Only coercion, and a beautiful government agent, could force Harry Thursday out of retirement. This time to find the mythical Mask worn by the Minotaur over three thousand years ago. The history of the mask resurfaces during the time of Count Bruno...
Drake Collins' last orders were to keep Harry and Sara alive. Let them do the legwork. But it would seem that Harry Thursday had an awful lot of bad luck on his side. That would prove no easy task. Because everybody wanted them dead.
He walked through the crowds of the Bern Bohnhoff. Collins was just under six feet tall; broadly built with thick arms he grew at the University of Iowa as the Big Ten's wrestling champion of '72 and '73. With thick curly hair and dark brown eyes, a broad jaw, and strong hands he looked like a bear, and his college buddies gave him the anticipated moniker, "The Bear."
Perpetually popular with the ladies, his buddies voted him most likely to father children, but he never did; careful not to waste his genes he felt were exceptional – too valuable to be lost in folly. Even in college, he knew he was destined for greatness and shied away from the spotlight, shunning fame, but desiring excellence.
After college, he graduated from the Illinois state police academy with honors and worked on the force until he caught the eye of Arthur Nicias during Gardner's bid for the White House. Once on board, he rose quickly in the ranks of Nicias' organization. That he would find himself embroiled in international intrigue never crossed his mind as a young college student; he saw himself more as a businessman, a CEO of a Fortune 500.
He found the café inside the station and ordered lunch and waited for a rendezvous with his agent from Paris.
She came quietly into the café scanning the patrons for her boss. She would know him by his description although they had never met, and he would know her by the scarf he told her to wear. As he worked on his steak, pleased it was well done, and concentrating on the bone, a shadow passed over his table. He glanced up without lifting his head and motioned for her to sit down.
"You're late," he said dryly, unwilling to show his displeasure. With a glance, he appraised her based on her physical presence. She looked strong yet feminine. Her skin was freckled, and her teeth were straight and white. She could blend into a crowd easily enough. He wondered if she was strong enough though.
"I didn't drive the train here," the woman said with little fear and waited for his response surprised even at herself. He stopped cutting his steak and drank some beer and then looked over at her.
"What do you have?"
"As best as I can tell, he boarded a train in Paris and is here in the city now." She took a deep breath and relaxed. I followed on the next available train."
"Order something," he said, "we have time enough." He looked at the watch on his massive wrist. He finished his steak and put his fork down and drank the rest of the beer and folded his napkin neatly on the table in front of him. "Tell me about yourself," he suggested. He knew enough. He read her file and had her investigated. He knew her well enough, but he wanted to hear from her. It was standard practice with him, and it usually revealed a little something about perspective employees that wasn't in their dossier. Her bright eyes shone while she talked, but he saw beneath them a cold resolve. He liked that and by the end of their interview, he wanted her.
"I assumed the girl got off at Luxemburg," she told him. "But the police are looking for the body along the tracks about a mile and a half from the station. I told them I was from the American consulate, and they should call me here with news."
"Did the man, Thursday do it? Or someone else?"
"The police questioned him but let him go. They have his passport."
"I don't like assumptions. Find out what happened on that train. They must have some help. Someone else is involved, and I must know who.
"Where are you staying? Good. I have three people here and I'll send them to you. Coordinate with them and keep me informed. Find him and the girl." He stood and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and left without saying goodbye.
She smiled and waited for her meal to come and enjoyed it, reading the newspaper that lay on the next table. When she finished, she paid and walked into the middle of the station to the bank of phones arranged in a circle under the large clock and dialed the international operator and gave her a number to call. After a series of quick imperceptible redirections, she was talking with Washington.
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