A long silence filled the line. Ethan realized that he was now holding his breath.
‘The Corps did you proud, son, you should remember that. There was a time when you were afraid to climb up that tiny tree in our garden, let alone go to war for your country.’
‘People change as they grow up,’ Ethan said through gritted teeth. ‘You should try it someday. Is mom there?’
‘She’s out visiting,’ came the response, then a long pause. ‘Has there been any word, about Joanna?’
Images of his long-vanished fiancée flickered through Ethan’s mind. It had been so long now since she had disappeared from Gaza City that he had begun to associate her memory with the four years he had spent searching for her, instead of the good times they had shared. Now, he tried not to think about her at all.
‘Nothing,’ Ethan said in a whisper. ‘Four years now. Whatever happened to Joanna, I don’t think she’ll be coming back.’
‘Then perhaps you can finally move on.’
‘Sure,’ Ethan muttered. ‘Sounds easy if you say it quickly enough.’
He heard a heavy sigh in response, as though his father was already tiring of the conversation.
‘I didn’t mean it like that, Ethan, and you know it. Why don’t you come by when you’re back in the state, come and visit? Natalie’s here too, on sabbatical.’
Ethan was surprised to become aware of the broad smile breaking across his face. He hadn’t seen his sister in two years. Last he’d heard, she was studying politics at college. He took a breath.
‘Sure. I’ll hopefully have some time off when we get back to Illinois.’
‘We?’
‘My partner and I,’ Ethan replied. ‘That is, my business partner and I, at least for the moment.’
‘Well, you’re welcome to bring her too. Just make sure you bring yourself, okay? It’s been too long, son, you know that, don’t you?’
Ethan avoided answering the question directly.
‘Sounds great, Dad, I’ll be there within a few days.’
‘Good. We’ll all be glad to see you, Ethan, after all that’s happened and despite our… differences. If there’s one thing that’s more important than anything else it’s family.’
Ethan smiled again, and was about to reply when a sudden realization slammed into his field of awareness like a bullet through glass. Ethan’s smile vanished as he stared blankly into nowhere and his jaw fell open as he heard his father’s words echoing around in his mind. If there’s one thing that’s more important than anything else it’s family.
‘Ethan?’
‘Dad, I’ve got to go, something just turned up.’
Ethan leapt up from the bed and dashed from the room, sprinting down the corridor outside and down a stairwell three at a time. He burst into the hotel foyer, where Lopez was casually leafing through a magazine.
‘They’ve got away!’ Ethan shouted.
Lopez dropped the magazine, leapt to her feet and stared at him.
‘Who’s got away?’
‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,’ Ethan said, holding his head in his hands.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Get the car,’ Ethan said. ‘We’ve got to go, right now.’
Ethan opened the car door and stepped out even before Lopez had fully braked to a stop, the outside of the facility swarming with police cars. Ethan hurried to the police cordon and asked for Lieutenant Zamora, who emerged from the facility a minute or two later and waved Ethan and Lopez forward.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Zamora said.
Ethan looked at him.
‘There’s been another abduction, right?’
Lieutenant Zamora nodded, running a hand through his hair.
‘We put a guard on the house just in case and extra security here, but it’s like they just vanished into thin air. I can’t understand how it happened.’
Ethan closed his eyes. ‘I can.’
Lopez grabbed Ethan’s shoulder and squeezed it hard.
‘Will you tell me what the hell is going on?!’
77
Gregory Hampton III sat in the plush surroundings of his penthouse suite and looked out of the window at the sumptuous grounds of Veluwe Park. A fine early morning mist had enveloped the park, street lights glowing like candle flames amongst the trees, and at this early hour there were no pedestrians. He stood and walked to the door of the suite, opening it at 8.10 am (European Time) and moving into the corridor outside.
Hampton was not a man who was used to being recognized, but he saw clear recognition in the smartly dressed person striding confidently toward him, precisely on time.
Gregory Hampton had been born in Hampshire, England, in 1936, just before the world collapsed into the chaos and destruction of World War Two. Sent away from his family to live in the West Country away from the Blitzkrieg blasting England’s major cities, he returned home an orphan and determined that he would never be subject to the whims of others again. Within fifteen years he was a millionaire magnate presiding over a booming property portfolio in London, profiting from a rebuilding frenzy in the aftermath of the war’s destruction. Twenty years later, he was a billionaire. Another decade after that, he stopped even trying to count his fortune. He owned islands in the Pacific, a significant proportion of Dubai and Manhattan and several cruise liners, but prided himself on the fact that nobody would have known him if they passed him on the street.
The person who recognized him stopped at the entrance to his suite, their dark gray suit immaculate, shoes highly polished, hand extended.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’
Hampton shook the proffered hand.
‘I must ask: how did you know where to find me?’
His visitor smiled.
‘I’ve watched you for many years, Mister Hampton, long before you chose to recede into anonymity. I suspected that if it was not you that I needed to see, then you would at least know where to send me.’
Hampton’s eyes narrowed.
‘And you are approaching me now, after all that has happened to you. Why?’
Again, the calm smile.
‘Can we speak inside?’
Hampton nodded and gestured into the suite, following his guest in and closing the door. Inside the suite, four more men waited patiently, each wearing suits that cost as much as some cars and cautious expressions as they surveyed their visitor.
‘I hope,’ one of them said to Hampton, ‘that this is worthwhile. We’re taking an awful risk here.’
‘As am I,’ the visitor said, ‘after what happened to Donald Wolfe.’
Gregory Hampton gestured to their guest.
‘Gentlemen, please do me the courtesy of listening to what our new associate has to say. I feel certain that you will appreciate it.’
‘Who are you?’ one of the men asked the guest.
The guest sat down, crossing one long leg over the other.
‘My name is Lillian Cruz,’ she said, ‘and I was born in Montrose, Colorado, in the year 1824.’
A silence descended upon the men in the suite as they looked at her.
‘Go on,’ Gregory Hampton prompted her. ‘My associates here are familiar with the basic potential of human longevity.’
Lillian Cruz regarded the men for a long moment before speaking.
‘I am the last survivor of eight soldiers of the Union army who took sanctuary in a place called Misery Hole in New Mexico in 1862, just after the Battle of Glorietta Pass.’
‘What on earth were you doing in an army?’ one of the younger men asked.
‘I was one of many women who served alongside their countrymen in the Civil War,’ Lillian said hotly. ‘In my case, I met my husband within the ranks, an officer named Ellison Thorne. He died recently after being pursued for years by a man named Jeb Oppenheimer, so that I might still live today.’