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threaded for a suppressor.ā€

Silence was already more than familiar with the popular weapon. Like Cobbā€™s Glock 19 that Silence carried during his killing spree, this was a weapon trusted around the world by police and military forces. If he hadnā€™t already learned all about the weapon during his police training, Nakiri had relentlessly pounded the information into his brain in recent weeks.

It was matte black, ideal for the work heā€™d be doing. The weight of it was pleasing. So was the shape of it, the feel.

He put it back in the holster.

Falcon blew smoke from the corner of his mouth and checked his watch.

ā€œDammit, where is she?ā€ He took another drag. Sighed. ā€œYou made it through training. Do you feel ready?ā€

Before Silence could reply, the door behind him flew open, and there was the tap of heels rapidly crossing the ruined floor. Nakiri came to the table, threw down the peacoat sheā€™d had hooked in her arm, then tore off her oversized sunglasses, revealing a shiner on her left eye. Purple and yellow and glistening. She pointed at it as she stepped within a couple feet of Falcon.

ā€œOh, yes, heā€™s ready.ā€

Falcon turned to Silence and grinned. ā€œIā€™m glad youā€™re learning to do whatā€™s necessary. True indiscrimination.ā€

Nakiri went to the other end of the table. She wore jeans and a long-sleeve, V-neck top. After the now customary cleaning of the seat, she flopped down into the chair. Dust ballooned up, twinkling in the sunlight coming in through the window.

She looked across the table at Silence with a slightly softened version of her standard severity. Heā€™d passed a test, and now he was a contemporary of hers, but she still needed him to know he was a piece of shit.

Falcon looked back-and-forth between them, that little grin of his disappearing. Silence had noticed how this attitude of Falconā€™s could quickly shift into professionalism. Whoever this guy was in the real world, heā€™d made a clear delineation between civility and playfulness, no matter how goofy the guy could appear.

ā€œBurton had Clayton Glover finish off every last piece of the Farone family,ā€ Falcon said. He paused to look at Silence, his expression changing again, this time to something like hesitance, almost pity. ā€œIncluding Joseph Farone. I know the old man took a shining to you. Sorry to have to report this, Suppressor.ā€

Silence nodded.

A twinge in Silenceā€™s gut, another taste of loss in a period of time when heā€™d lost so much. But it was slight. And it disappeared as quickly as it had materialized.

He remembered what Burton had told him in the hallway of the Farone mansion, the night he murdered C.C. Burton said two things were going to happen, the second of which would occur down the line and be a chance for him to reconnect with his ā€œDaddy.ā€

Burton had followed through. Heā€™d reconnected with Daddy. Murdered him.

After everything Silence had gone through recently, after all Burton had taken from him, he was surprisingly blank. He wondered if it would always be like this, if heā€™d been permanently numbed.

Falcon watched him, eyes squinting slightly as though processing a thought before he said it. ā€œYouā€™ve been trained. Youā€™ve healed. Now itā€™s time for your assignment. As badly as you want to get your revenge on Burton, you know heā€™s involved in some bigger shit as well. And you need to know more about him.ā€

Nakiri leaned in Silenceā€™s direction and almost put her forearms on the dusty table before thinking better of it. She crossed them over her chest instead.

ā€œThatā€™s right. You donā€™t think I hung on that piece of shitā€™s arm for months and didnā€™t get any intel, did you, dummy? Burton wanted us all to think heā€™d been an orphan from unknown parents, handpicked and groomed by Joey ā€˜the Jaguarā€™ Farone. Most of thatā€™s true. All except the parenting part.

ā€œHis biological father was Jacques Sollier, an international terrorist, active in the mid ā€™60s through the ā€™70s. No one knows whether he was French, French-Canadian, French-Algerianā€”the guy was a ghost. Bombings in Poland. Assassinations in East Germany and the Balkans. A real opportunist: no-affiliation, highest-bidder-gets-the-job sort of stuff. Moved around Europe with near impunity.ā€ A piece of ceiling tile dropped to her lap. She scowled and brushed it away. ā€œSollierā€™s specialty was utilizing shipping portsā€”transporting weapons and explosives and hostages and himself. Evidently he died doing what he lovedā€”they found him with a few holes in his chest behind a utility shed at the Freeport of Riga. Neither the Latvians nor Interpol ever found who did it. My guess is they didnā€™t try too hard.ā€

Falcon squashed out his cigarette on the sole of his brogues and flicked the butt into the pile of broken cinderblocks in the corner.

ā€œSollier fathered a child on one of his trips to the States,ā€ he said. ā€œAbandoned the kid and the mother, one Carolyn Burton. Momma got herself murdered a few years later. Kid goes into foster care. And you know the rest.

ā€œNow ā€¦ letā€™s talk about the present. Nakiri blew her cover with Burton.ā€ He pointed toward her, and though he didnā€™t look at her, she still averted her eyes. ā€œSo weā€™ve been monitoring him from a distance while we pieced you back together. The guyā€™s a pro. Heā€™s meticulous about privacy, security. All weā€™ve been able to glean is a numerical code: CG247.

ā€œBut his lieutenant is a whole lot sloppier. Clayton Glover might be moving up in the world, but heā€™s still a scumbag. Every other Friday, like clockwork, he goes out to a crappy part of Pensacola, where a suited man ā€˜escortsā€™ a lady to his Lexus.ā€

There was that mischievous twinkle in Falconā€™s eyes again. He looked at Silence.

ā€œWeā€™re getting you back to Florida. Two weeks from today, we know where you can find Glover. Until then, weā€™ll move you into your new house, and youā€™re to proceed with the assignment. Understood?ā€

Silence nodded.

Nakiri bounced in her chair. ā€œOh, yippee! Dummyā€™s about to be sent off on his very first assignment. My heart overflows.ā€ She wiped away

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