Then he’d discovered it was a lie. Jones had engineered it. Her death was for the good of the company. For the good of the country. But it had not been for his good. It had taken him a long time to accept that Clara had not died, that she had been somewhere breathing, eating, possibly making love with someone else, while he was grieving. Yet she had not contacted him. She’d let him believe that she had been killed. Why? Being dead seemed to be an occupational hazard when you worked for Jones. It was a professional requirement; only her death had cut him deep.

Storm wondered, Had his death caused the same reaction in her?

“Don’t worry,” Jones said. “Clara is out of country.”

“Do me a favor,” Storm said. “Don’t tell her I’m still alive. It’d make things. . complicated.”

Jones smirked, revealing rows of perfectly crowned teeth.

Did Jones have a heart? Or was he the ultimate Machiavellian company man? Ice-cold. Storm wasn’t sure, even after all of the years that he had worked from him.

“Whatever you want, Derrick,” Jones said, inhaling deeply.

“I want another promise from you,” Storm said. “When I’ve done whatever it is that you want, promise me that you’ll let me be dead again-this time forever.”

Jones leaned forward and stuck out his right hand to shake.

“You’ve got my word,” he said.

“My debt is paid?”

“In full. After this time, you’re done.” And then Jones added, “Besides, you’re getting too old, too soft for this.”

Storm returned his smile. “What’s so important that you called in Tangiers?”

“A kidnapping here in Washington, D.C.”

“You called in Tangiers because of a kidnapping?” Storm repeated in an incredulous voice.

“There’s more to it.”

With Jones there always was. His mind was already racing. He knew Jones would not be calling him out of his self-imposed retirement because of a kidnapping.