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  For his trouble, Hardy took a cut and won the good favor of all three factions.

  Some people believed it was only the good fortune he sought and that he could care less about the money.

  To be fair, those people had never actually met the man.

  Tallo, Turner, and Cardoza strode together through an enormous tiled mezzanine, past a marble staircase that led to the upper floors and into a grand dining room. A long, oak table ran the length of the room with fine, high-backed chairs arranged around it. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and filled the room with soft yellow light.

  A buffet was set up alongside the entrance, though each of the men walked right past it. They moved instead to the far end of the room where Hardy stood waiting for them, his expression solemn.

  He was of medium height and had a thick swath of hair cut short, with bushy eyebrows and a weak chin. His shoulders were very square, though he certainly was not a muscular man.

  “Gentlemen, feel free to grab anything you like from the buffet and have a seat,” Hardy said by way of a greeting.

  As the three men approached, Tallo held the basket out in front of him. “Gentlemen, the finest Italian meats and cheeses available. Please, feel free.”

  He placed the basket down and walked around Hardy to a chair on the far side of the table.

  Turner waited for Tallo to find his seat before he placed the cask on the table beside the basket. “Imported Irish whiskey. Help yourself to as much as you like.”

  He too circled around and took a seat next to Tallo.

  Cardoza was the last to go, placing the cigar box on the table beside the other gifts. “Hand-rolled cigars from my native Cuba. It would be my privilege if you were to have one.”

  He nodded at the other men and pulled out a chair alongside Hardy.

  The usual protocol for their meetings was to spend some time sampling the buffet, followed by working their way through the various items on the table. Only once tumblers of whiskey were out and the thick fog of cigar smoke hung in the air did they get down to business.

  Tonight, nobody reached for anything. There were no false pretenses to why they were present, no assumptions that the meeting would serve as business-as-usual.

  Sensing the gravitas in the room, Hardy nodded and took his seat. He surveyed each of the men before stating, “Gentlemen, I think we all have a general understanding of why we’re here, but I would like to start by having you each describe things from your vantage point. Marc, would you like to begin?”

  Tallo glanced at each of them and said, “Three of our last five shipments exiting the country have never made it out. We know they arrived to the port, but before they could be taken to sea, they seemed to disappear.

  “In total, seventeen cars, gone. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, the kinds of cars that would stand out. So far, no word on them anywhere.”

  Tallo contemplated going further, but decided to stop. He looked at Hardy, who paused a moment and turned to Cardoza. “Luis?”

  “Last week, a container carrying two hundred and eleven people was sent from Cuba. At some point between its arrival at three in the afternoon and the time we intended to unload it at two in the morning, it disappeared.

  “Not until a body was reported washed up two miles down the coast did we figure out what happened.”

  Cardoza paused for a moment, letting the others infer what had transpired.

  “Where is the container now?” Hardy asked.

  His voice low and even, Cardoza nodded with the top of his head towards Turner. “With Billy’s help, we recovered it. All identifying markings have been destroyed, all bodies inside disposed of.”

  A low grunt rolled from Hardy as he nodded, chewing on the information, before shifting his attention to Turner. “And on your end?”

  Turner leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “In the last three weeks, I’ve lost six workers. We’ve installed motion lights and video cameras but, so far, whoever is doing this has been able to elude them. I’ve since doubled the number of men working and have them now armed at all times.”

  Both his hands curled themselves into tight balls, the knuckles flashing white beneath the skin, before being released. As they did so a long sigh slid from him, his body receding back against his chair.

  “So the take home message is,” Hardy said, “right now someone is meddling with our affairs, causing us all to lose a great deal of money.”

  The words were issued as a statement, not one of the men around the table attempting to answer it.

  Hardy rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and brought his fingertips together in front of him, just inches away from his mouth. “Who do we know that would be foolish enough to do such a thing?”

  “And have the juice to pull it off?” Turner added.

  Across the table, Cardoza jabbed a finger at him, nodding in agreement.

  Again silence descended, each of the four men wrestling with the questions posed. Together, they represented most of the real muscle in town. Each faction was suffering losses, meaning the odds of a rogue amongst them weren’t good.

  They couldn’t completely discount an outside player, but the chances of it happening weren’t good. The main chunks of turf in Boston had been spoken for for over a century.

  Anybody that wanted in on that would have to be well-funded and backed by a significant force.

  Chapter Eight

  “Thorn, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today.”

  The connection was a little bit garbled, the voice somewhat distorted, but nowhere near the worst they’d endured.

  “I know, pop. Again, it’s no big deal.” Thorn hoisted a leg through his bedroom window and stepped out onto the balcony, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “My son graduated from Harvard today, that’s a very big deal,” his father said. “I haven’t shut up about it since I woke this morning. I’m sure everybody here is sick to death of my bragging.”

  Thorn chuckled, trying to imagine his cohorts hiding their chagrin at his incessant babble. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. You only get so much leave time, better to wait and take it when we can be home together for a while.”

  His father made a response that was reduced to white noise by the connection, his voice too muffled to decipher. Rather than request a repeat Thorn forged ahead. “So where you at today?”

  The line cleared, allowing him to hear a long sigh belying a handful of emotions. “Somewhere in the Mediterranean, nothing but routine patrols. Easiest assignment we’ve had in a while.”

  “Good for you,” Thorn said, leaning his body forward and resting his forearms against the metal railing that was actually a fire escape, but he preferred to think of as a balcony. “Any idea how long you’ll be there?”

  “Nope. You know they like to keep us on our toes, make sure we don’t have any semblance of a real life.”

  Thorn coughed out a half laugh at the line his father had used a thousand times over the years.

  “How about you? Made any decisions yet?”

  Thorn pushed himself up from the rail and turned, resting his backside against the cool black metal. His eyes glossed over as he shifted his focus and stared out across the grassy quad below, his mind replaying the conversation with Ingram just hours before.

  “I’m weighing an offer at the moment, but I haven’t sorted it all out yet.”

  The response was true, if not the entirety of it. There was still a lot to consider on the offer he’d been made, a lot of variables that had not yet been divulged. He had no intention of lying to his father about anything he did, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want to say anything until he had it deciphered in his own head.

  “You’re not thinking about going back to active duty are you?”

  “God, no,” Thorn responded, the same question and answer that was evoked every time they spoke.

  The call lasted another three minutes before an alarm sounded on the opposit
e end of the line. Both sides said their goodbyes as Thorn climbed back through the window, tossing the phone down on his coffee table. He was still wearing the workout gear from the earlier meeting and sat on the couch just long enough to lace on his running shoes.

  Abby watched him with detached interest from the opposite end of it, lifting her head as he rubbed her behind the ears and headed for the door.

  After his encounter with Birkwood earlier, he no longer felt the need to make sure she was looked after.

  The night air was warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough not to stifle as it wrapped around him, Thorn drawing in a deep breath through his nose. Exhaling it slowly he kicked himself into motion, settling into a mile-eating lope. While the bulk of the city had congregated around the universities for graduation weekend, the backstreets remained deserted as his feet slapped out a rhythm over the pavement. His shoulders rose and fell in an even pace, the distance disappearing beneath his feet.

  Letting the music stream through his headphones, he allowed muscle memory to carry him on the same route he had traversed a hundred times before. In front of him the evening sun slipped towards the horizon, the golden light washing over his body, pinching his eyebrows low to refract it.

  His final destination rounded into view as Thorn pulled the headphones from his ears and carried them by his sides, sweat streaming from his face as he slowed to a walk. Passing through the wrought iron gate that surrounded Mr. Auburn Cemetery, he tossed a wave to the security office standing just inside the grounds and walked forward, the ambient noise of the outside world falling away behind him.

  Daylight continued to recede from the sky above as he walked by the old familiar landmarks, past the reflection pond and chapel. Rising from a hilltop in the distance he could see the lookout tower beckoning him forward, the entire place deserted save a few squirrels and birds out for a late evening sojourn.

  Halfway there he stopped, leaving the concrete roadway and padding silently across the plush grass lawn. Fifty yards down he found what he was looking for, stopping with his arms folded in front of him, staring down at it.

  The marker, if it could even be called that, was his favorite in the entire place. No headstone, no plaque, no dates of memoriam. Just a single dog, carved from gray granite, sitting on its back haunches and staring forward in an eternal vigil.

  The only marking of any kind on it was the name Oscar carved into the dog’s collar.

  A small smile creased Thorn’s face as he down at it, his last stop before ascending the tower and staring out at Boston, wrestling with everything in his mind until he had an answer.

  “Well, Oscar, what do you say?” he asked, his low voice seeming to reverberate through the silence.

  “The question is, what do you say?” a voice shot back out of the darkness.

  A jolt of adrenaline passed through Thorn as he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, his hands tightened by his sides. For a moment his entire body went rigid as he prepared to act, but just as fast recognition set in and he relaxed.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  Emerging from a darkened corner between two trees Ingram strode forward, his pale face a silhouette above his dark clothing. In measured steps he moved forward and took a spot beside Thorn, gazing down at the statue.

  “I like Oscar, too. I don’t know that he’s my favorite in here, but he’s in the top five.”

  “How long have you been following me?” Thorn asked, pulling his focus back to Oscar, making sure his voice remained even.

  “Long enough to know you’d eventually end up here.”

  “So you’ve been waiting awhile.”

  “Not long, maybe twenty minutes,” Ingram replied. “Most of the time you get here a little before dark.”

  “Had to wait for the call from pop.”

  “Mmm,” Ingram mumbled, nodding his head. He paused for a moment as they both stood motionless in the dark. “So, not to skip the foreplay, but we need an answer.”

  “What happens if at some point I want out?” Thorn asked, jumping right to the big issue that had been nagging at him all afternoon.

  For what it was, the opportunity was enough to at least pique his interest. If a day, a week, a year later that interest was no longer there, he needed to know he could walk away, no questions asked.

  “Then you’re out. Of course there’s an ironclad non-compete clause you’ll have to sign and there may be some compensation repayment, but we’re not going to force someone to stay in the field that doesn’t want to be there. People get hurt, or worse, that way.”

  The answer wasn’t everything Thorn wanted to hear, but he received it without revealing anything to Ingram. There was the usual litany of questions about compensation and leave time, but something told him this wasn’t the type of position where haggling was necessary.

  For the past six months, Thorn had considered a dozen different directions he could go. He’d fielded job offers from alumni football players working in finance and consulting, had taken the LSAT in case he wanted to apply to law school. His father was high enough in the navy to have some sway should he want to go back in a non-active capacity.

  Each one though had been dismissed as a fallback, not the kind of thing he was looking for up front.

  This could be that something.

  “When do I start?”

  A thin smile grew across Ingram’s face. “As soon as you answer one thing for me.”

  “What’s that?” Thorn asked, rotating to look at his new boss, already bracing himself for what might be coming.

  “How did it feel to lay out that son of a bitch Birkwood this afternoon?”

  Chapter Nine

  The first two knocks were quick and sharp, loud raps that reverberated through the metal door and echoed into the hall on the opposite side. There was a momentary pause, followed by a final pound that sounded deep and hollow.

  At the sound of the correct cadence, a slit opened on the door as a pair of dark eyes peered out. “Who is it?”

  The spotlight from above the door illuminated the top of a fedora, the brim of it throwing a heavy shadow over the face of the visitor. “Must I go through this every time?” he asked, his accent unmistakable.

  The peephole slid shut and the sound of a metal lock turning rang out as the door opened, the hinges whining in protest. The guard with the dark eyes stepped to the side while it did so, holding out his left arm and motioning down the empty corridor. “Sorry, Ling. Boss’s orders, you know that.”

  Ling waved a dismissive hand at the guard and walked past him into the hallway, the space big and open, well lit and lavishly decorated. Plush carpets covered the floors and rich hues of red and gold created a mesmerizing visual that seem to swirl around him as he cut a path through the center of it.

  The sound of the door closing and the lock turning behind him rang out as he walked past the guardroom and into the main foyer of the house. He was a regular visitor, passing through undisturbed, the few servants still up at such an hour giving him a wide berth.

  From the main foyer, Ling took a quick right and ascended two short flights of stairs, his journey ending at a large, open doorway covered by a hanging curtain. Pushing it aside he took two steps into the room and paused, his hands clasped at his waist, as his employer finished his business opposite him.

  Seated behind a wraparound desk, the man stared at a computer screen, his features aglow with ambient light. Every bit of his attention zoned in on it, not once glancing at Ling waiting just feet away.

  ”Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “Of course, Mr. Gold.”

  If there was any surprise from either party, no outward display of it was made.

  Bern Gold tapped out a few final strokes on the computer and raised his gaze to Ling. He held a hand out towards a red leather chair across from him and said, “Please, be seated.”

  Ling stepped around to the front of the chair and settled into the soft leather, ad
justing his long coat across his lap. Keeping his head tilted down, he cocked it to the side and peered out from beneath the brim of his fedora.

  The corners of Gold’s mouth turned up and he shook his head as if an exasperated parent. “Must I ask you to remove that thing every time?”

  The folds of skin around Ling’s eyes crinkled a bit, giving away the slightest sense of mirth. He paused a moment before lifting the hat from his head and placing it atop his knee. “Sorry, Mr. Gold. Trade habit.”

  “No apologies. It’s just that I prefer to look my associates in the eye when conducting business. Trade habit.”

  Ling raised his head and looked Gold full in the face, his gaze fixed. “I understand.”

  “The reason I asked you here,” Gold began, already past the exchange, “was to see how things are progressing on our little project.”

  Ling waited a full moment before responding, careful not to appear too eager or rehearsed.

  “Very well, sir. We have intercepted three shipments of cars and will obtain another tomorrow. One container full of people has already gone for a swim and another is due to arrive in two days.”

  “And the docks?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Ling’s mouth, the movement localized to one small spot as the rest of his face remained tight. “In shambles. Thus far we have taken out half a dozen men without a single shot being fired.”

  “Has anybody gotten a good look at you?” Gold pressed, his body motionless as his eyes focused just above Ling’s head on the wall behind him.

  “Nobody that lived more than a few seconds afterwards.”

  “Nothing at all that can be traced back to us?”

  Ling shook his head. “As of right now, no.”

  Gold’s gaze flicked down from the wall to Ling. “As of right now?”

  “Cameras have been installed on the docks. We will have to be a little more careful in the coming days.”