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Ian could hear the entire conversation through the phone, the hotel room dead quiet. The other three women were likewise listening. Malone was playing the old man, controlling his anger, keeping himself calm, using his brain. He could relate to that. He’d survived on the streets doing the exact same thing. But he was bothered by the fact that most of this seemed his fault. He stole the flash drive. Then pepper-sprayed the old man. He fled to America. And ran from that mews.

But he came back.

And stole Antrim’s phone. Which gave them the translation.

Without that, Malone would have nothing to bargain with.

So he’d also helped.

But he still felt responsible for Malone’s anguish.

And he wanted to help.

* * *

Malone hung up the phone.

He turned to see Kathleen Richards staring at him, realizing they’d all heard what Mathews had said.

“He cannot be trusted,” Richards said.

“Like I don’t know that.”

His mind raced.

One more phone call.

He lifted the receiver and dialed overseas for Stephanie Nelle.

“I’m about to engage Thomas Mathews,” he said.

Then he told her what had happened.

“I need a straight answer,” he said to her. “No bullshit. Did the CIA explain to you Operation King’s Deception?”

“Your asking that question means you already know the answer.”

That he did. “It’s Ireland. Right?”

And she explained.

* * *