Chapter 5

“Tell me what you know,” President McKinsey says with a heavy sigh.

“Marsha was found early this morning dead,” Petroff says. “She had a single stab wound through her stomach.”

“Has the media been alerted?”

“Nothing official has been released,” the Secretary of Homeland Security says. “Senator Rustlin is using the situation to his advantage though.”

“Damage control?” McKinsey asks, checking through a mental list.

“Working on it, sir,” Petroff nods. “It’s not looking good.”

“I know.” McKinsey opens his mouth to say more and then closes it. He lets out another long sigh. “We can’t deny the senator’s accusations and we can’t support them either. No matter what stand we take, we’re going to get support or none at all.”

“If whoever is behind this attack can get to Marsha, then we don’t know who else is in danger,” Petroff says, worried more for his safety than the issue on hand.

“Marsha didn’t have the security that she should have,” McKinsey argues. “So I want the entire White House staff under the observation of the Secret Service.”

“That will put a strain on them and they may not be able to cover everyone efficiently,” Petroff explains, his voice distressed.

“Right now, I don’t care,” the president says. “That is for them to figure out. I rather that people are safe then out in the open, served up to some killer.”

“Speaking of strains,” Petroff says, jumping to another subject. “We have a situation. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but China has made its move further into Africa.”

The president peers up from his desk as dread washes over his face. “Just China?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” the other man confirms with a nod. “Intelligence reports the Russian front is still settled on Madagascar with the fleet close by. Their presence in Lesotho also remains.”

“Are there any reports coming out from the area?” McKinsey’s question is a two sided coin: has communication from any military personnel or Samantha Roberts come out of the area?

“Just basic chatter from our assets. The only disruption so far is the movement by the Chinese,” Petroff says. Then almost as an afterthought he continues, “There apparently were a few incidents over the weekend. Intelligence chalked them up to be nonessential.”

“Go on,” McKinsey prods.

“A Russian ship, the Gidra, suffered an explosion in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Since we didn’t have any assets in the water at the coordinates, it was affirmed to engine malfunction. Ground assets in Madagascar reported a man, possibly a prisoner, being released. Then a few hours later, two women, both in tactical gear and both non-Russian, left the same way.”

“Let me guess,” the president says dryly, “not ours.”

“That is correct,” Petroff says with a knowing smile.

McKinsey returns the smile. “Good work, Andy. Get the situation with the press contained and controlled. I will deal with Secret Service.”

Samantha and the mystery woman spent the night traveling first by boat and then by car. Sam asks several times who she was and for some sort of explanation for what had transpired. She received the same stonewalling Talilith gave and that her name is Julie Branon. Eventually, after not getting any more information, Samantha gave up and rested. She wasn’t able to get much sleep though. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Spencer either being tortured or killed flashed in her head.

They are now in Singapore with the trip coming to a close as they pull into a large gate. Beyond the gate lies a long paved road with a chateau at the end. The road leads into a driveway which takes the shape of a crescent in front of the house. They pull in, coming to a halt next to the stairs that lead to the front door.

“Welcome to Château d’espoir. That man will explain everything,” Branon says pointing to the man that appears at the top of the stairs.

Samantha unstraps her seat belt and exits the car. “What the fuck is going on here?” she asks berating the man before he even has the chance to speak.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Roberts,” the man says kindly.

“What?” she asks, not sure she heard him right. He is so pleasant despite how she threw that at him.

“Please, come inside,” he says, waving her toward the door. “We have much to discuss and I have someone that is as eager as you to see.” The man then extends his hand out to her. He stands less than six feet tall with short cropped, dark hair. He wears a simple pair of blue jeans and a white shirt, nothing that would indicate him as the owner of such a fancy house or large estate. It even makes Samantha wonder if this is house or someone else’s entirely.

Without another word, she accepts his hand and follows him into the house. Branon follows close behind, keeping to herself. If it unnerves Samantha, she makes sure not to show it. They step into the foyer and the agent is astonished by the chateau’s beauty. Her eyes quickly fall to a figure waling out of the living area. “Spence!’ she yells, running into his arms. Joy fills her at being able to finally see him, finally touch and hold him after so long. And after a long, intimate kiss, she pulls away and looks deep into his eyes. “I love you, Spence,” she says low enough so that only he can hear. “I never gave up on you.”

“I know. You were the light that kept me going the last couple months,” he says, once again kissing her, taking in her scent and taste. It lasts for a good minute before their host gives a small cough.

“I’m sorry,” Samantha says, slightly blushing and they break off from one another.

“It’s quite okay,” their host says with an encouraging smile. “Both of you have been through an ordeal, but now it’s time to get both of your questions answered. Please, have a seat.” The man gestures to the couch that Spencer was sitting on before the arrival. “Care for a drink, Miss Roberts?”

“Please, Sam,” she says. Then she bites her bottom lip. “Got any vodka?”

“Sure thing,” he says cheerily. “Julie, please fix Sam a drink and me as well.”

With a nod, Branon walks to the bar and gets to work. Sam sits next to Spencer as he holds her close. Nobody says anything until the mystery woman joins the group with the drinks. Without wasting time, Samantha chugs the drink down in one breath. She sets the glass down on the table with a sigh and then looks straight at their host. She bares a look of expectancy on her face.

The man catches it and begins, “First let me tell you a little about who I am and what I represent.”

“I’m all ears,” Samantha says, settling back into Spencer, knowing this is going to be a long explanation.

“My name is Martin Sternigan and I currently lead the Black List,” the man reveals.

“So, you’re the mysterious guy that keeps hidden in the shadows when we need your help the most,” Samantha accuses.

If Sternigan is embarrassed he certainly doesn’t show it. “Yes, that is correct,” he says as calmly as he has been. “We chose to remain hidden some time ago, before I was even the leader. But we have remained working in the shadows, integrating our agents in the ranks of the world’s police and intelligence forces.”