The Nowhere Man

72 The Old Stories

Despi stepped out onto the balcony of her family apartment to water the tomato plants vining through the rails. Wherever her sister lived, she’d always insisted on growing her own tomatoes just like their mother did. Now only Despi was left to maintain the family tradition.

Sunset was heartbreaking here and lately even more so. Violets and oranges shimmering off the sparkling Mediterranean, another day finding its ultimate beauty as it was extinguished. Only a slice of the sea was visible between the surrounding apartments, but her father had always said that a slice was enough to feel blessed, to feel assured of your place in the world.

How she missed him. How she missed them all.

She stepped inside through the breeze-swept curtain and set down the watering can.

Evan stood in her living room.

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

He removed a heavy-looking white envelope from his back pocket.

“What is that?”

“Pictures of the men who killed your family,” he said. “Who were watching you.”

“I was being watched?”

“You were.”

“What do the pictures … show?”

“Corpses,” he said.

She swallowed.

“Where did you … How did you find them?”

“I found their names in a condo in Zagreb,” he said. “Where I caught up to René.”

“He’s dead?” she asked.

“Worse.”

She noticed that she was wringing her hands in her dress, and she made herself stop. She gestured at the envelope. “What am I supposed to do with those?”

He said nothing.

“I don’t want those. I don’t want to see them.”

He stuffed the envelope back into his pocket. “I didn’t think you would. But I don’t always know what people want.”

She looked at the watering can. “I have nothing left. How am I supposed to rebuild a life?”

She’d seen him in a shock collar. She’d seen him beaten by men. She’d seen him on his knees. This was the first time she’d seen him powerless.

“I can’t help you with that,” he said.

“Right,” she said. “You’re only good at destroying things.”

She put her face in her hands and wept. When she looked back up, he was gone.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though there was no one to hear it.

No matter how many times Evan had been to the Parthenon, it never ceased to take his breath away. The rocky outcrop thrusting above Athens, the ruined temple thrusting up even above that. Veins of mica and pyrite running through the marble, lending it a golden tinge. The perfection of the design, as precise as anything designed by computer. The ancient Greeks had even slimmed the Doric columns at the tops, an optical illusion to make it look as though the heavy roof were bowing the supports.

Evan came around a block of scaffolding and spotted him from behind, sitting at a tiny café table in the shade of a food-stand umbrella, sipping from a demitasse.

Leave it to Jack to find espresso in an ancient citadel.

Perspiration spotted Jack’s shirt between the shoulder blades. Evan walked up from behind. As he drew near, Jack set down his demitasse.

“Evan,” he said without turning around.

Evan sank into the chair opposite him.

“Thanks for coming,” Evan said.

Jack nodded.

Two German kids ran by, tiny fists gripping bottles of Fanta Limon. Evan waited for their laughter to fade away and then said, “I thought maybe we could start over.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

“You said you don’t understand why I still do what I do after I left the Program. Why I didn’t just disappear, lie on a beach somewhere, sip umbrella drinks.”

“Not my precise phrasing.”

“But the gist.”

“Yes.”

Evan struggled to find the words. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been out in the cold, nose up to the glass, looking in. I may not get to come inside, Jack. But I’m sure as hell not gonna let the wolves in at everyone else. No. That’s one thing I’m good for.”

Jack looked heartbroken. He studied Evan. “You don’t owe anything, son. For what I tasked you to do. It’s on me. You’ve got nothing to atone for.”

“I pulled the trigger, Jack,” Evan said. “Every last time.”

For a few minutes, they sat and listened to the wind rush around the ancient stone. Jack pinched the crinkled skin beneath his eyes. When he looked back up, his gaze was clear.

“People talk about starting over,” he said. “But you can’t start over. All you can do is change direction.”

“Maybe we could do that,” Evan said.

Jack gave his non-smile, that slight bunching of his right cheek that said he was pleased. He tilted his face to the Mediterranean sun. “Funny that we’re meeting here in the shadow of the gods. Destiny ringing from the stones. The old stories.” He blinked a few times and suddenly looked much older. “Can we break it?”

“What?” Evan asked.

“The cycle.”

“I don’t know.”

Jack looked across at him. “Are you willing to try?”

Evan said, “Yes.”

Jack drained the last of his espresso, set down the glass, and stood up. Backlit, he looked down at Evan. “Would you like to take a walk?”

Evan rose to join him.