Next day.
Paris.
The Continental Hotel.
In the manager's office, Caine sat on the sofa holding his cane-sword.
Opposite him sat an Harbinger from the High Table — hair streaked with gray, missing a finger on his right hand. He held a dossier detailing Caine's daughter.
The Harbinger lifted the file, flicked it once, then spoke:
"Mr. Caine, the High Table sees potential in your daughter. In fact, she perfectly inherited your genes…"
"My daughter is only twelve!" Caine snapped.
"Most High Table assassins begin training at twelve."
"I don't want my daughter to be an assassin." Caine waved his hand, blunt and direct. He didn't want to argue — there was no point. He sighed.
"Sir, what would the High Table ask of me so my daughter can be free and so I can retire peacefully?" he asked.
The Harbinger's voice dropped level: "Mr. Caine, getting free of the High Table isn't easy. You should understand: to gain something, you have to give something up."
Caine absorbed that. To let his daughter escape the High Table's control and grow up ordinary, he'd likely have to surrender parental rights, stay away from her, and make himself an ordinary man. He hesitated — on one side, the unstoppable power of the High Table; on the other, Lighthouse, who'd already prepared to face the High Table to keep him safely retired.
His pocket phone rang, breaking the tension. Caine stood and checked the caller ID. He hesitated, then answered. A calm, steady voice came through.
"This is Duggan. I'm in Paris. Get what you can out of that person about your daughter's location. I'll get her to you without a scratch."
Before Caine could reply, Duggan hung up.
As a top-tier killer, Caine understood how much was encoded in Duggan's curt line. He scanned the cityscape in the distance; after a moment he saw faint glints on a high-rise about two kilometers away. The presence of a sniper who never misses — that could only be Duggan. Reassured, Caine put the phone away and returned to the sofa. He took a deep breath and said, "Before I decide, I must confirm my daughter's safety. I want to see her."
"Of course." The Harbinger smiled faintly and pointed upstairs. "She's currently in the most luxurious suite on the top floor."
Caine felt a surge of joy — then his expression stiffened. The Continental has one inviolable rule: no killing on hotel grounds. That meant force could not be used inside the Continental to rescue his daughter. Still, he decided to go upstairs and see her. He followed the Harbinger into the elevator and rode to the top floor. When he entered the suite he saw his daughter practicing violin with focus. Caine rushed forward and swept her into his arms.
—
Meanwhile, in New York, in his penthouse suite, Alex received Duggan's call. Duggan reported quickly: "Mr. Alex, we've confirmed Caine's daughter's location."
"Where?" Alex asked.
"The Continental Hotel in Paris."
The four words — "the Continental Hotel" — tightened Alex's jaw. The High Table's move had been unexpectedly bold. He paced the room, thinking hard. After a long moment he asked Duggan: "How far are you from the Continental, and if you take the shot, what's the exposure risk?"
"Two kilometers. If I fire, I have to withdraw within thirty seconds, or there's a fifty-percent chance the High Table will track me down." Duggan supplied the precise numbers without hesitation.
A perfect plan flashed through Alex's mind. He wasted no time. Through the phone he gave Duggan the order: "Contact Caine. Tell him to go downstairs holding his daughter — don't act, don't stop. When I give the signal, act according to my order, then rendezvous with Caine."
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