Chapter 12 #4
“Her name is Fia,” Drago said quietly. “She was born seven months after the bombing—premature, but healthy. She’s never seen a photograph of her father. Timea told her you died before she was born.”
A sound escaped Alan’s throat. Not a word. Something more lethal than that.
“We pulled Timea from the water after the explosion,” Drago continued.
“Barely alive. Three months in a private hospital. Reconstructive surgery. A new identity. We relocated her to Salzburg—neutral ground, quiet, safe.” He paused.
“She mourned you, Alan. For years. Kept a photograph by her bed. Eventually she put it away—not because she stopped loving you, but because she had a daughter to raise. She couldn’t grieve forever. ”
Alan’s legs gave out. He sat down hard on the metal bunk, the photograph still clutched in his hands.
Ten years.
Ten Christmases standing in the snow outside her family’s apartment in Budapest, watching through the window, grieving a woman who was alive. Ten years of rage and guilt and hollow vengeance, all built on a lie.
“You kept her from me.” His voice was barely audible. “All this time—”
“We kept her safe.” Drago crouched down, bringing himself to Alan’s eye level.
“Think about it. If you had known she was alive, what would you have done? Raced to find her? Exposed her location to every intelligence agency that wanted leverage over you?” He shook his head.
“The lie protected her. Protected your daughter. Gave them a life free from the world you inhabit.”
“And now?” Alan looked up, and something dangerous moved behind his eyes. “Why tell me now?”
Drago smiled. “Because now we need something from you.” He produced a manila folder from inside his coat and set it on the bunk beside Alan.
He opened it. Inside were schematics—technical drawings of a compact device, electronics, wiring diagrams. An itinerary, heavily annotated in German. A name and an address in Paris.
“An EMP device,” Drago said. “Compact. Effective. Designed to disable electronics within a limited radius.” He tapped the itinerary. “President White visits Germany in three weeks. A summit on international cooperation. Very public. Very vulnerable.”
Alan’s jaw tightened. “That’s an old game, Drago. Maybe you weren’t paying attention, but we lost. The Bratva, the VP, me—it’s over.”
“It’s not over. And I don’t want you to kill the president.
I want you to create an opportunity.” Drago’s smile didn’t waver.
“What happens with that opportunity is . . . flexible. The important thing is that you play your part. Go to Paris. Meet our contact. Receive your equipment and instructions.” He stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat.
“Complete the mission, and you’ll be reunited with your family. ”
He couldn’t hear those last words. Couldn’t believe them. “And if I refuse?”
Drago shrugged. “Then you stay here. Await trial. Spend the rest of your life in a federal prison, knowing that your wife and daughter are out there somewhere, living without you.” A pause.
“We won’t harm them, if that’s your concern.
We’re not monsters. But you’ll never see them again.
Never hold your daughter. Never explain to Timea why you did the things you did.
” He spread his hands. “The choice is yours.”
Alan stared at the photograph. At Timea’s smile—tired but real. At the little girl laughing, unaware that her father was alive, that he was watching her from across an ocean of lies and lost time.
Fia.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” His voice was hollow. “What guarantee do I have?”
“None.” Drago held out a hand. “But what choice do you have?”
The question hung in the air between them. Outside, in the corridor, the emergency lighting flickered. Somewhere in the facility, a door clanged.
Regrets.
He’d done terrible things. Hurt innocent people. Become exactly the monster he’d always feared.
And it was all for nothing. All built on a lie.
But now—
Now there was Timea. Alive. Waiting.
Now there was Fia. A daughter he’d never met. A child who didn’t know her father existed.
One more mission. One more sin. One more piece of himself to carve away.
And then maybe—
Maybe.
“Paris,” he said. The word felt like surrender.
Drago smiled. “Excellent. We leave immediately.”
The extraction was surgical. Through service corridors that shouldn’t have been accessible. Past guards who looked the other way. Onto a loading dock where a black SUV waited, engine running.
Alan climbed in. The folder sat heavy in his lap. New identity, new passport, enough cash to disappear. Everything he needed to become someone else one more time.
Through the tinted window, the detention facility shrank into the Virginia darkness. The place that was supposed to be his end, his penance, his final stop.
Instead, it was just another waypoint. Another transition from one cage to the next.
The SUV turned onto the highway, heading east. Toward an airport. Toward Paris. Toward one more mission that would cost him whatever remained of his soul.
And somewhere beyond that—
Maybe.
Just maybe.
Home.