Fear No Evil

Chapter 21

Washington, DC

John Sampson watched his seven-year-old daughter, Willow, finish her breakfast, feeling as if it were one of the most moving acts he’d ever seen, filled with meaning, tinged with joy and sadness.

He could see his late wife, Billie, in Willow’s face and in many of her gestures and habits, like having her two sunny-side-up eggs cut up in a bowl so she could use a spoon to eat them. And waiting until she’d emptied the bowl before drinking her juice. And then setting her juice glass on the table and proclaiming, “That hit the spot!”

“Every time,” Sampson said when she stood up, grinning at him, her arms thrown over her head.

A big man, a reserved man, Sampson felt his heart melt when his daughter ran to him and he scooped her up in his arms, hugging and kissing her as she giggled.

“I love you, Daddy,” Willow said when he finally put her down.

“I love you too, sweet thing,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just have to brush my teeth,” she said. “My bag’s ready by the door.”

“Good girl,” he said.

Willow skipped down the hall and into her bedroom.

He stared after her. How tiny she is. And yet her spirit seems ten times her size. Just like her mother.

Sampson’s chest felt heavy and heavier still when he remembered M’s text from the day before. After he dropped off Willow, he’d see about having the house swept for bugs and cameras, and he’d have his cell phone checked while he was at it.

To get his mind off the idea that he was being monitored, he thought about his long-awaited and long-delayed trip to Montana.

He’d talked with the wife of the man they’d hired to take him and Alex and their gear into the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Sampson had apologized for the postponement and explained that they were in law enforcement and unable to predict the demands on their time. She was fine about it and said they still had at least eight weeks of good weather left and to notify her when they could be on their way.

“Another tooth’s loose, Daddy,” Willow said. “It feels funny.”

She had her mouth open as she walked to him. He knelt, looked, and sure enough, one of her lower incisors moved when she pushed her tongue against it.

“I imagine it does,” he said. “But you have a few more days before it will come out, and in the meantime, you can tell your friends at camp that you’re going to get a visit from the tooth fairy soon.”

Willow liked that idea and retrieved her little school pack. He held her hand as they walked the three blocks to the church Billie had attended. The church offered a day camp, and Willow seemed to enjoy it.

“What’s on deck today?” he asked, though he already knew because he’d signed all the permission slips in her pack.

Willow said, “I told you, Daddy. It’s a field trip. We’re going to a state park with a lake today. And on the last day of camp we’re going to a beach. We’re going to have a sandcastle contest.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Mom liked building sandcastles,” she said matter-of-factly.

Sampson saw mental snapshots of his late wife on her knees at the beach, delighted with life, showing a younger Willow how to keep the sand just wet enough to hold its shape but not so wet it fell apart. “She did like sandcastles, didn’t she?” he said.

“Mom liked everything.”

“And everybody,” Sampson said, his heart aching. “Your mother never met a stranger in her entire life.”

“I liked that about her.”

“I loved that about her,” Sampson said. They arrived at the church, where several of the senior counselors were herding a group of kids Willow’s age onto two yellow buses. “Go on, now. Mom would want you to have so much fun today that you’ll feel like you couldn’t have any more fun if you tried! And I want that too.”

Willow laughed. “Will you be here to pick me up?”

“Either me or Jannie,” he said and hugged her and kissed her again.

Sampson watched his young daughter climb on the bus — so tiny and yet so strong — get to a seat at a window near the back, and wave to him. Feeling his heart melt again, he waved back. He turned and started to go, moving around several other mothers and fathers walking their excited little kids to the buses.

There were more campers coming by car. They crowded the street in front of the church and were causing a mild traffic jam. Several drivers to the left and right of the knot began to honk their horns, one of them so insistently that Sampson paused and peered down the street.

From a young age, Sampson had known he had excellent eyesight. Doctors in army boot camp had confirmed that he was blessed with 20/12 vision, which meant that an object that people with normal vision saw clearly at twelve feet, he could see clearly at twenty feet.

The doctors also called him a “super-recognizer” because he had a near photographic memory for faces. Sampson couldn’t always attach a name to a face, but he could almost always tell you where he’d seen the face and why he remembered it.

So the moment Sampson saw the man in jeans and a black T-shirt leaning against a tree across the street and down the block, he knew who he was looking at: Hayden Brooker. He had not seen the man in nearly fifteen years, but Brooker’s face was etched deeply into his memory.

Sampson had known him in the army. Brooker had been a Delta Force operator with a reputation as a stone-cold killer. The last rumor Sampson had heard from mutual acquaintances was that after mustering out, Brooker had joined the CIA.

As an assassin.