Five minutes later, Jack leaned against the wall by the door and yelled, “Hey! Bad guys!”

After a couple of seconds, a voice replied. “What?”

Reversing his grip on his carbine, Jack held it out into the hall. “I’m all alone. I want to surrender.”

Another moment presumably filled with hushed debate. Then, “The other bloke was in there with you.”

“Dead,” Jack groused, like he was pissed at both the enemy who’d killed his mate, and at his mate for getting killed. “I got no way out now, so I’d like to see if there’s another option.”

When no response came after half a minute or so, Jack added, “Apparently Stark wants me.”

“Jeez, okay,” was the exasperated reply. “Toss the rest of your weapons then come out, hands up.”

Jack threw a couple of Glocks into the hallway and a random knife he’d found on one of the baddies. “I’m coming out now.”

There was absolutely no guarantee they wouldn’t just shoot him the moment he appeared. He was putting a lot of faith in one prick’s comment, and his own ability to spot a fake-out and move fast. Hands up, fingers spread, he stepped out.

The last two bad guys were covering the hallway from the protection of two doorways just this side of the SD’s office. In the office door, Porsche stood, not particularly caring she was presenting herself as an open target. She grinned at Jack.

“Hello, pretty,” Porsche said. “I’d hoped you’d make it this far. Come on down, winner.”

“The name’s Jack,” he said, matching her grin. Striding forward, he added, “Nice to meet you, Sonia Bell.”

Porsche’s eyes went wide, then snapped into narrowed slits. One of the mercenaries glanced over at her, uncertain.

“Trying your hand at being a mercenary now that you’ve failed at being an assassin?” Jack asked conversationally.

One of the men came out and patted Jack down. It was just as invasive as the first had been, though his hands did falter when Jack said “assassin.”

Bell’s surprised anger cleared into smugness. “Who says I failed?”

“For starters, Ethan Blade.” Deemed clean, Jack was grabbed by his upper arms and pushed forward. “I’m sure he’d love to discuss your definition of failure with you.”

“He knows it was nothing personal.” Bell smiled again, thought it wasn’t as cocky as usual. “It was just a job.”

She wasn’t convinced but she covered it with a brisk gesture at one of the bad guys to take Jack into the room.

The SD’s office looked much like any other—crowded bookshelf to one side; a big desk in front of a wall with framed certificates and pictures; a couple of perfunctory chairs opposite the big, leather office chair; a coffee table and two more comfortable looking chairs along the wall with a window looking out over the interior courtyard.

The senior director, Philip Maynard, sat at his desk, two screens angled toward him, fingers poised on a keyboard. Two women sat in the chairs by the window: the admin assistant, Marianne, and another woman. They sat stiffly, hands on the armrests, watching Jack warily. Another merc stood watch over them, and a ghost from Jack’s past stood behind Maynard.

Bell drew her sidearm and motioned to the merc watching the women. “Go check the other one, make sure he’s dead.”

The man nodded and headed out. Bell moved to stand beside Marianne, draping the arm holding the gun over the back of the admin assistant’s chair. All she had to do was bend her wrist and she could shoot Marianne in the head. Bell smirked at Jack.

The ghost rested a hand casually on the back of Maynard’s chair, as if they were friends, or workmates. Except that Maynard was sporting a sluggishly bleeding lip and red marks that would bloom into impressive bruises given time.

“Jack, was it?” the ghost asked.

Jack had done some despicable things while undercover in Samuel Valadian’s organisation. He’d delivered beatings to those who annoyed Valadian, helped highjack arms shipments, broken into government buildings and stolen from military bases. He’d also executed a man who’d broken one of Valadian’s few rules.

Link Rindone had been a murderer and rapist. Jack had hated the psychopathic cretin. But, shooting him between the eyes, while he’d been on his knees before Valadian had left Jack feeling sick and dirty. It had been his first step down the steep slope to madness.

He knew Rindone was dead, but his eyes told him otherwise. There was no way it could have been faked, and as he studied the man, he began to see slight differences. Both were blond, but Link’s eyes had been brown and this man’s were blue; Link had had a cleft in his chin this man was missing; and there had been an unmissable “creep” factor in Link that Jack didn’t get from this man. He spoke with the same German accent as Link, so Jack guessed they were brothers or maybe cousins who happened to look extraordinarily alike.

Jack conceded with shrug. “That’s me. And you are . . .?”

“Sorry. Please call me Stark.” He leaned across the table, offering to shake.

Racking his memory for everything he’d learned about Link, Jack took the hand. Stark’s grip was firm but not crippling, his palm dry. A man in control. He gave Jack a warm smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, at last.” Stark let his hand go.

He was trying so hard for urbane politeness, Jack decided not to disappoint him. “Likewise. Apparently, you wanted to see me.”

“I did. It’s nothing big. You see, Bell told me all about her encounter with you on the Gold Coast and I simply wanted to see what sort of man would go to such lengths to keep a cold-blooded assassin alive.” He dropped his gaze down Jack’s body and back up again. When he met Jack’s eyes, all the warmth had gone and he looked more like Link than ever. “Now I know.”

Suppressing a shiver, Jack wondered how Stark fitted in to the ticket put on Ethan. As far as anyone knew, it had been bought by a Liechtenstein duchess, and since Ethan had killed her for it, she wasn’t about to tell anyone why. Maybe this man knew.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed coolly. “Now you know.”

A merc appeared in the doorway. He had his cap pulled down and his sunglasses lowered so they rested on his chin. Bell raised an eyebrow at him.

“All clear,” the man grunted and stepped back to take up position with the other bad guy guarding the office.

“Well, that seems final.” Stark smiled. “And if I’m not wrong, we’re just about done here, aren’t we, Philip.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Nearly there,” Maynard said, voice tight, fingers back to tapping on the keyboard. “The last file you want is almost done. The one on—”

Stark cut him off with a casual slap, knocking the grey-haired director sharply to the side. Bell pushed the barrel of her gun into Marianne’s head. The admin assistant’s whimper of fear caught Maynard’s attention, so when he straightened up, he got back to work without protest.

“Nice try, Philip,” Stark said, conversationally.

Jack was about done with it all. It was time to finish this. “I’m curious about something.”

“About?” Stark asked if they were passing a pleasant evening discussing the weather.

“I won’t lie. I’d really like to know what information you’re after here. I mean, it must have something to do with Samuel Valadian’s defunct organisation. That part is obvious.”

Apparently Stark didn’t think it should be. His reaction was subtle—the tightening of his grip on the chair back, a narrowing of his eyes, a thinning of his lips—but Jack had been watching for it, so he knew he scored a hit.

Barrelling on, he said, “I certainly don’t blame Khun Sein for wanting to know just how much information Valadian gave up about him before he died. I mean, he couldn’t buy the level of protection he did with money alone, could he.”

Stark huffed, but the sound wasn’t as blasé as he probably wanted it to be. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you worked it out. You figured out we were here, after all. I wonder, though, if you’re aware of the bomb?” His free hand delved into a pocket and removed a remote trigger. “Oh, don’t worry. This trigger works on a very different frequency than the jammer. Be assured it will work . . . if needed.”

Whether or not Stark was lying about the trigger, one thing was clear—he didn’t know that Jack and Harry had found the bomb, or that they’d been joined by Ethan. Hoping that Ethan had disarmed the bomb, Jack shrugged casually. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to blow us all up just yet.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because there’s something else you’re after. Something personal. I bet you’re trying to find out who killed your psychopathic deadshit of a brother, aren’t you, Landon Rindone?”

The reaction was instant. Rindone gaped, one hand falling from the back of Maynard’s chair and the other clenching around the trigger. Bell jerked in shock but recovered lightning fast and switched targets to Jack. Just outside the door, the merc who’d reported the all clear whipped his carbine up and shot the other one, point blank through the head.

Jack leaped forward just as Bell fired. It was like someone had punched him in the side, but he had the momentum to catch Bell around the waist. They crashed into Marianne’s chair, sending her flying as well. Bell fought dirty but Jack managed to grab one hand and pin it. He clamped his knees tight around her legs while she tried to drive the side of her hand into his throat.

Harry yelled, “Stand down! Stand the fuck down!” There was a crash and a man cried out. “Sir! Move!” Then, bang!

One of the women screamed but Jack was too focused on Bell to see which body it was that thumped to the floor behind him. Bell managed to get a leg over Jack’s and, with a heave and twist, rolled them so she was on top. She punched him once, twice, then jammed her fingers into the wound on Jack’s side. He jack-knifed in sudden, intense pain.

Bang!

Bell raised her fist for another blow, but a dark shape flashed overhead and the assassin was thrown off Jack. Marianne took another step forward, lifting the chair she’d used to hit Bell. Snarling, Bell rolled out of range and flipped to her feet. Without a backwards glance to see if her fellows needed help, she was out the door and running.

Jack came up into a ready crouch, ribs protesting the move sharply. He took in the situation in a glance. Marianne slowly set down the chair, gripping its back so hard her knuckles went white, her shoulders heaving as she dragged air into her shaking body. The other woman was pressed into the wall, wide-eyed but seemingly unharmed. Rindone was slumped across the desk, unmoving. Maynard stood over him, hands curled into fists, panting. He too appeared okay. Harry was . . .

“King?” Jack took a long stride to reach his partner.

The Kiwi was lying on the floor, carbine held in one hand, the glasses and cap of his borrowed disguise knocked askew. Jack’s chest tightened as he went to his knees beside Harry, ignoring the pain in his side. “Harry!”

“I heard you the first time.” Harry opened his eyes. “Just having a nap. I mean I did all the work here. Got the last two mercs and the main bad guy. I mean, I was lying on my back when I shot him. That’s gotta be worth a medal right there.”

Jack didn’t know whether he should kick or hug him, so he settled for getting back to his feet and holding a hand out. “Dickhead,” he said fondly, as he hoisted his partner upright.

“Aw.” Harry grinned. “I think we just bonded.”

“Great,” Jack muttered. “BFFs forever.”

“Best friends forever forever?”

Jack shook his head. “Let’s go get the last bad guy.”

“Lead the way.”

Jack stopped long enough to snatch up a carbine from the dead merc and he and Harry followed Bell. She was just disappearing into the stairwell, so they sprinted after her, taking steps downward two and three at a time.

“Ace!” Jack shouted as the hit the first-floor landing. He wasn’t certain Ethan would hear him, but he had to try. “Bell’s on the run!”

Harry overtook Jack while he was yelling and was halfway down to the ground floor before Jack took the first step. Jack looked over his shoulder as he reached the mid-landing. Ethan hadn’t shown up. It was going to be just Jack and Harry then. Which was fine because they were more than capable.

When Jack burst out of the stairwell on the ground floor, Harry was pelting along the hallway, well ahead of him. Bell was even further along and seconds away from the door to the foyer.

Jack skidded to a stop and swung his carbine up. “King! Drop!”

Harry tucked his shoulder and hit the floor in a controlled roll. Jack fired directly down the middle of the hallway. The door to the foyer was pocked with bullet holes, making Bell skid to a stop and drop.

“Stay down, Bell,” Jack ordered.

She didn’t and, just like on that mad chase on the Gold Coast, was desperate enough to take a risk. Bouncing to her feet, she threw herself at the door just as Jack shot again. The door burst open and she tumbled through, a spray of red and startled cry heralded a hit.

Harry sprang up and kept after her. Jack was right behind him. Harry crashed through the door to the foyer and a moment later, Jack followed. Bell was sprinting across the foyer’s open expanse, not for the front doors where, hopefully, the RRF from Duntroon was waiting, but toward the doors to the inner courtyard.

Bang! Bang! One of the big glass doors leading to the courtyard shattered under the impact of the bullets, an instant before a dark shape dived through in a spray of glass. Ethan tumbled in a precise roll, coming up on his feet. Two big handguns came up, pointed unerringly at Bell. Almost as fast, Bell brought up her handgun.

In the same space of time, Harry reached the corner of the front desk. He grabbed its edge to pull himself around it in a tight turn. A fake DSO propelled himself up from his position in front of the desk. His arm swept up and around, the edge of the tactical knife he wielded scraping over the chest plate of the armour Harry had purloined.

All Jack knew was that his men—work and personal partners—were in deadly danger. But, just as with the terrorists in Singapore, Jack didn’t think. Training kicked in and his emotional heart shut down. In a split second he’d assessed and decided. The carbine swung and he fired.

Bang!

Bang! Bang!

The DSO’s head snapped backwards as the bullet from Jack’s gun slammed through it. He crashed to the floor, silver knife spinning away, trailing red drops.

Bell tripped over the lowest step leading up to the courtyard doors, falling prey to the Eagles. She hit the steps hard, gun clattering out of her hand.

Ethan went down to one knee, both guns still trained on the other assassin who didn’t move.

In front of Jack, Harry staggered.

“Harry?” Jack slung his carbine over his shoulder and grabbed for his partner.

“Jack?” Harry sounded dazed. “I think . . .” He lifted his hand to his neck and slowly pulled back the collar of his shirt. Blood pumped from a deep wound just over his collarbone.

“Fuck.” Jack caught Harry before he fell. “Harry! Jesus.” He got Harry down gently. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Over his shoulder, “Ethan!” Then, to Harry, “Lie still, mate. Help’s coming. Don’t worry.”

Dark blood was pooling under Harry’s neck, pumping steadily from his torn jugular. Jack pressed his hands over it, but it kept pushing out between his fingers.

Harry, already startlingly pale, looked up at him, big brown eyes wide. “You look . . . worried.”

“Nah. This is my bored face.” He pressed harder, making Harry groan. “The girls are going to love it, Harry. They’ll lap up the story and you’ll have a tiny scar to prove it. Just hold on, okay.”

“Liar.” Harry’s hand fluttered at Jack, landing on his arm, absolutely no strength in his grip. “You said, it’s the little ones you have to . . .” His voice trailed off, eyes going glassy.

The blood wasn’t slowing down and Jack didn’t want to take even one hand away to find something else to use to put pressure on the wound. “Ethan!”

“Here.” Ethan skidded down beside him. He had a wad of material ready, ripped from his black top. He pushed it over Jack’s hands and one at a time, Jack slipped his hands out of the way. More blood pumped out a second before Ethan pressed down hard.

“Hold it,” Jack snapped at Ethan. “I’m going for the RRF. They’ll have a medic.”

“Jack,” Ethan began. “Stay. I’ll get the—”

“They won’t listen to you fast enough,” Jack snapped at him. “It has to be me. Stay with him,” he commanded and scrambled to his feet, ignoring the way Harry’s hand slipped listlessly from his arm.

Jack raced for the front doors, praying the RRF was right outside.

In the mess that followed, Ethan disappeared. When Jack stopped long enough to think about it, he wasn’t surprised. Even though his participation in the fracas had been sort of sanctioned by McIntosh, Ethan wasn’t going to let himself be taken in by the Office again. For once, Jack was glad he was gone. There was too much else he had to deal with to worry about Ethan as well.

The RRF had cordoned off the ISO building and had bought in the fire department and ambulances. The instant they’d confirmed Jack’s friendly status when he burst out of the building, they’d rushed in with their medics and, bare moments later, had Harry out and in an ambulance. Ten minutes after that, they were speeding away, lights and sirens going. The next time Jack heard anything, between giving a quick rundown of events to the RRF CO and having the bullet graze in his side tended, Harry was in theatre, his condition critical. His worry was diverted by seeing Lieutenant Watson detained for questioning regarding her decision to hand Jack and Harry over to the terrorists, but it was a momentary distraction only.

It was midnight and everyone, including the hostages, the fake DSOs that were still alive, and Jack, had been transported to Duntroon. Jack had just finished a slightly more thorough recitation of it all to several government types—a general, a couple of senators, a quiet ASIO guy—when he got more information on Harry.

They gave him a few moments alone. Numb, Jack called Ethan through the implant. He didn’t answer, so Jack left a message.

I know why you couldn’t stay. That’s okay, but I need to see you. Soon. Please. I need you.

Jack waited, almost as if Ethan would answer, but really needing a moment to say one final thing.

Harry didn’t make it.