One

Five years later…
Friday, 9:10 A.M.

GRIFFITH LAUGHTON DUCKED INTO A DOWNTOWN Seattle phone booth, glad to be out of the cold drizzle that made his back ache like a bitch. He went through the routine with the calling card, punching in a number he'd memorized a few days ago, and waited only seconds before a familiar voice answered softly, "Sheridan."

"It's Laughton. I'm heading to Sea-Tac. Any last-minute instructions or updates?"

"No new updates. The target is there, we're sure of it, and we know von Lahr was recently spotted in the States. There's a good chance he'll be close by as well. You're not going to have a lot of time on this one—and I want that woman kept safe."

"Understood." Griffith leaned back, frowned at a prickling of pain, then shifted to take the weight off the still-tender scars.

"Whatever you do, make sure she stays in your sight at all times. If von Lahr gets to her first, he'll use her as leverage. And if that happens—"

"Got it. You don't need to spell it out."

"You have everything you need? You know what the woman looks like? Where she—"

Griffith laughed. "Ben, stop acting like my mother, for Chrissake. I'm feeling good; no problems except an ache or two. I haven't forgotten how to do my job. I got shot in the back, remember? Nothing's wrong with my head."

His boss sighed. "Sorry. I'm still reacting to the fact we nearly lost you. It was a close call."

Hell, yeah. Tangling with the violent clans outside Al-Fajr was always dangerous, and this last chase had nearly ended in disaster. Nothing like being ambushed by a fourteen-year-old with an assault weapon to prove that the world was going to hell all around him.

Lately he'd started to think that if he died without ever having retrieved another cuneiform tablet or another cylinder seal, he'd die a happy man.

To put Ben's mind at ease, he said, "I've got this covered. Kennedy's a cute little redhead with lots of freckles. She's a genius when it comes to Marlowe, and the file you gave me lists more details about her life than she'd like any stranger to know. She sells antique books out of an old Victorian house near USC, address committed to memory."

"Take it easy on giving her information. The less she knows, the better."

"Right."

The manuscript in his briefcase was a brilliant fake that had cost a gullible and very wealthy man a lot of money. Its only real value was as a lure to draw their target out into the open. Once they had him, they'd have the information they needed to put a long-standing group of forgers out of business for good. Their anonymous tipster claimed that the fake manuscript contained a coded message only Fiona Kennedy could spot, which was why Griffith was headed to L.A.

Ben was skeptical about the coded message, but if it would bring von Lahr out of hiding, he didn't care if that tip was true or not.

Still, dangling an innocent woman as bait was risky, even if the chance of harm coming to her was minimal.

"For the record," he told his boss, "I don't like this plan."

"Nor do I, but we don't have much of a choice. I'm calling a few others to the Torrance office to back you up. I can't pull Kemal out of Iraq right now, but Diva's in Milan working with the Carabinieri on the Pompeii looting incident, and Rico's in Amsterdam. I can bring those two back, though it'll be a couple of days before they can get to L.A."

Copyright © 2006 by Michele Albert.