Page 10 of Stuart Woods' Golden Hour

“That’s correct.”

“Golden Hour happened over two decades ago.” Teddy knew this because he’d been part of the mission.

“There has been some recent fallout.”

“What kind of fallout?”

“The terminal kind,” Lance said. “Someone is killing the agents who were assigned to Golden Hour.”

“And this is recent?” Teddy asked. “That makes no sense.”

“It started one month ago.”

“How many have been killed?”

“Three. Marcus Rendon, Laurel Nguyen, and Owen Pace.”

Teddy had known all of them, of course, but Nguyen’s loss was particularly painful. She had been a good friend when Teddy had still worked at the CIA.

“I thought Nguyen and Rendon had left the Agency years go,” he said.

Lance nodded. “Both retired, seven and ten years ago, respectively.”

“But they were still targeted?”

“They were. Rendon was first. Nguyen was executed two weeks ago. And Pace last night while on assignment in Paris.”

“Just because all three were part of Golden Hour doesn’t mean they were killed because of it. If memory serves, there were twelve of us on the operation. Have any of the others been targeted?”

“Not yet,” Lance said.

“Then I assume there’s something else that makes you believe the murders are tied to Golden Hour.”

Lance opened a manila envelope and slid out two business cards. Printed in the middle of each was a logo featuring the letterT. The cards were otherwise blank. “One was found on Rendon and the other on Nguyen.”

Teddy’s jaw clenched. “The Trust?”

“The Trust,” Lance said. “There was a card on Owen, too, but it’s in transit.”

“It can’t be the Trust. They’re all dead.”

Run by a man named Tovar Lintz, the Trust was the organization Operation Golden Hour had been created to take down—a task the CIA accomplished with great success.

Disguised as a legitimate financial institution, the Trust’s true purpose had been to fund terrorist operations around the world. Anyone who got in the organization’s way usually ended up dead, with a business card, exactly like those on the table, left in the victim’s pocket.

Teddy picked up one of the cards, studied it, then set it back down. “It’s been decades. If there was anyone left whowanted revenge, they would have done it years ago. At most, this is a copycat.”

“A copycat who has been killing agents involved in Golden Hour.”

Teddy picked up his whisky and finished it off.

“Can I get you a refresh?” Stone asked.

“Please.”

Stone picked up Teddy’s glass and walked over to the bar.

Teddy waited until he returned before he said to Lance, “How does anyone outside the CIA even know who the agents on the mission were? Unless procedures have changed, those kind of records are locked away.”

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