifying, and had threatened his life more than once, as well as the lives of both his girls. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them. But the hard truth—and one of the bigger reasons why he kept himself so busy lately—was that he did enjoy it, and he did miss it. Kent Steele longed for the chase. There was a time, when all this started, that he acknowledged that part of him as if it were a different person, but that wasn’t true. Kent Steele was an alias. He longed for it. He missed it. It was a part of him, just as much as teaching and raising two girls. Though his memories were fuzzy, it was a part of his greater self, his identity, and not having it was like a sports star suffering a career-ending injury: it brought with it the question, Who am I, if I’m not that?

      He didn’t have to answer her question aloud. Maya could see it in his thousand-yard gaze.

      “What’s her name again?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject.

      Reid smiled sheepishly. “Maria.”

      “Maria,” she said thoughtfully. “All right. Enjoy your date.” Maya headed downstairs.

      Before following, Reid had a minor afterthought. He opened the top dresser drawer and rummaged around in the rear of it until he found what he was looking for—an old bottle of expensive cologne, one he hadn’t worn in two years. It had been Kate’s favorite. He sniffed the diffuser and felt a chill run down his spine. It was a familiar, musky scent that carried with it a flood of good memories.

      He spritzed some on his wrist and dabbed each side of his neck. The scent was stronger than he remembered, but pleasant.

      Then—another memory flashed across his vision.

      The kitchen in Virginia. Kate is angry, gesturing at something on the table. Not just angry—she’s frightened. “Why do you have this, Reid?” she asks accusingly. “What if one of the girls had found it? Answer me!”

      He shook the vision loose before the inevitable migraine came on, but it didn’t make the experience any less disturbing. He couldn’t recall when or why that argument had happened; he and Kate had rarely argued, and in the memory, she looked scared—either scared of whatever they were arguing about, or possibly even scared of him. He had never given her a reason to be. At least not that he could remember…

      His hands shook as a new realization struck him. He couldn’t recall the memory, which meant that it might have been one that was suppressed by the implant. But why would any memories of Kate have been erased with Agent Zero?

      “Dad!” Maya called from the bottom of the stairs. “You’re going to be late!”

      “Yeah,” he muttered. “Coming.” He would have to face the reality that either he sought a solution to his problem, or that the occasional resurfacing memories would continuously struggle forth, confusing and jarring.

      But he would face that reality later. Right now he had a promise to keep.

      He went downstairs, kissed each of his daughters on the top of their head, and headed out to the car. Before making his way down the walkway, he made sure that Maya set the alarm after him, and then he climbed into the silver SUV he’d bought just a couple weeks earlier.

      Even though he was very nervous and certainly excited about seeing Maria again, he still couldn’t shake the tight ball of dread in his stomach. He couldn’t help but feel that leaving the girls alone, even for a short time, was a very bad idea. If the events of the previous month had taught him anything, it was first and foremost that there was no shortage of threats that wanted to see him suffer.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “How are you feeling tonight, sir?” the overnight nurse asked politely as she entered his hospital room. Her name was Elena, he knew, and she was Swiss, though she spoke to him in accented English. She was petite and young, most would say pretty, even, and quite cheerful.

      Rais said nothing in response. He never did. He merely stared as she set a Styrofoam cup on his bedside table and set about carefully inspecting his wounds. He knew that her cheerfulness was overcompensation for her fear. He knew that she did not like being in the room with him, despite the pair of armed guards behind her, watching his every move. She did not like treating him, or even speaking to him.

      No one did.

      The nurse, Elena, inspected his wounds cautiously. He could tell she was nervous being that close to him. They knew what he had done; that he had killed in the name of Amun.

      They would be a lot more afraid if they knew how many, he thought wryly.

      “You’re healing nicely,” she told him. “Faster than expected.” She told him that every night, which he took as code to mean “hopefully you’ll leave here soon.”

      That was not good news for Rais, because when he was finally well enough to leave he would likely be sent to a dank, horrible hole in the ground, some CIA black site in the desert, to sustain more wounds while they tortured him for information.

      As Amun, we endure. That had been his mantra for more than a decade of his life, but that was no longer the case. Amun was no more, as far as