LITMIR.BIZ

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Tyrrhenian Sea, lost forever.

      The authorities notified the appropriate agencies after recovery of the body. A positive identification was made, and within twenty-four hours Adolf Merrick received a phone call telling him that another operative had fallen—the stats on his death cloning those of Alton Bromly’s. It seemed that Holic’s replacement was on target again, and Merrick would be forced to make a check mark on his useless copy of the kill-list.

      This time, Thomas Walrich, an American agent on secret assignment in Italy.

      That made two assassinations within three weeks. Pierce was right: at this rate they were in for a slaughter.

      Suddenly Holic’s words came back to haunt Merrick. The clock is ticking, and time is on my side.

      Adolf reached for the phone and called Pierce. He relayed the information, sending his agent now on to Italy to follow up and escort Walrich’s body home the minute it was released. Then, in the quiet of his office, he sat back and stroked his short gray beard.

      He had to admit that the Chameleon was still controlling his life. Hell, all their lives, if the bastard was still alive. But how could that be?

      “You’re dead, and yet you live.” Merrick muttered the words, then closed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, the pain hammering his temples warning him that he hadn’t been sleeping well again, and as a result his tension headaches were back.

      “Will you ever be gone from my mind, you evil bastard? You’ve taken everything from me. Everything important, and still you continue to torment me. Will this nightmare never end?”

      The phone rang again, and this time Merrick hesitated before answering it. He glanced at the number as it came up and when he recognized it, he frowned in puzzlement. It was Sarah Finny, and for a moment he wondered why she would be calling him. Then he glanced at the calendar and saw that it was Thursday, and below the day’s date he’d written, Dinner with Sarah at 6:00.

      He checked his watch. Saw that it was past seven. Wincing, feeling like an ass, he hesitated a few seconds longer before picking up the phone.

      “Hello, Sarah.”

      “Adolf, is everything all right with you? I thought we were—”

      “Yes, everything is fine, Sarah. I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty at this sort of thing. Dinner completely slipped my mind. I rarely have appointments outside the office.”

      “This was dinner, Adolf, not an appointment.”

      “Of course. That’s what I meant to say. I haven’t been asked to dinner since Johanna and I… Ah, do you still want me to come, or is it too late? If you’d rather cancel, I understand.”

      “I’ve spent two hours in the kitchen. The food is—”

      “I could be there in twenty minutes. But I understand if… Okay, I’m on my way.”

      The night Jacy Moon Madox got the first call it started to snow in the mountains. But snow in late September wasn’t unusual, not in the high country of Montana.

      His brother had sounded drunk on the phone, but that wasn’t unusual either—Tate was a beer drinker and not just a two-bottle limit with dinner.

      Out of bed and out of sorts, Jacy pulled on his jeans and took Highway 2 to 89. Once he reached Browning he headed south. The Sun Dance Saloon was on the outskirts of Heart Butte on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation. It was a dark, honky-tonk, old-West beer-and-chili joint with saddles for bar stools, booths lining the walls, a circular dance floor and a half dozen pool tables.

      He had picked up the phone at ten-thirty, and it was almost midnight when he parked his black pickup in front of the Sun Dance, climbed out.

      “Hey, Moon.”

      “Tommy.”

      Jacy nodded at the barrel-chested Indian as they passed on the front porch. To the locals Jacy was simply addressed as Moon. It didn’t matter that he’d left the rez at the age of fifteen to join the Hell’s Angels with his brother Tate, or that half the blood flowing through his veins was from a German immigrant, the now-deceased forest ranger, Corbel Madox. All who lived in these parts knew Jacy had been born under a full moon to Nola Youngblood. And if that wasn’t significant enough, he was Koko Blackkettle’s grandson, the visionary who could see things before they happened.

      Jacy limped through the saloon’s front door with a scowl on his face. He searched the dark corners and saw Tate seated at a booth off the end of the bar, a number of empties lining the table in front of him.

      He slid into the seat opposite his brother, and just as he was about to speak, his phone rang for the second time that night. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller’s ID. Grunting when he saw it was Merrick, he answered his phone with an edge to his voice.

      “This better be important, it’s the middle of the damn night out here, and remember I don’t work for you anymore.”

      “I needed to talk to you.”

      “If it’s about what we chatted about weeks ago—”

      “Another agent fell today. One of ours.”

      “And he was on the list?”

      “Yes. Tom Walrich.”

      Jacy didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t mean much. There were hundreds of agents floating in and out of Onyxx headquarters.

      “I just called to update you. Thought you should know.”

      Make me feel guilty for retiring and try to pull me back in, Jacy thought. But he wasn’t going to take the bait. He would never be a hundred percent again, and that’s what Onyxx agents were all about. He wasn’t one of them anymore, and Merrick needed to accept that and forget about him.

      “If you’re not coming back in, watch your back out there. You’re on the list. Retired or not, if and when your number’s up, it’s up. And right now we can’t do a damn thing but watch and wait.”

      “Who’s working on the case?”

      “Pierce has agreed to step in, but if you come up with any ideas, I would appreciate it if you’d contact him or me. You still have a file on this one, right?”

      “It’s in my computer.”

      “And you’ve got both of our numbers?”

      “You know I do.”

      “Good. Well, that’s it, then.”

      “That’s it.”

      There was a moment of silence as if Merrick wanted to say more, then the line went dead. When Jacy shoved the phone back in his pocket, Tate had finished his eighth beer and was starting on number nine.

      Jacy asked, “Is the old woman really missing, or was the call just a ploy to get me here so I can take you home again after you pass out?”

      Tate set down his bottle after chugging half. “It’s true. Koko’s gone.”

      “How can she be gone? Grandmother was up at my place raising hell all afternoon. She didn’t mention she was going anywhere.”

      “When she got back from your place she made supper, then went and sat down in her rockin’ chair. I never thought much about where she sat until she started to make those noises. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about. She was seein’ somethin’ again.”

      Jacy swore, knowing where this was leading. “You’re telling me she had another vision?”

      “And this one put a burr under her real quick.”

      When Tate reached for his beer, Jacy knocked his hand away. “So where did she take off to?”

      “I don’t know. Don’t think she really knew. Those pictures she sees never make too much sense in the beginnin’. You know that.”

      “So

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