Chapter VI

Belgrade, Yugoslavia

THE PHONE JANGLED on the nightstand, awakening Maddux from what was a restless night of sleep. His return flight to Bonn was scheduled for that evening, giving him nothing but time to kill. He’d wanted to sleep in, but Pritchett put an end to that idea.

“Is it really necessary to call me this early?” Maddux asked, rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus on the clock.

“It’s 7:30,” Pritchett said. “Why would you be complaining? Are you recovering from being out on an all-night bender?”

Maddux grunted. “I wanted to after the news I got last night.”

“I heard yesterday evening, too. I’m starting to think we have other problems now aside from the one we already had.”

Maddux scanned the floor for a pair of pants. He understood Pritchett’s reticence to speak freely on the phone and dropped into speaking in code. The SDB could be listening—and likely was.

Pritchett continued. “Just focus on your tasks today, and we’ll address these issues tomorrow after you get back. Don’t do anything stupid that you’ll soon regret.”

Maddux sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his pants on. He crossed his fingers before answering. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy. I’ll stay out of trouble; that much you can count on.”

“Good luck, and safe travels,” Pritchett said before he hung up.

Maddux uncrossed his fingers. The act was juvenile, but it made lying to Pritchett somewhat easier. No matter what Maddux did with his fingers, he never had any intention of staying put and playing it safe—not when there were KGB assassins on the loose and gunning for agency operatives and station chiefs.

Maddux donned his hat and jacket before heading toward the CIA’s Belgrade station. He picked up on a pair of SDB agents tailing him and decided to duck into a coffee shop. He ordered a cup and drank half of it before going to the restroom. But instead, he slipped into the back alleyway and continued along. Certain that he had lost the men after walking several blocks, Maddux hailed a cab. He asked to be dropped off two blocks from the location. He wove through several blocks, ensuring that he wasn’t being followed again before entering the station through a secret entrance. But what he found there shocked him—the building was empty.

No matter what station Maddux had visited during his short stint with the CIA, he had always found at least one person managing some type of activity. Whether a listening station or an agent filing a report, someone always had the lights on. But not today.

Maddux went through the small office space to verify the vacancy.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” he called out.

Nothing.

After a few seconds of not getting a response, he looked for Walt Kensington’s office. He found it after a brief search and jimmied the lock open. Maddux went straight for the filing cabinet behind Kensington’s desk. He rifled through folder after folder, looking for anything else that the Belgrade station chief might have failed to give to him.

Still nothing.

Maddux was about to break into Kensington’s desk when the name on a file folder at the back of the drawer gave him reason to pause. The name John Hambrick was scrawled in a black marker across the tab. Maddux’s eyes widened as he opened the folder and studied the one lone document inside—a photo of two men, Kensington and Maddux’s father.

Maddux squinted as he held the picture closer to his face. The pair stood on a dock outside an industrial type building. Combing the photo for any other details that would give away their location, Maddux stopped when he noticed a sign hanging in the background behind them. He recognized the place almost immediately, but it wasn’t in Belgrade.

Kensington knew my father better than he let on. Why would he lie to me?

Maddux pondered a hypothetical list of reasons why Kensington might want to conceal the true nature of his relationship with Maddux’s father.

Maybe Kensington was trying to protect me, or maybe they are still working together and he’s not authorized to tell anyone. Or maybe he doesn’t like my father personally and is carrying out a vendetta against him.

There were no easy answers, especially when Maddux didn’t even know the right questions to ask. All he could do was keep in mind the fact that Kensington downplayed the nature of his relationship with Maddux’s father. Maybe it meant something; maybe it didn’t.

Maddux snapped back to the present when he heard voices outside the door. He wasn’t sure if it was an agent returning from an assignment or the SDB. Either way, Maddux didn’t want to stick around to find out. Even if a friendly face emerged around the corner, he didn’t want to have to explain his presence and why he was rooting around in Kensington’s office.

Maddux stuffed the photo into his jacket pocket. He methodically shut the filing cabinet and scrambled to open the window. Climbing out onto the fire escape, he shut the window before scurrying down to the ground. He hustled back to the sidewalk and walked briskly toward a nearby bus stop.

Once he was on board, Maddux breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the picture out once more to look at it.

Walt Kensington, where are you?