“Damn.” Eva shook her head. “After meeting like that I’d have slept with her.”
“Really?” Bishop placed a fist under his chin. “Tell me more. Don’t leave anything out.” When she ignored him, Bishop turned to Nash. “Seems the woman holds a gun on you pretty frequently. When you first met, today. Something of a habit?” He straightened his back. “Not sure it’s entirely healthy.”
Eva shook her head. “Says the man who wants to shoot firearms while we’re having sex.” Like Bishop, she turned her attention to Nash. “And now she’s back after all these years.”
Not immediately responding, Nash’s eyes drifted to the front of the plane where Sophia was huddled with her DGSE compatriots.
“Yes. And I have to wonder why.” He exhaled slowly. “And who she’s truly working for.”
Chapter Six
Nash told Sophia everything.
Officious in her business suit, she’d finished her huddle with her colleagues. She effortlessly ordered the men around. They didn’t cower like she was an ogre, nor did they slavenly mope about in reluctant compliance. Instead, they snapped to her requests with respect, deferring to her intelligence and experience. As they should, Nash said to himself.
Sophia had requested a private “chat”. That was far too casual a term for such a demand. Ignoring Eva and Bishop’s raised eyebrows, Sophia led Nash to the front of the private jet and he laid everything out. From the assassins sent after him at Devil’s End to their South American takedown of a Tartarus outpost to the clash with Pinchot’s henchmen in Seoul to the confrontation with Paul’s father in a barn outside of Paris, he left nothing out. If she really was Tartarus—he wasn’t convinced either way just yet—she would know it all. If not, there was a chance, however slight, she may be able to help them, perhaps even let them go.
Nash had learned long ago not to pin his hopes to such things, but Sophia infused him with optimism. And that’s why she’ll be your downfall. Nash wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but he was equally certain he didn’t want to give it air to breathe.
For a full minute she steepled her fingers and uttered no sound. Nash knew well enough not to interrupt Sophia when she was ensconced in one of her deep ruminations. The woman could concentrate on a subject for hours until she came to the right course of action.
Finally, she tapped her steepled fingers on her chin. “So, you think Pinchot is the key to unlocking Tartarus?”
There was something in the way she asked the question that struck Nash as odd. It had been years since they’d talked, but he still could read her. Or at least, he thought he could. Her faux casual question struck Nash as loaded.
“Yes. We think he may still be in France. That’s where we were headed next.” Nash eyed the back of the plane, where Eva and Bishop were doing their best not to stare. “Although we were hoping it would be more voluntary than the current circumstances.” Nash laid on the charm that had once been so effective with Sophia. “If you could see your way to letting us go in France, I give you my word we’ll keep you up to date with what we find.”
It was the longest of long shots, but Nash had nothing left to lose.
“No.” Sophia said resolutely.
“No?”
“We won’t be doing that, Mason.”
Nash shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Then can you at least help us find Pinchot?”
Resting her hands in her lap, seemingly enjoying his discomfort, Sophia replied, “Also no.”
It appeared Nash’s charm wasn’t anywhere near as potent as it had once been.
“We’re not going to help you find Pinchot,” Sophia tilted her head. “We’re also not going to France.”
There was the slightest dance of amusement in her features, which only confounded him. Her words were belligerent, but her eyes entertained.
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Where are we headed, Sophia?”
“Let me answer the next question you’re going to ask along with that one.”
“The next question?”
“He’s in New York.”
“Who is?”
“Pinchot,” Sophia replied. “That’s why we’re flying there now.”
“I’m confused.”
She tapped his knee. “Not an uncommon state for you.”
Nash’s mind reeled. He still didn’t know how Sophia had found them. Now she was telling him not only did she already know about Pinchot but she had somehow tracked him down. It was too much to take in, and a lot of it didn’t ring true. As Nash sat across from Sophia the ripples of unease multiplied and swept across him like waves. She stood and left him with a condescending pat on the shoulder and a teetering pile of unanswered questions.
For the remaining twenty odd hours of the flight, Sophia hardly spoke to Nash directly. In fact, she did her best to avoid any one-on-one interaction. They all slept as much as they could, had a few group discussions, but Sophia spent most of the time either speaking with her team or huddled over her laptop.
Why was she avoiding Nash? Was it because she was still making her mind up about him and his stories about Pinchot? Did she not want to impinge on the inevitable interrogation to come? Was she reluctant to talk for too long in fear of rekindling a fragment of what they’d once had? Was it because he was now her enemy and she didn’t want to be caught out? Nash didn’t know, and the lack of knowing only increased the ambiguity of their plight.
He only had part of the story, and it was driving him crazy.
The private jet landed at JFK just after seven am. They were bundled into a minivan and rushed through the city—well, as much as one can rush anywhere in New York traffic.
All these hours later, the revelation about Pinchot was still shocking. Jack Pinchot was ex-CIA, New York was his home turf—so how had Sophia’s team managed to find him so quickly? Were they already hunting him? Were they on the same side?
As far as Nash could guess, the DGSE safe house was in an expensively gentrified and leafy part of the city. Somewhere in Brooklyn, he thought, perhaps Fort Greene or Carroll Gardens. It was a nice part of the city, but he doubted they’d come all this way for a cream cheese bagel and a stroll.
Shown into a townhouse on a quiet but affluent street, the three were escorted to separate rooms, each with an en suite, a change of clothes and barred windows. Nash showered, changed and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.
The knock was polite, practically timid. He didn’t answer immediately. It was important not to appear too eager, too amenable. After the second knock he said, “Come in.”
