Some said he was a Georgian, others that he was Jewish, or Arab. They said he'd served in Seal Team Six, he was Spetsnaz, he was former IDF, ex SBS, that he was a radical green activist, a former Jihadi gone global, a lone wolf, ex CIA.
No one knew for sure.
Whatever he was, they said, it was all bad, and everyone wanted him dead.
But Mark Barrett knew who he was and what he really looked like, and he wasn't telling. Because he gave his word. Gave his word to a solitary man in an almost empty airport - a man he trusted; a man who, after one brief meeting, he actually liked. This was the man the slavers called Dracul; the man the sheiks believed was the ghost of Hassan al Sabbah returned to strike down the wicked; the man the Cartels called Gun Jesus.
And while Mark didn't think the man was a dragon, or the reincarnation of the first assassin, or the son of God, he recognised a saint when he saw one.
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