“Probably nothing. They’ll shout to the heavens that they didn’t know, or it’s all fake, or entrapment, or a political hit job. And they’ll keep their positions and go on doing exactly what they were doing and sucking on the same dark-money teat.”
“That is some sick shit,” Devine said wearily.
“But we have to keep this on the QT, Devine.”
“What, why?”
“International relations, key alliances, not wanting to rock the boat too much, disrupt political arenas and financial markets, that sort of thing.”
“That is total bullshit.”
“I agree, it is,” Campbell conceded.
Devine looked out the window at the sunny day. “So, I didn’t really complete my mission, then. And you don’t give out participation trophies. Am I headed to USDB?”
“I think you’re well on your way to a second chance, Devine. If you want it.”
The two former soldiers stared at each other.
“I want it,” Devine finally said.
“And that’s a good reason to get out of bed every day.”
Devine looked around the room. “Is . . . have you heard from Michelle Montgomery?”
“She’s left the country.”
Devine nodded, looking and feeling disappointed. “Okay.”
“She didn’t really have a choice.”
Devine glanced back at him. “What?”
“She wanted to visit you here many times, but that would not have been a good thing, so I put the kibosh on that. We arranged for a safe place for her to live abroad.”
Campbell pulled an envelope from his pocket. “But she asked me to give you this.”
Devine took the envelope. Without another word, Campbell left.
Devine slowly opened the envelope and slipped a single page and two photos out. He glanced down the paper and began to read:
Dear Travis, what a ride! I’ve never been more scared and more excited in my life. Not sure what that says about me, but just being honest. I guess the general has told you what happened. I didn’t want to leave you, but he didn’t give me a choice. I can say I will miss you, and I will. But I’m convinced we will see each other again. And while the general won’t like it, you can reach me at this phone number.
Devine eyed the international phone number with the country code for Italy.
He read the rest of the letter.
I won’t call you because I don’t want to put pressure on you. But you can call me. I’m so sorry about what happened to you. I never would have guessed that that sweet-looking girl who founded a dating service to help people find love would have been so screwed up. I hope you recover quickly. Even though I couldn’t visit you in the hospital, I was thinking about you, all the time. And remember, while we both have baggage, it can’t last forever. And even if it does, life must go on. And I don’t think you or I need a dating service to find the person just right for us.
I’ll Always Love You,
Michelle
P.S. The man in that photo is a keeper. The one of me is so you won’t forget.
Devine next looked at the photos. The one of him was the same photo she’d taken on the rooftop of her building: the troubled man with baggage. The one of her did not have her in a bikini but, rather, jeans and a T-shirt. With the loveliest smile he had ever seen.
He reluctantly set her picture aside and stared at the ceiling.
He had never suspected Jill Tapshaw. He had trusted her and then nearly been killed by her.
He had not trusted Helen Speers, and she had been the one to save his life.
He had suspected Will Valentine of wrongdoing, and the man had done nothing but be his friend and help him. And his payment for that had been the loss of his life.
During an earlier visit, Campbell had told him that Valentine’s family back in Russia had been taken away by the state. The infant Valentine had been left alone and then whisked out of the country by family friends.
But with Michelle Montgomery, in the end, he had trusted her. And that trust had been amply rewarded.
So maybe my instincts aren’t all bad. But one out of four isn’t going to cut it while working for Campbell.
He turned to the window and lay there, staring at the rising sun of a new day.
CHAPTER
84
IT WAS THREE WEEKS LATER, at precisely 6:20 in the morning.
Devine, his arm in a sling, stepped onto the train. He was leaving the area the next day. But he wanted to take one more trip on the 6:20. He wasn’t sure why, but then again, maybe he was.
The train started to fill, station after station, with the young gladiators in their suits and skirts, their laptops and clouds fired up and gestating future wealth for those with already too much of it. Later, the train climbed the little knoll, slowed, and then stopped, like a thirsty animal does at creekside for a drink.