Page 69 of Don't Look Back

She took a photo of a store named The Maltese Falcon and laughed at the silly tourist trinkets, wondering who she could buy something for. She remembered Chase, her self-defense instructor at Raptor, was on Falcon team and his wife called him Falcon sometimes. She decided to buy him a small Maltese replica of the movie’s eponymous sculpture.

She then picked up toys for Morgan’s two daughters, while Rand picked out a toy for his niece. She studied the fridge magnets that looked like the colorful Maltese balconies and considered buying one for herself. Later, she’d get some Gozo glass.

As they were browsing, a thought hit her. “My father visited Malta often when I was a child, yet he never brought back gifts for me. He brought me things from Germany—carved wooden toys, Bavarian Christmas ornaments, Kinder eggs…but nothing Maltese, kitsch or otherwise. I wonder why that is?”

“You knew he went to Malta?”

“Sometimes. But most of the time, no. I thought he was in Germany, or he’d just say ‘Europe’ and I assumed.”

“If you really were remembering Birgu yesterday, my guess is he wanted your memories of Malta to fade into nothing.”

“But how could I have been here with my mother? For the last twenty years, I believed she left Russia without permission before I was born. My birth certificate—which I finally got a copy of—says I was born in Pennsylvania. There’s no way she could have left the US after she settled there. She didn’t have a passport or any kind of papers. She didn’t have a social security number. She was a stay-at-home mom who helped my dad with his research. She had no income.”

“How were her taxes filed?”

“I checked after my dad died and he filed as head of household, but didn’t claim my mother. I was his only dependent. He owned the house. Everything was in his name. My mom didn’t drive, except when my dad was traveling, then she’d drive, but as little as possible. We stayed home a lot.”

“It must’ve been hard for her, to live a life in hiding like that.”

They purchased the trinkets and left the store. Back on the street, she resumed the conversation. “My mother always seemed happy with her life, but there was an undercurrent of melancholy. She loved my dad. She loved me. She loved painting and reading and dancing to ’80s music and watching ’80s movies. But I always knew she was missing something. Now I’m wondering if the thing she was missing is here in Malta, not Russia or Germany. Maybe my dad didn’t bring home Maltese trinkets so she wouldn’t be reminded of what she left behind.”

ChapterThirty-Two

They approached the gate from inside the city. Unless their correspondent had seen them arrive far ahead of schedule, they would expect Kira to be outside the walls.

Rand had to respect the choice for a meeting spot. One thing about a bridge with a ditch at the main entrance was the same advantage it had provided in the 1600s when it was made—one entry point and no one sneaks by.

Now Rand decided to wait until precisely noon, then exit the walled city and cross the bridge. He and Kira milled with the other tourists until it was time, then he took her hand and they set out.

He had the gun she’d taken from fake Andre tucked in slacks with a built-in holster at the small of his back. He wore a loose Aloha shirt over the slacks, and the tailoring on the pants was good enough to hide that he was carrying for all but the most astute observer.

Anyone who worked for an FSB agent should have a good eye for that sort of thing, but he didn’t mind them knowing he was armed.

When they were halfway across the bridge, he spotted the man who had to be their contact. He looked like a lackey sent to pick them up. He stood in the minimal shade of a food vendor’s shack to the right and was scanning the road and park across the circle that fronted the entrance.

Little more than a kid. Early twenties. The age Rand had been when he joined the Navy and felt like he was a badass. It wasn’t until he finished BUD/S that he learned what being an operator really meant.

Rand brought Kira’s hand to his lips to cover his mouth as the boy turned and spotted Kira. “Ready?” he whispered.

“I hope so,” she murmured.

“You got this.”

He lowered their hands, but kept their fingers entwined. She carried the shopping bag to keep his hand free to go for the gun if necessary. The kid scowled as he took in Rand, his eyes skimming down to their joined hands.

Kid should be wearing sunglasses to hide his gaze.Rookies.

“Kira Hanson?” he said as they paused five feet away from him.

“She’s Dr. Hanson, yes.” Rand stressed her title. The boy could show some respect.

“You are supposed to be alone.”

“And you’re supposed to be in your seventies,” Rand said.

“Come with me,” the kid ordered. “I’ll take you to my boss. Alone.” He had a slight Russian accent.

So even though the Kuliks—assuming Luka Kulik was behind this—had maintained a home in Malta for decades, they imported their lackeys from Mother Russia. Was that by choice or by orders from the top?

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