Perhaps his decision was counterintuitive. Given the chance to live a nomadic life, many Europeans would sooner travel south, toward warmer climes, as the winter approached, but instead, James Ryker headed north. Honestly? He’d had enough warm sunshine and glistening ocean over the last few months and wanted a change. His recent companion, fifteen-year-old Henrik, seemed happy with the perhaps more familiar territory, given he’d grown up in northern Norway where harsh winters were a way of life.
Ryker sighed and shuffled in his seat. His back ached from the constant vibration and jolts of the rickety train. Something of a relic, the carriage reminded him of those he’d seen in old movies from decades ago, with individual wood-paneled cabins, a frosted glass door separating the cabin from a corridor that ran down one edge of the carriage. Were trains like this used to give the tourists who came to the region a sense of nostalgia? Or was this simply a replacement service of sorts? Certainly, the previous trains they’d taken, from the Med all the way up to Milan, were sleek and modern in comparison. Some of them superfast, too.
This one… At least it gave plenty of time to take in the glorious mountainous scenery and snowy peaks.
A tap on the door snapped Ryker from his thoughts and he looked across at Henrik who slowly opened his eyes as he woke up. The door opened and a smartly dressed ticket inspector – cap and all – stepped inside.
‘Buongiorno.’
Ryker and Henrik took out their tickets and showed them to the man. He eyed the pieces of paper a little suspiciously – at least in Ryker’s mind – before handing them back.
‘It’s the next stop,’ he said to them in English. ‘Less than an hour.’
‘Grazie,’ Henrik said.
The inspector gave him a curious look before moving out. Ryker’s focus returned to the window and the wintry scene outside.
‘You’re missing her already?’ Henrik asked.
Actually that – she – hadn’t been on Ryker’s mind at all. Not the whole time, anyway.
‘No,’ Ryker said.
Henrik smirked. ‘Liar. I can understand it. She was very beautiful.’
She meaning Eleni. A spy, of sorts, with ties to both the American and Greek governments, but an unbreakable loyalty to neither.
‘She was.’
‘Dangerous, too. I think that attracts you more, or am I wrong?’
Ryker didn’t answer. He didn’t really want to have this conversation with a fifteen-year-old boy. With anyone, actually. He liked Eleni, even if he’d never fully understood her. He’d enjoyed spending time with her, but both of them knew it was never intended to be permanent.
‘You could always go back. To Greece. To Athens.’
‘Maybe one day.’
Henrik laughed. ‘I can understand why you were attracted to her, but the other way around? You’re…’
‘What?’
‘I don’t even know how to explain it. But you’ll have to teach me your tricks.’
‘Tricks?’
‘How you get beautiful women like that to like you.’
Ryker smiled. ‘Perhaps when you’re older.’
‘So you’re saying we’ll still be traveling together then?’
‘I’ll still be traveling,’ Ryker said. He couldn’t bear the thought of staying in one place too long anymore. ‘Who I’ll be with is a different question.’
He noticed a flicker of hurt on Henrik’s face, though he’d only spoken the truth. He’d never intended to spend so long with this young man by his side after their disparate lives had clashed together in a mess of secrets, lies, and violence months before. Yet the two of them – two lost souls, in many ways – had certainly bonded, more so than Ryker had ever expected. He’d never seen himself as a father figure, not with his dark past, and his ever-uncertain future, but he noticed the way Henrik looked up to him, looked to him for answers and advice, even if he remained unreasonably headstrong at times.
‘So you know this place?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik had chosen their next stop-off location – St Ricard, a small town near the French-Italian border, within the Alps.
‘I’ve never been,’ Henrik said. ‘But I know of it.’
He didn’t add anything more. Ryker continued to stare until Henrik looked over at him.
‘And you know what about it?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, Ryker thought. ‘That it has four hotels, three ski lifts, about fifty different routes down. Six bars at the bottom, not including the ones in the hotels. It’ll be busy this time of year.’
Ryker wasn’t sure he wanted busy. But he’d looked online on the journey here and the town, out of season, had less than three thousand residents. How much bigger could it be during ski season? Perhaps double, triple its out-of-season population, but that still only made it a small town in his mind.
‘So you want us to go skiing?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik shrugged. ‘Let’s see,’ he said with a strangely knowing smile.
An hour later, they stepped from the taxi in the center of St Ricard. The town’s wooden cabins rose above them to the north, the white of the mountain rising several times higher still, its peak out of sight. To the south, rolling white hills stretched into the distance. To the east and west further peaks lay visible on the horizon. Definitely not a big place, but people walked the slushy, gritty streets here, there, and everywhere.
‘You can see Mont Blanc to the northwest,’ Henrik said, sounding enthused as he tossed his backpack over his shoulder. ‘We could climb it before we leave.’
He said that so calmly and confidently. As though it was perfectly feasible for the two of them to simply roll up one morning and scale Western Europe’s highest peak in the middle of winter. Perhaps he was right. Ryker had never climbed Mont Blanc and had no clue how accessible it was.
‘First things first,’ Ryker said, adjusting his own larger and heavier backpack. ‘Let’s find somewhere to stay. Then let’s eat.’
Henrik laughed; Ryker wasn’t sure why. They looked over all of the town’s four hotel options. The first two were full. The next was too expensive-looking so they didn’t even bother to go inside. They had more luck at L’Hotel Alpine, which was as lackluster as its name, from the dreary reception staff to the tired exterior and interior, but it had vacancies at least. Ryker paid cash for two single rooms. After a shower and some downtime, he and Henrik met outside the hotel restaurant on the ground floor.
‘I’m not eating in there,’ Henrik said, staring into the shabby-looking interior where a large, brightly lit buffet bar took up one side of the space. There were no diners inside. A smell of grease and boiled vegetables and fried something or other wafted over.
‘Agreed.’
They traipsed through the streets, still busy now that darkness had descended – which happened pretty early in deep winter. Ryker shivered in his coat. A decent coat, for most occasions, but the temperature on the clocktower in the main square of the town read minus eight Celsius. Quite a difference to Athens where they’d started their journey not long ago. If they were staying here long, they’d need to stock up on appropriate gear.
They found a bar, proudly displaying large neon signage at the front that advertised some of the offerings inside – beer, wine, cocktails, burgers, pizza. Nothing particularly local-sounding, though as they stepped into the bustling interior, it didn’t seem as though people minded much.
They sat in a booth and Ryker watched the customers as Henrik scanned a menu. The clientele included quite a mixture of people, ranging from families with kids to groups of twenty- and thirty-somethings to couples of all ages. A few groups of teenagers too. Locals, mostly, Ryker thought, the largest group of which were clustered at the far corner of the bar, taking up the space that contained two pool tables and a variety of arcade machines.
He looked back at Henrik and saw he was staring over in that direction. When Henrik turned and caught Ryker’s gaze he gave a slightly sheepish look. As though he’d been caught out.
Had someone caught his eye? Or perhaps he was only looking at the teenagers because they were so… normal. Henrik was anything but a normal teenager.
Did he envy them or pity them?
‘What do you want?’ Ryker asked.
‘Chicken burger and a large beer,’ Henrik said.
‘Chicken burger and Diet Coke it is.’
Ryker headed to the bar. Squeezed into a space between a couple in their thirties and a group of three women drinking brightly colored cocktails. He caught the attention of one of the bar staff and ordered the food and drinks, choosing to speak in French rather than English, which resulted in a confused look from the bartender, even though Ryker knew his words were spot on.
As he stood and waited for his drinks, he realized one of the women to his right was staring.
‘I saw you and your son arriving earlier,’ she said to him in English, though her accent was European. Obviously, his English-accented French had given away where he was from. ‘You don’t look much like skiers.’
‘What do skiers look like?’
She squinted, as though unsure whether Ryker’s question was serious or not.
‘So, are you?’
‘A skier? Not really.’
‘Thought so. Shame, though. I could have shown you the runs.’
‘I’m a quick learner.’
She smiled. Ryker looked over at Henrik who stared at him.
‘Just you two here?’ the woman asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘His mom—’
‘She’s not here.’
A slight flicker in her eyes as though she wasn’t sure whether she’d made a mistake in asking. The truth was, Henrik’s mom was alive and well. She just couldn’t have cared less about her son’s whereabouts and hadn’t done so since he was taken away from her as a toddler. His life since then… Complicated.
Henrik’s stare turned to a frown.
‘He doesn’t like his dad flirting?’ the woman asked.
‘We’re flirting?’ Ryker said, eyebrow raised.
She looked away playfully and Ryker was about to say something else but the woman’s words played on his mind. Twice she’d indicated that she thought Henrik was Ryker’s son. Twice he hadn’t corrected her, though in previous situations he always had. Why the change now?
‘What’s your name?’ Ryker asked the woman as the bartender pushed his drinks across the scratched top toward him.
‘Amelie.’
‘I’m James.’
He picked up his drinks.
‘Maybe see you around?’ she said hopefully as Ryker went to move away.
‘Maybe.’
He took the drinks back to Henrik whose eyes didn’t leave Ryker the whole way.
‘All thoughts of Eleni gone now, then,’ Henrik said, a little aggravated, which surprised Ryker given their earlier conversation on the train.
‘Not at all,’ Ryker said.
‘You like her?’ Henrik said, indicating back to the bar.
‘I don’t know her.’
‘But you like how she looks.’
‘I don’t not like how she looks. Does that bother you?’
‘I’m not bothered, just… curious, really. Trying to figure out what type of man you are. And wondering whether I want to be like that too.’
Ryker thought about that for a few moments, but the answer to Henrik’s thoughts was too complex to delve into fully, he decided.
What type of man was Ryker, anyway?
‘She thinks you’re my son,’ he said instead.
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘I didn’t tell her otherwise.’
‘So I’m your son while we’re here? Is that what we tell people?’
What did Henrik want the answer to be?
‘Yeah, why not?’ Ryker said. ‘To avoid any confusion. Or unwanted questions.’
Henrik’s face screwed up in suspicion. ‘Yeah, sure. To avoid confusion. Like when you’re talking to pretty ladies who like the idea of a single dad, perhaps? Will you say your wife died unexpectedly, or that she ran off with your best friend? Which gets the most sympathy, do you think?’
Ryker laughed and shook his head.
‘Actually, that’s not what I meant at all.’
‘Yeah, Dad, of course, I believe you,’ Henrik said with a cheeky wink.
Ryker said nothing as he glanced back over at the bar.
* * *
A chicken burger and two drinks each later, Ryker came back from the restroom to an empty booth. He looked across to the games area and spotted Henrik hovering by one of the pool tables. Not the one with five teens sitting on the table, but the one where two boys were playing an actual game, with others looking on. Ryker watched for a few moments, analyzing the situation. No one spoke a word to Henrik though he received plenty of dubious glances from the others. Not outright hostility, but not far from it. Henrik was far from a shy teen, but he also wasn’t the most sociable and Ryker thought it would have been an effort for Henrik just to approach the alien group. Was his silence a sign he now regretted that decision?
Ryker’s thoughts tipped toward feeling sorry for his friend, but then Henrik stepped forward confidently and placed some money on the table – Ryker couldn’t tell the denomination of the note – and started talking to the two playing. Both glared at him but then Henrik laughed and so, too, did a few of the onlookers. The two players didn’t.
Okay, so no need to feel sorry for Henrik after all. He’d handled all manner of horrible, sometimes evil adults. He could handle a few kids.
A strange standoff ensued until Henrik reached forward to offer a handshake. The two guys hesitated but then took Henrik’s hand in turn. Then Henrik turned and indicated one of the onlookers. A young woman, a little older than Henrik, Ryker thought. Tall, slender, blonde hair. She gave Henrik a pout and then Henrik re-racked the balls and the game began. Henrik and the girl versus the two boys.
‘You want some company?’
Ryker looked over at Amelie, hovering at the end of the booth. He’d sensed her approaching and had willed her to carry on to the restroom or the exit. As pretty as she was, his first responsibility right now was Henrik.
Amelie glanced over at the pool game. ‘He’s not shy,’ she said.
‘Apparently not.’
She sat down without further invitation. She held a fancy cocktail in her hand, barely anything left of the electric-blue drink – just the sight of it made Ryker’s insides curdle.
He downed the remaining half of his beer.
‘You want another?’ he asked.
She looked at him curiously.
‘Sure.’ She laughed. ‘But perhaps not another of these, though. A gin martini, please. With a twist.’
Ryker headed to the bar, one eye on the pool game as he went. Judging by the looks on the faces of the two guys, the game was not going in their favor. Henrik’s partner potted a shot and she jumped up in the air and Henrik – face beaming – high-fived her. Ryker smiled and ordered the drinks. Amelie’s friends remained at the bar but they paid Ryker no attention before he walked off with the drinks.
‘How long are you staying in St Ricard?’ Amelie asked when Ryker had settled back into his seat.
‘Not sure yet.’
Ryker took a large swig of his beer. One of the two lads potted what must have been a decent shot because he balled his fist and cheered and his teammate gave him a manly slap on the back, their bravado increasing in line with Henrik and his partner’s exuberance. What was Henrik’s game here? Woo the girl? Pick a fight? Either way, Ryker didn’t feel particularly comfortable looking on. But perhaps that’s exactly why he’d never make a good dad in real life. He’d never be able to let go and let his kids go off and live their own lives, make their own mistakes.
‘Not much of a talker, are you?’ Amelie said, grabbing Ryker’s attention.
He looked back at her and noted the disappointment in her eyes.
‘Sorry, just distracted.’
‘It’s nice, that you’re so protective of him.’
Ryker didn’t say anything.
‘How old is he?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘He seems older.’
‘He does. Sometimes.’
‘Where’s his mom? Sorry, that was—’
‘In Norway. That’s where he’s from. But she… He hasn’t known her for a long time.’
‘So it’s just the two of you?’
‘It is now.’
He took another gulp of beer. For some reason, as those last words passed his lips, he had a thought of Eleni. Of the time he’d spent with her in Athens, Henrik there too. Nothing like a ‘normal’ family of three, but together they’d been content.
‘What about you?’ Ryker asked. ‘Are you here long?’
‘Only three more nights,’ she said. ‘But I come here a lot with my friends.’
He looked at her hands, on the table. No ring.
‘Those friends?’ he said, indicating the two at the bar.
She nodded. ‘We traveled here together from Lyon. We’ve known each other for years. My friends are both married now, but I’m… I’m not.’
She fixed a sultry look on Ryker. He smiled and she carried on talking about her friends, but Ryker was distracted again. He’d sensed the mood worsening over by the pool table, as Henrik and his partner congratulated each other more and more, and the two boys sulked and glared daggers more and more. Most of the crowd seemed to be with Henrik – likely because he’d been the underdog – but not all of them. A group of three lads stood sullen-faced by the two players. If it all kicked off…
A cheer went up as the girl potted a ball – the black? She looked up at Henrik, beaming, and he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up in the air like she was a trophy. Others closed in and ruffled their hair and patted their backs.
The five glum-looking boys stood watching. Henrik released the girl and shook the hands of his opponents but moments later was back in among the crowd of supporters.
‘He’s made quite an impression,’ Amelie said, craning her neck.
Did she mean good or bad?
Ryker tried to take his focus from Henrik to Amelie, but he struggled. To keep the conversation flowing, Ryker asked wide questions to get her talking so he could keep an eye on Henrik. He certainly didn’t want to be rude, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her, and she was obviously interested in him… Without Henrik there, Ryker had no doubt he’d have been as keen as Amelie, but Henrik was there and… He couldn’t even explain it in his head, never mind out loud.
‘What about you?’ Amelie asked.
‘Sorry?’
He looked back at her. Just the slightest annoyance in her features.
‘What do you do?’
She’d just been talking about her job in advertising. He’d expected the reciprocal question sooner or later. He looked into her eyes a moment. He’d wondered more than once since she came over what she’d want the answer to this question to be. He could tell her the truth. That as an unruly teenager he’d been recruited to the UK’s intelligence services. Groomed, effectively, and turned into a clandestine, deadly agent sent around the world to carry out the government’s dirty work under the radar. That he’d carried out that role for nearly two decades, killed scores of people. But had also seen so many people killed because of him. Including the people he’d cared about most in the world. That their deaths weighed heavily on him every day. That he’d left that life behind several years ago in part because of the guilt. That during those years his past had caught up with him time after time, no matter where he went or why. That because of all that he tried as far as he could to stay on the move and not get too close to others for fear of them getting hurt, because of him, and his past.
He glanced over at Henrik as those thoughts rumbled.
‘James?’
‘I’m taking a career break,’ he said. ‘But I used to teach martial arts. Self-defense.’
‘Oh yeah?’ she said, a little more animated. ‘I know some Krav Maga. I mean, probably not as much as you.’
‘You’ll have to show me what you know.’
Ryker smiled then took a swig from his drink. He started a spiel about the various fighting techniques he’d been schooled in, many years ago, and their pros and cons in real life. And she seemed interested enough. Clearly, this choice of lie about his career was better suited to Amelie than his more usual practice of saying he was a consultant. As he talked he switched his focus back and forth to Henrik. With the conclusion of the game, Henrik seemed to be the toast of the town with the girl and her friends, with plenty of smiles all around, but the five boys remained sulking, a few glares here and there. No more pool on either table.
Soon the initial jubilation died down and Henrik and the others settled. He remained close to his playing partner, the two of them glancing at each other longingly every so often. But then the girl’s face turned more neutral, as though Henrik had said something he shouldn’t have. She gave him a couple of forced smiles but the mood between the two had changed. And others had taken notice. A boy peeled away from the group and went over to the fivesome by the pool table. Whispered into one of their ears. That was followed by a hushed, heads-together conversation by the five. Then one of those five – the tallest and bulkiest of them – moved off and over to the far side of the bar where two men were propped on stools drinking beer. The men looked about the same age as Ryker, possibly older. As the boy relayed whatever the problem was, both men glared from Henrik to Ryker and back again. Then one of the men stood from his stool – a big guy – and even if Ryker had no idea what Henrik had said to take the night in this direction, he knew exactly where the situation was headed.
Ryker sighed.
‘Are you okay?’ Amelie asked him, a look of concern on her face.
‘Me? I’m sure I’ll be okay,’ Ryker said. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for others.’
He sat back in his booth and waited for the inevitable.