“I don’t want to, Johnny. But I would. For you and for little Elena Katharine.” She put a hand over her belly. The baby kicked and she gasped.
Johnny’s face instantly changed. “Hospital?”
Kat shook her head, smiling. “No, honey. Tree. Finish adding ornaments for me, would you?”
He kissed her soundly and set her on the couch. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her smartly before picking up an ornament. “Where does this go, ma’am?”
Kat rolled her eyes at him, then laughed. “Right there, General. That big, bare spot that’d bite you in the face if it were a snake.”
Men. They often didn’t see what was right in front of them. But that’s what wives were for….
5
December 19th
Kat didn’t have the baby during the night. Mendez worried about leaving her the next morning, but he had to go into work for a few hours. He kissed her at the door and went into the garage to climb into his big black Ram truck.
The snow had stopped during the night and the roads were mostly clear, though more snow was expected later today. In the few years that HOT had been in the DC metro area, it had snowed over Christmas exactly twice. This year could be the third time, though Mendez desperately wished it wouldn’t with Kat so heavily pregnant. He had nightmares about being delayed by weather when she most needed to get to the hospital.
Mendez pushed those thoughts from his mind and turned them toward what would happen when they brought the baby home. Matt “Richie Rich” Girard, Alpha Squad’s team leader, had told him to get ready for sleepless nights and poopy diapers and spit up. Alex “Camel” Kamarov, a sniper on the SEAL Team who was the oldest of six siblings and therefore claimed to have lots of experience, had waved his hand in dismissal and said babies were a piece of cake. Mendez rather doubted that, but hopefully the truth was somewhere between those extremes.
Ghost was already at work when Mendez arrived. They had a short meeting about current missions and potential hot spots and then Mendez went to his office. His phone rang almost the minute he sat down.
“Mendez,” he said.
“Hello, General,” Ian Black said. “You got a few minutes for me today?”
“I can spare some time. When do you want to stop by?”
“How’s fifteen minutes from now?”
Mendez lifted his eyebrows. “That’ll work. Do I need to ready a team for a mission somewhere, or is this a social call?”
“No team. I’ll tell you more when I get there.”
“See you soon then.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mendez’s phone rang again. Lieutenant Connor was on the other end. “Sir, Mr. Black is here to see you.”
“Send him in, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
A second later, the door opened and Ian strode in. He was carrying a legal envelope. Mendez stood and went around the desk to shake his hand.
“Ian. What brings you by so early? I assume this is what you wanted to talk about last night.”
Ian nodded. “It is.” He didn’t move to open the envelope, however.
Mendez nodded toward it. “Do you want to show me the papers?”
“I do. But John—you need to prepare yourself for this.”
Mendez frowned. “I’ve been a Special Operator pretty much my entire adult life. I don’t think there’s much of anything that’s going to shock me now.”
Ian undid the clasp on the envelope and pulled out some papers. He didn’t hand them over, though. “This might. Look, I don’t know how to say this other than to just put it out there. I debated with myself for a while, wondering if the information was good enough—but if it was me, I’d want to see it.”
Mendez’s gut was turning to ice. “What now? Is someone sending General Comstock to arrest me again? Because I didn’t get that vibe from the president last night. Pretty sure he wouldn’t have wanted me there if I was in trouble.”
Ian shook his head. “No, it’s not that.” He turned the papers and held them out—and Mendez saw that the top paper was a photo. A photo of a young man who looked strikingly familiar somehow.
“That’s… not me. But it could almost be, couldn’t it? I’ve never been in the Russian navy, though I suppose someone could have photoshopped—”
The reality hit him then and the words died in his throat. He knew what Ian was showing him. Who Ian was showing him. The young man in the Russian navy uniform could be his son.
Was Roman still alive? Or was this a trick of Dmitri Leonov’s from beyond the grave? Leonov had been particularly sadistic. He’d been an enemy of Kat’s—and Mendez’s by extension—for years. Before that, he’d been Kat’s handler when she’d been part of the Russian FSB. There was also mafia boss Sergei Turov, who was currently in prison but still potentially dangerous. Sergei had tried to kill Mendez and Kat in Moscow just a few months ago. And Kat believed it was Sergei who’d ordered Roman’s death, though it had been made to look like an accident.
Mendez’s knees went a little weak and he sagged against his desk, thankful it was there to hold him up.
“His name is Kazimir Rybakov, not Roman Rostov,” Ian said. “But they could have changed his name. They wouldn’t have wanted Kat to find him.”
Mendez’s heart hammered. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slow it down. “You don’t know for certain it’s him.”
“No. But the resemblance is notable, wouldn’t you say? Not that we don’t all have a doppelgänger somewhere, which is why I hesitated. Kat would know, surely.”
Mendez thought of his very pregnant wife and his stomach twisted. He had to be logical about this. Resemblances happened sometimes. Uncanny ones, even. Didn’t mean anything. But what if…? “I can’t show her. Not yet. I don’t want her upset when she’s about to give birth.”
Not only upset but planning how she was going to get a face-to-face meeting with this boy.
“No, you can’t show her yet.” Ian nodded at the papers in Mendez’s hand. “I’ve given you everything I’ve found on him. It’s not a lot, but he’s twenty-one, he was orphaned at age twelve and put into state custody, and he joined the navy two years ago. He is currently stationed in Vladivostok.”
Twenty-one. Orphaned at age twelve. It fit, but that didn’t mean the young man was Mendez’s son.
“How did you find him?”
“How do I find anyone?” Ian asked with a shrug. “I work connections and take my time. But I have to confess this one was an accident. One of my operatives had a meeting with a Russian counterpart—and Kazimir was there. My operative thought the resemblance notable, so he let me know about it. Kazimir is officially in navy intelligence, but he’s probably also involved with the FSB.”
Anger and hope flooded Mendez in equal measures. Was this boy his son? Or was it just a coincidence. People could share similar features. How many times did you see a picture of someone who resembled a celebrity?
“What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” Mendez growled, more to himself than anything.