He would become some abstraction over the sea, unneeded and unremembered.

Heinrich couldn’t accept that.

But he’d have to unless he somehow managed to move to Warsaw.

He had to get this case done fast or he’d lose the only thing resembling a family he’d ever had.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Unlike some of his previous clients, the Greek government was cheap and they had to fly coach. At least that got him snuggled up against Thalia. Heinrich was beginning to suspect she didn’t have a boyfriend. When she’d made three calls from the terminal, one was to her mother, another was to some colleague who had offered to take over her classes, and the third was to Montaine. People going on dangerous overseas missions tended to reserve their last call for the person they cared about most.

She kept up the facade, though, occasionally dropping mentions of “John,” who didn’t seem to have any distinguishing characteristics except for the fact that he supposedly existed. Heinrich decided not to challenge her. He’d wear her down soon enough.

The language was helping. All the way across the Atlantic, he peppered her with questions. Like everyone else, she was amazed by his ability. Languages were as natural to him as breathing. If someone told him a vocabulary word, he would repeat it a few times until it was ingrained in his mind, never to be lost. His brain was simply wired that way. Heinrich considered himself a fairly intelligent guy, but not a genius by any stretch of the imagination. Only with languages did he rise above the herd. That and being a capable amateur boxer at an age when most men were working on their beer guts.

Eventually, Thalia drifted off the sleep, keeping rigidly vertical at first. She’d been trying to avoid physical contact the whole flight – not an easy thing to do in coach. Heinrich watched with interest as her face relaxed. She looked much more attractive when she wasn’t stressed and nervous about the murder and their mission. He smiled as she tilted to the right and ended up with her head on his broad shoulder.

That smile faltered as he thought about the Skype call to the halfway house. He’d sent Jan a couple of text messages and mailed the Spitfire model via FedEx that morning. Jan would get the model tomorrow at the latest. That should help improve his mood.

Yet Heinrich couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all going bad. With the time difference, Jan would have had his morning screen time that all the kids got. He’d have seen Heinrich’s messages. But there had been no response. Jan always responded. Maybe he’d gotten in trouble and lost his phone time? That had happened before. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like replying. Maybe he was already forgetting his father figure from across the sea.

Shit, it was all so uncertain. And Heinrich couldn’t just keep sending emails if they weren’t welcome.