Free Alexandria Link by Steve Berry

wouldn’t matter what Gary Malone did.
    So he stepped toward the door and said, “Not to worry. I’m sure this is all going to be over soon.”
    MALONE STOOD ON THE STREETS OF HELSINGØR AND WATCHED the café. A steady stream of patrons had flowed in and out. His target was sitting at a window table, sipping from a mug. Pam, he assumed, was with the car, parked at the train station, waiting. She’d better be. When this guy made his move, they’d only have one chance. If his adversaries were somewhere nearby, and he firmly believed that to be the case, this might be his only route to them.
    Pam’s appearance in Denmark had rattled him. But then she’d always had that effect. Once, love and respect bound them, or at least he’d thought that the case; now only Gary drew them together.
    His mind replayed what she’d said to him in August. About Gary.
    “After years of lying to me, you want to be fair?”
    “You were no saint yourself years ago, Cotton.”
    “And you made my life a living hell because of it.”
    She shrugged. “I had an indiscretion of my own. I didn’t think you’d mind, considering.”
    “I told you everything.”
    “No, Cotton. I caught you.”
    “But you let me think Gary was mine.”
    “He is. In every way except blood.”
    “That the way you rationalize it?”
    “I don’t have to. I just thought you should know the truth. I should have told you last year when we divorced.”
    “How do you know he’s not my son?”
    “Cotton, run tests. I don’t care. Just know you’re not Gary’s father. Do with the information what you please.”
    “Does he know?”
    “Of course not. That’s between him and you. He’ll never hear it from me.”
    He could still feel the anger that had flooded him as Pam remained calm. They were so different, which might also explain why they were no longer together. He’d lost his father young but had been raised by a mother who adored him. Pam’s childhood had been nothing but turmoil. Her mother had been a flighty woman with conflicting emotions who’d operated a day care center. She’d squandered the family savings not once but twice. Astrologers were her weakness. She never could resist them, eagerly listening as they told her exactly what she wanted to hear. Pam’s father was equally troubling, a distant drifting soul who cared far more about radio-controlled airplanes than his wife and three children. He’d labored for forty years at an ice cream cone factory, a salaried employee who never rose above midlevel manager. Loyalty mixed with a false sense of contentment—that had been his father-in-law up to the day that a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit finally stopped his heart.
    Until they met, Pam had known little love or security. Miserly with emotion but exacting in devotion, she’d always given far less than she demanded. And pointing out that reality brought only anger. His own mistake with other women, early in their marriage, merely proved her point—that nothing and no one could ever be counted on.
    Not mothers, fathers, siblings, or husbands.
    All of them failed.
    And so had she.
    Having a baby out of wedlock and never telling her husband he was not the father. She seemed to still be paying the price of that failure.
    He ought to cut her some slack. But it took two to make a bargain, and she wasn’t willing—at least not yet—to deal.
    The shooter disappeared from the window.
    Malone’s attention snapped back to the café.
    He watched as the man exited the building and headed toward his parked car, climbed in, and left. He abandoned his position, raced through the alley, and spotted Pam.
    He crossed the street and jumped into the passenger seat. “Crank it up and get ready.”
    “Me? Why don’t you drive?”
    “No time. Here he comes.”
    He saw the Volvo round the bend in the highway that paralleled the shore and speed past.
    “Go,” he urged.
    And she followed.
    GEORGE HADDAD ENTERED HIS LONDON FLAT. THE TRIP TO Bainbridge