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strange blue of a hue he had never seen before. In this darkness, they almost appeared to shine like those of a cat.
    “You didn’t call for help.”
    “We’re all alone now. Isolated. No one would come.” His breathing came in short spurts, the pain of his broken ribs constricting his efforts. “We don’t exist. Nothing we did ever happened.”
    “But it did. And this time, there are consequences.” The wounded man stared in bewilderment. “You don’t know who I am.”
    From the floor, he strained in the dim light, staring at the fine features, the light hair, cat’s eyes, and shook his head. “No. They’re calling you the wraith . Whispering about you in the halls at Langley, and much more among us outside. The shadow that kills .” He coughed again, a rattling in the airway that indicated a serious injury. “But now that I see you,” he managed at last, “you are only a man.”
    “A man once, really a boy, who did not know you, or why you took him in the dark of night, or where he was going. Hangar No. 3 . That boy saw the sign, right before you placed a bag over his head. That boy didn’t know what would happen to him, and when it did, why. A journey that changes a person, Agent Stone.”
    The man looked again at the shadow behind the gun. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I would have remembered you. You don’t even fit the profile.”
    The blond man smiled. “Not anymore.”
    “I’m not going to know who sent you, am I? Or why.”
    The response was cold. “No.”
    The assassin’s words struck him like another blow. He had at least expected to know why his life would end.
    “The others were more afraid.”
    The man on the floor coughed roughly, a trickle of blood on the side of his mouth. A lung had been punctured.
    “I’m plenty afraid. But it’s been too long in this business. I’ve done too many things. I figure I’ve got it coming.”
    The blond man stood up from the chair and aimed the weapon. The enormous silencer on the end gave the gun an almost obscene appearance.
    “Yes, Agent Stone, you do.”
    Three sharp spits sounded in the small kitchen, and the form slouching against the wall slid heavily to the floor. The blond man stepped away from the body and walked into the dead man’s study. On the desk was an open case into which he placed the weapon. He turned to the man’s computer and powered it up. As the machine booted, he quickly removed the outer casing, his progress rapid despite the black gloves he wore. Within seconds, he had access to the motherboard, and he returned to the case and removed a small device alongside the weapon nearly the size of a portable hard drive. With a set of connectors, he linked the device to the board and returned to the monitor.
    As the login prompt waited for input, he flicked a switch on the device. For several minutes, the small machine sat perched like a tick on the motherboard of the dead man’s computer, while a blur of characters swept through the login and password fields. Suddenly, a green light appeared on the tick, and the assassin had access to his victim’s files.
    In a short period of time, he had what he was looking for. Two addresses appeared on the screen, and he checked them against information on a smartphone he carried.
    Lopez, Miguel. 1904 Westmore Ave, Huntsville, AL. 14 Mountain Brook Rd, Gatlinburg, TN.
    The wraith’s targets had been particularly close. He had done his research. Stone would be his friend’s undoing.
    He closed all applications on the computer, shut it down, removed his device, and replaced the cover. He returned to the kitchen and stepped over the pooling blood on the floor, flipping the light switch on his way out.
    Everything was moving according to plan.

6
    T he last of the parishioners exited St. Joseph’s, and Father Lopez released a suppressed sigh. Lord, forgive me, but I’m tired today. My heart isn’t in it. Switching off the main lamps, he left only the dim candlelight near the