As the sun began to set on a lovely day in May, Hannah Rosse relaxed on the front porch of her home. On this particular evening, the breeze was comfortably cool, and the lemonade in her hand was tasty. She’d been living happily here in Meadow Bridge for nearly thirty years—a retired CIA agent. Whatever happened now, she had no regrets. As she sipped her lemonade, a strange car pulled up and stopped on the street in front of her house. It was a sleek, black sedan. Two men inside. Hannah carefully set her glass on the small table beside her chair, stiffened her back, lifted her chin, and instinctively closed her fingers around the knife in her pocket. Some habits never die. The passenger got out and started up the walk toward the porch; the driver remained in the car. And Hannah felt a sudden wave of dread—not fear, but dread—because, without knowing who he was, she recognized the gait, the demeanor, the clothing, the look. It all belonged to her past. Belonged in her past, damn it! What could he possibly want? He stopped at the foot of the steps. He was young and hesitant. First assignment? Hannah wondered. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rosse,” he said. “It’s Ms.” He carefully placed one foot on the bottom step. “Ms. Rosse,” he said, “my name is John Jackson.” “Sure it is.” He didn’t reply, but his brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t need to know who you are,” Hannah said, her gaze unwavering, “because I know what you are. Why are you here? This house—my life—is off limits!” He straightened his shoulders, put both feet firmly on the ground, and looked at Hannah without blinking. His training had apparently kicked in. “May I join you on the porch,” he said, a statement rather than a question. Hannah considered. Then, grudgingly, she indicated the chair on the other side of the small table. He would be able to reach it without crossing in front of her. With her hand still in her pocket, fingers still wrapped around her special knife, she watched him slowly seat himself. A quick glance toward the car noted the driver talking on a cell phone. The young man put his empty hands on the table in full view and turned to face her. “You can relax, Ms. Rosse, and can even take your hand from your pocket. I’m not going to hurt you.” “Damn right, you’re not; and my hand stays where it is. State your business.” He shrugged. “You’re being called back for one last job.” “Impossible.” “We need you.” “We?” “Your former employers.” Then he uttered a code phrase that left no doubt about who or what he represented. “This is something only you can do, Ms. Rosse. You’re uniquely positioned for it.” “No.” “… No?” “You heard me. It’s been thirty years since I came in from the cold. Thirty good years! And I have no intention of going back out there.” Her voice had taken on the edge of hard steel. “I like my present life. I’ve earned it.” “You must at least come in for a briefing. I believe that when the mission is explained, you’ll change your mind.” She looked at him as if he were a drooling idiot. “In just a few months I’ll be seventy years old, for heaven’s sake!” “But you look, and move, like a woman twenty years younger.” “If that’s a compliment, I’m not flattered. My skills are rusty and so is my brain. I don’t think like I used to!” “The job is already planned, Ms. Rosse. You won’t have to think. Just do it.” Hannah lifted her chin even higher. “… That is definitely not a compliment.” He couldn’t quite stifle a little smile. “Your briefing is tomorrow morning,” he said. “Ten o’clock.” He named the place. “And if I choose not to attend?” He sat up and cleared his throat, suddenly looking like a frightened little boy. “Are you willing to risk it, Ms. Rosse?” he asked. And Hannah knew immediately that his fear wasn’t for her. It was for himself. He would not be permitted to fail. She recalled an occasion when she was his age and circumstances had put the same fear into her. She felt sorry for him. After all, he wasn’t the enemy. She also was curious. What kind of job? Hannah rose quickly to her feet and looked down at him. This forced him to rise too, though his move was wary. Then she said aloud, more sharply than intended, “Leave now, Mr. … John Jackson.” Couldn’t help rolling her eyes at the obvious alias. “I’ll pick you up,” he offered. “Please leave. Now!” He straightened his shoulders and turned away with a nod and a half-smile. He was fairly certain he had aroused her curiosity and accomplished his mission. Nevertheless, his fingers were crossed as he strutted down the steps. She watched him walk to the car, watched as the car drove away. Of course she was considering his message. And, she knew that he knew she was thinking about it—her brain wasn’t that rusty! Plus, she really was curious. What in the world could they want with her? And why was she “uniquely positioned?” Why was small-town Meadow Bridge, Georgia, suddenly on the CIA’s radar? Hannah Rosse had already lived a full life. She’d been everywhere in the world she’d ever cared to go and done everything she’d ever wanted to do, in addition to things she wished she’d never done. Though she believed those acts were for the greater good, some of the memories were painful. Should I risk putting myself in danger again? Finally, she made a decision. She would go to the place John Jackson had cited in Macon, Georgia, and listen to the briefing. And if she didn’t like what she heard, she’d tell them exactly where they could put their problem!
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