Smoked

on the tile floors and Mexican rugs. Doc led me into the kitchen, through an informal dining area, and out to an outdoor patio bigger than the first floor of the house itself.
Even though it was overcast, I could see the spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean.
“There she is,” murmured Doc when Merrigan came outside with two small children. “This is Laird,” he said, pointing to a little boy. “And that is Rielle, who is about to turn two.”
The little girl looked so much like Siren that it took my breath away. She had dark black hair and pale blue eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if Siren and I were together, if our child would look like Doc and Merrigan’s daughter.
Doc’s wife and I cheek kissed, and then she and their children left us alone to talk.
“What have you got for me?” I asked.
“You know Sumner Copeland, right?”
“Very well.” Cope, as he was known, was a handler for the CIA. One of the best in our business. It wasn’t long before I left the agency that he’d brought down the then director, a man considered to be the most corrupt in Washington, and who many held personally responsible for the deaths of some of the finest, most professional agents I’d ever worked with.
“He’s convinced there were others working with Fisk, bigger fish.”
“There isn’t anyone who can get him to talk?”
“According to Cope, his fear of whomever the mystery accomplices are, is greater than a prison sentence.” Doc leaned forward. “There’s another reason I’m asking you to take this on.”
“And that would be?”
“I’m pushing hard for Cope as well as his wife, Ali, who you probably know is a former investigator for the CIA internal affairs, to come on board with K19.”
I laughed. “Rile isn’t going to like that.”
“It’s more Decker Ashford I’m worried about.”
“Are you aware he just finished installing a security system at my ranch?”
Doc laughed like I had. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if K19 and the Invincibles just joined forces.”
I shook my head. “You can’t be serious. You know Rile would never let go of that ridiculous name.”
“No, you’re right. Too many generals, not enough soldiers. What about you, Smoke? Are you still independent?”
“Sure am, and I plan to stay that way.”
“Tell me about Siren.”
I took a deep breath and looked into Doc’s eyes. “Not a subject for discussion.”
“Fair enough.” Doc told me he’d be right back and went inside. When he came back out, he handed me a folder. “I received this brief from Cope. If you’re willing to take this on, I’ll put you in direct contact with him, on behalf of K19, of course.”
“Copy that,” I mumbled. Opening the file, I skimmed the first page. “Fuck,” I moaned. “Seriously?”
“You can still decline.”
That’s exactly what I should do. I should leave the folder on the table and walk out, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wasn’t in the habit of turning down missions, especially ones that involved the murder of several of my fellow agents.
I took a second look at the three men Cope had named as primary suspects, all of whom were top-ranking officials at Interpol—the International Criminal Police Organization—headquartered in Lyon, France.
The first, Secretary-General Kim Ha-joon, was the former head of South Korea’s National Intelligence Service. Second listed was Boris Antonov, Interpol’s Vice President, who many believed would eventually be the successor to the current head of United Russia. The last name on the brief was the one that gave me the most pause. Daniel Byrne, the organization’s president, was the head of Irish Military Intelligence—Hughes’ boss and the man who’d originally recruited Siren.
“Now you understand why I asked about Gallagher.”
“Tell me there’s nothing in here that suggests she’s involved.”
“I assure you there isn’t.”
“Byrne was her mentor.”
“Not a mentor, just the man who hired her,” said Doc.
“Do you have intelligence to back that up?”
Doc nodded.
“Then, I’m in.”
The way Interpol worked, the role of any member of the executive committee, including the president, four vice presidents, and eight delegates, were all unpaid. Each office holder retained their full-time post within their national authority.
Of the three listed in Cope’s brief, only Kim Ha-joon from South Korea held a paid position and worked for Interpol full-time.
Two on the outside, one on the inside, all three with close ties to every intelligence organization in the world—some closer than others. Antonov would have a better working relationship with China than Kim would, and so on.
The next morning, I boarded a plane that would take me back from where I came. Cope was currently in DC, but we made arrangements to meet at the CIA headquarters.
“Good to see you, Smoke,” he said when I met him on the fifth floor of the building now named for the forty-first President of the United States, George H.W. Bush.
“I thought you retired,” I said.
“Thought you did too.”
“In the words of that actor in the worst sequel ever made, ‘they keep pulling me back in.’”
He led me into a conference room and closed the door behind us. “I guess it’s a good sign that I don’t have an office here anymore.”
After reviewing most of what was in the initial brief and answering the questions I had, Cope and I discussed my cover, which really wasn’t much of one. I was headed to France under my own identity, taking on a job for his mole at Interpol—a woman currently working in Secretary-General Kim’s office.

20
Siren
After three days, I was bored out of my feckin’ mind and I was driving Hughes mad.
“It takes time, Siren,” he said. “I understand you were used to being able to see a doctor in the States at a moment’s notice, but this is Ireland.”
“It shouldn’t take a fortnight to see a physician.”
“Contrary to what you may believe, IMI has no control over the public health-care system. Find something to do, Siren. Read a book, go for walks in the park. Just leave me alone!”
“He didn’t need to hang up on me,” I muttered