CHAPTER 63
John knew that his life was never going to be the same.
Hard to believe that Lysa was gone. He’d imagined what this day might feel like, not necessarily with her death, but definitely with them parting ways.
Sadly, their relationship was a failed one.
Truth be told he had no interest in anything his wife might have thought or done.
Never once had he been physically or emotionally abusive, but never had he cared either.
He stopped long ago being her lover. True, he remained kind and thoughtful.
But over the years he just slowly faded away, his voice becoming quieter and quieter in their relationship.
Lysa simply was not an important part of his life.
Looking back, it had been the little things at first. Like where to have dinner, who to invite to gatherings, where to go on holiday, but those disagreements eventually became more significant.
Finally both Lysa and her opinions had no place in his life.
He’d known from the beginning that Lysa would not survive this operation.
“Are you okay with that?” Monica had asked him.
“You speak of murder as if it was just a business deal.”
“It is, in my line of work. People die all the time.”
“She is my wife.”
“Whom you could not care less about. You are the one who said you want out of the marriage, and that you cannot divorce her. I am simply offering the means to make that happen, while someone else does the deed and others shoulder the blame.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“How about thank you.”
He’d managed to get himself in really deep.
But Monica seemed to have it all under control.
He’d come to know that the greatest burdens borne in life were lost opportunities.
Never have too many “if only” stories. He’d always possessed the ability to identify opportunities and take advantage of them.
How else could he have amassed billions in wealth?
Missing an opportunity could change the direction of lives.
And almost never did the same opportunity come twice.
Which explained, more than anything else, why he’d agreed to assume the blame for Lysa’s mistakes all those years ago.
The Russians offered an opportunity not otherwise available, and he’d taken it.
Miss that and he’d have been forced to wait for another chance.
Which might have never come.
Yes, life was full of opportunities. But the trick was to know when to take them and when to pass.
He once read something the Greek philosopher Heraclitus said.
No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.
Water never flowed backward, so the water from the river the man stepped into was gone forever.
The goal? Allow the river of lost opportunities to flow away with that inexperience, so you can step back in wiser and better.
Here he was. About to step back into that river.
And what had he learned? To not push his luck. To take what he’d gained and move on.
Monica had disappeared deeper into the house that was their new refuge half an hour ago. He heard her returning to where he’d stayed in the front parlor.
“They found the defector and the codex,” she said to him. “Exactly where I said they would be.”
“Is that good for us?”
“Hopefully. But we will proceed with caution.”
“How did you know where to find the defector?”
“I had inside information at the highest level. One of my assets passed it on to me.”
“How fortunate.”
“It’s time we leave this country,” she said. “Back to England.”
“Do I not need to resurface? If Lysa’s body has been recovered, there will be a funeral that I would be expected to attend.”
“Of course. And you will. I think you should make your reappearance today. I will leave and meet you back in England, after the funeral.”
His head still hurt from the pounding she’d administered.
Both temples were swollen and sore.
“How will I resurface?”
“I have that all planned out.”