Chapter 70 - The Exchange on the Threshold
I walked to the front door alone. Lind had already descended into the stone cellar, the faint hum of his shortwave generator vibrating through the floorboards.
I unlocked the first deadbolt. Then the second.
The door swung outward six inches, held by the heavy brass security chain. Through the gap, Evelyn Cross stood on the wet stone porch, her trench coat beaded with raindrops. Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot, and behind her, two men in rain jackets watched the surrounding trees with disciplined vigilance.
"You’re being sensible, Myrna," Evelyn said, extending an open, black-gloved hand. "Arthur was always stubborn, but you strike me as a woman who values family above pride."
"I don't care about the money," I said, holding the lead-wrapped packet just inside the gap. "I want the men in New Hampshire gone. I want a confirmation call from Caleb before I hand this through the slot."
Evelyn smiled thinly. She pulled a satellite phone from her coat pocket, dialed a single digit, and put the call on speaker.
A rough voice answered from across the ocean. "Team Two."
"Stand down from the perimeter," Evelyn ordered. "Return to the secondary staging area."
"Understood," the voice replied.
Evelyn ended the call and looked back at me. "Your son is safe for now, Mrs. Miller. The packet."
I slipped the lead-wrapped bundle through the mail slot. Evelyn caught it neatly in her leather palm. She weighed it for a fraction of a second, her thumb feeling the distinct circular shape of the washer through the metal foil.
A flicker of triumphant relief crossed her weathered features. "Roland sends his regards, Myrna. Enjoy your retirement in Portugal."
She turned and began walking down the stone path toward the idling Mercedes.
"Evelyn," I called through the open door.
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her coat flaring slightly in the coastal wind. "Yes?"
"Tell Roland that Arthur never forgave him for nineteen-eighty-eight," I said softly.
May you like
Before she could answer, the shrill beep of her satellite phone tore through the quiet afternoon air. She frowned, lifted the phone to her ear, and listened for three seconds.
The color instantly drained from her face.
