Damn, Harry wasn’t prepared. Usually, he wore an extra revolver in a leg holster; however, since part of his trip was on a commercial flight, the gun was packed away in a sealed container. Easing the shoestring from his boot, Harry gripped it firmly in each fist and quickly brought it down over the man’s head. With all his strength, he pulled it tight against his throat. As garbled sounds came from the driver, the SUV spun wildly. Gasping for air, the driver simultaneously slammed his feet against the brake and gas pedals and released the steering wheel. His hands fought Harry’s grip as he clawed backwards.

When the SUV finally came to a stop, the driver’s head fell to one side and his hands quit the fight. Harry’s relief was short-lived. The doors to the vehicle flew open, and he was pulled to the ground. The concrete was wet as he assessed his situation. Three large men were shouting things he couldn’t understand. Harry’s linguistics training told him the language was Middle-Eastern, but he didn’t recognize the dialect. His heart raced even faster when the sound of a woman’s crying came into range. Harry didn’t need to see the woman to recognize the voice calling out to him between sobs.

SAC Williams touched Agent Baldwin’s arm, bringing him back to present. “Agent, what can you tell us?”

Harry’s right eye opened wide with concern. “Liz”—his voice cracked—“is she—all right?”

“Yes, son, she wasn’t harmed. Apparently, Ms. Matherly’s presence was meant only as a witness. She’s filled us in on her story and is anxious to see you, but first, we need your version.”

Harry inhaled, taking the throbbing in his ribs as penitence for the pain he’d caused those he loved and cared about. After he explained the pick-up and ride, Harry went on, “I got up off the concrete and asked what they wanted, what it was all about. Instead of answering, they taunted, punched me, and yelled. I fought back, more than once, I connected.” Harry looked down at his hands. The right one was covered in bandages. “They said I needed to stop. I asked stop—what? They kept saying—Leave the past alone. It won’t change anything now. Just stop digging around where you don’t belong. When I asked who they were working for, they laughed and said I mustn’t be a very good FBI agent if I couldn’t figure that out.”

Harry’s voice lowered with determination. “SAC, I know it was Rawlings—I know it was! I saw his face in Geneva. When he left that pub, he was mad! He’s the one who’s responsible for this. I’m getting too close to something in my research.”

Williams pulled the chair beside Harry’s bed. “Did you tell Rawlings about your research?”

With his head and ribs throbbing, Harry reached up and touched his left cheekbone and confirmed his suspicions. The skin was tender and felt swollen.

Williams nodded. “You have quite a shiner. Ms. Matherly said you put up a good fight, but once the driver came to, you were outnumbered four to one.”

Harry remembered. He was thrown to the ground, and the driver started to kick him. Finally, one of the other guys pulled the driver off. Liz was crying. The men all got back into the SUV and left. “Did Liz get help?”

“Yes, the men took your phone, but Ms. Matherly still had hers. She called 911. Once the police arrived, she called the bureau. Son, do you remember any more details? Did you tell Rawlings about your research?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I didn’t have the chance to tell him, but somehow, he found out. It’s the only thing that makes sense”—he paused—“My phone—did you say they took my phone?”

“Yes, the bureau tracked it, and it was found with your other belongings in an ally dumpster about a half of a mile from where you were attacked. Your phone was destroyed.”

Harry exhaled. “Good.” He knew the saved information was backed up on the bureau’s servers. Suddenly, he had a thought. “Was the SD card still in the phone?”

“I don’t remember seeing it, but the phone was pretty mangled. Besides, everything should be on the server.”

Harry tried not to reveal too much emotion in his voice. “Not everything, sir. There’s a picture of Claire Nichols with me on that card.”

SAC Williams sat straighter. “With you?”

“No, not like that—just sitting together in a booth in Venice.”

“We received that picture.”

“There were two. The one I sent and another one.” He swallowed. “Now I’m concerned about her safety too.”