Drake’s vehicle approached the first set of gates to the prison, his identification in his driver’s hand, but he barely paid attention to the exchange as he waited for clearance.
 “Sir?” Goetz called back to him. “Did you hear what the officer said?”
 “Yes,” he lied. “That’s fine.”
 He didn’t need to hear what was said. He had visited maximum security prisons a hundred times in his life.
 But never North Branch. Who would ever visit Maryland on purpose? I suppose that’s the ingenuity of it.
 The sleek black SUV continued through to the next entry point and Special Agent Goetz repeated the procedure.
 The passenger in the back could feel the eyes of the guard on him but he was too lost in thought to acknowledge him or the barrage of words flowing from his mouth.
 In moments he would be face to face with Xander.
 Xander Van Hoyt. Convicted of murdering his parents and suspected of being an international smuggler, assassin, and a general mercenary.
 The words made him slightly queasy, but he knew there was more to the story than he knew.
 There always was.
 Again, the inner gates opened, and the car made its way toward the parking lot.
 The day had taken an unexpectedly cold turn, but he was barely aware of it as he disembarked from the vehicle, his black leather shoes crunching in the freshly packed snow on the ground.
 Goetz joined him, but he was immediately ordered back.
 “Stay here,” he said flatly. “I’m going in alone.”
 Goetz stared at him, his mouth becoming a thin line, but he knew better than to protest.
 “Yes sir.”
 The agent handed him his credentials and watched as the older man stalked toward the entrance.
 “Identification.” The desk officer reached to accept his identification.
 He paused and gazed up.
 “Oh. Yes sir,” he mumbled, a red stain creeping up his neck. “Who are you here for?”
 “Xander Van Hoyt.”
 The guard gaped at him for a moment, shaking his head.
 “I’m sorry, sir, he’s not here.”
 Fury flashed through the man and if there had not been bulletproof glass between them, he would have grabbed the guard by the shirt.
 “What do you mean he’s not here? He’s serving two consecutive life sentences for murder.”
 “Ah, yeah, he was…” the man sputtered. “But he cut a deal with someone and he was released today.”
 His sea green eyes darkened dramatically, and he stared holes into the sentry.
 “Cut a deal with whom?” he growled. “How does one get released on a murder charge overnight?”
 The man’s trembling fingers punched through the keyboard, demanding the same answers of the machine before him. His face registered relief when information appeared.
 “Interpol. He made a deal with Interpol.”
 “Who at Interpol?” The question was so low, the man uttering it could barely hear it.
 “Uh…Sam and Cathy Smith. DC office.”
 “When was he released?”
 “This morning, sir. Only a few hours ago in fact.”
 The man spun and stalked from the building back toward the car, shaking with rage.
 There has to be some mistake. The Contact would know. He would know if there was some government arrangement.
 “What happened, sir?” Goetz demanded. “You weren’t able to see him?”
 “Find me Sam and Cathy Smith at Interpol, DC,” he ordered, trying to contain his anger.
 Something was amiss, he could feel it in his well-honed instincts, but he waited as Goetz flipped the tablet and looked for the information he was seeking.
 Slowly he shook his head.
 “There is no Sam or Cathy Smith at Interpol in DC,” Goetz said slowly.
 “Check Interpol International.”
 Goetz nodded and typed in the information again, but he didn’t need to speak for the Deputy Director to see that there were no such people.
 “No, sir. There are no such people.”
 Drake Conway closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the soft leather of the headrest.
 Someone had stolen Xander out of a maximum-security prison and taken him away.
 But where and why?
 Once more he had been so close to touching his son, only to have him ripped away.
 When will this ever end? It’s been thirty years and I am no closer to reuniting with my sons than I was after they were relocated.
 “What would you like me to do, sir?” Goetz asked, sounding concerned.
 “Get your hands on every security surveillance video you can find from this morning in this prison. I want to know who took my son.”
 Goetz nodded and began to work.
 “No,” Drake stopped him. “Not here. Drive.”
 Goetz put the tablet on the passenger’s seat and backed out of the lot.
 Whoever we’re dealing with is bigger than the government, Drake realized with some trepidation.
 That meant that it was bigger than him. Drake had far-reaching contacts, but would they be far-reaching enough?
 Is it Oculus? Once again getting to his powerful sons before he did?
 Drake had a feeling he already knew the answer.