“What, for being human?”
“For not doing my job.”
She settled her gaze on him. “Which requires you to not be human.”
“A job is a job.”
“And a life is a life. You only have one of those.”
He shook his head. “So call it quits?”
“How many out there have lasted as long as we have?”
“Not that many, I guess.”
“You must have thought about life after.”
“I have. But I guess I never thought about it seriously.”
“I would respectfully suggest that you do. Because we might get really lucky and actually survive this.”
CHAPTER
74
THE PRIVATE WINGS LANDED IN MONTREAL. That was where all the planes had come through on the way to the event.
After that Reel and Robie drove.
For a long way.
“Why here?” asked Reel. “Why have a summit for the Middle East all the way out here?”
“Where should they have held it? In the middle of Manhattan? On the National Mall in D.C.?”
“It’s not easy to get to.”
Robie said, “That’s one reason they chose it. Restricted access. They can more easily check people coming and going.”
“Who’s moderating the event? The UN?”
“The Canadians. The PM left the Dublin summit early to deliver the keynote at the opening ceremony.”
“Odd choice.”
“Odd everything,” agreed Robie.
The town’s main street wasn’t large, but it was well stocked with shops. To Robie, it looked like a place you might find inside a snow globe.
Trapped inside a snow globe, actually. Foot traffic was far higher than normal, as was the number of cars. But heavily armed checkpoints had been set up at all entry points. Cars were searched, the IDs of each vehicle’s occupants checked.
Because of this, Robie and Reel didn’t drive through any checkpoints. They were staying at a hotel outside of town. They had to leave their weapons behind when they separately entered the town on foot.
Robie walked the streets front to back, committing to memory all landmarks, the location of the major event—the town’s old city hall—and the security personnel who roamed the area. He knew that Reel was making the same sort of canvas of the area.
He had concluded that the multihit Godfather scenario was less plausible. It would require pinpoint timing and a lot of luck. And most professionals knew that neither one was, realistically, in ample supply during these sorts of missions.
It would be one hit, an all-out assault with concentrated fire or explosives on a central target. This included several leaders who headed up what amounted to terrorist organizations masquerading as governments. But then again, crazies had been allowed to address the UN in New York, so he supposed this wasn’t such a stretch. And some of them had been elected by a majority of voters exercising their democratic right to install whomever they chose to lead them.
Even if it was to oblivion.
He bought a cup of coffee and watched a group of turbaned and bearded men cross the street and enter another shop. There were many such groups here. All men. No women, at least that he could see. That was just how things were. And that was a big part of the problem, he felt.
Despite the chill he sat at an outdoor table and drank his coffee. His gaze kept wandering and he finally keyed on a group of men walking down the far side of the street.
He spoke into his mic. “Group of five guys on the east side of the street heading toward the hotel at the end of the street. Do a pass and tell me what you see.”
A few seconds later Reel emerged from an alley. She wore a hooded coat and sunglasses. She passed the group. Robie was the only one who noticed that she slowed down just a tad as she passed them. Her gaze seemed to be fixed straight ahead. But it wasn’t. It roamed over the men, taking in all relevant details.
That was what years of training got you, an almost supernatural talent for observation.
Over his earwig Robie heard, “Nothing.”
She kept walking and he heard her say, “Hold on a sec. Let me check something.”
She kept walking down the street. Robie watched as she passed a guy wearing a black warm-up suit, with a ski cap pulled low. He was looking down at the pavement but Robie could tell his gaze was also roaming.
Reel passed him. A few seconds later over his earwig Robie heard her say, “Bingo. Tag, you’re it.”
Robie immediately rose and took up the tail on the guy. As he walked he mumbled into his mic, “Talk to me.”
“That was Dick Johnson. Remember him?”
“Dropped out of the clandestine service about two years ago, or so I heard.”
“Disappeared was more like it.”
“You sure it’s him? I didn’t know him that well.”
“He’s changed. But what he didn’t change was a tat on his shooting hand.”
“What of?”
“Oh, pretty routine. A scorpion holding a gun with its stinger and the word ‘Mom’ inked on the scorp’s back.”
“Okay, that sounds about as good as a fingerprint for ID.”
“See where he goes.”
“You think he’s part of the missing personnel DiCarlo was talking about?”
“I doubt this village is a hot destination, particularly in winter. No place to ski.”
Johnson turned down one corner and a few seconds later so did Robie. He said into his mic, “Parallel us on the next street over. Then take up the tail after the next intersection. I’ll drop off and dogleg it over to the next street. We’ll keep up that rotation all the way to where he’s staying so he doesn’t get suspicious.”
“Copy that.”
They exchanged the role of trailing Johnson three times. The streets were crowded, which helped. Robie was behind him when Johnson went into what looked like a hostel. Robie went to a café across the street. He sat down at a table and waited.
A few minutes later Reel’s voice came over the mic. “Room 21, second floor. I saw three other guys in there I could swear were just like us.”
“I wonder how many they have.”
“More than four, that’s for sure.”
“Anybody pay you any attention?”
“One guy looked at me a little too long, so I turned around and started speaking German to the guy behind the desk in the lobby. He didn’t understand me, but the guy lost interest and walked off. Good thing I had a little plastic surgery done. But you didn’t, so keep low and your hat down and don’t talk much unless it’s in a foreign language.”
“Right,” said Robie.
“So what now?”
“We sit on Johnson and his team. Let them lead us where they’ll lead us. You know what they’re going to do?”
Reel said, “They’ll have to recon the site and do a walk-through.”
“That’s probable.”
“Do we hit them then?”
“Love to, but we have one problem.”
“Our weapons are outside the checkpoints,” she noted.
“Right. Now, Johnson wasn’t wearing any security badges like the other grunts we’ve seen, so I’m wondering how they’re getting their firepower. Because it has to be here somewhere. They’re not going to beat these guys to death with sticks.”
“Maybe it’s waiting for them inside the security checkpoint,” said Reel.
“Along with whatever else they’re going to need to do this.”
“Which might just solve our dilemma.”
“And kill two birds with one stone.”
“Would be nice,” she commented.
“Yes, it would.”
CHAPTER
75
DICK JOHNSON WENT ON THE move late that night. And Robie and Reel, who had changed clothes and looked as different as possible from earlier, were right there with him.
The town was actually larger than it looked, and there were many
streets and back alleys off the main roads. Johnson took one of these and kept going for about fifteen blocks until the snow globe town turned into something a little less picturesque.
As before, Reel and Robie took turns trailing Johnson. They were wearing layers, and when one broke off from the tail they would shed a layer and stuff it in the knapsack each of them carried. With different clothes and staggering their surveillance, even someone as trained Johnson would have been hard pressed to spot them.
But he was taking steps to make sure he wasn’t followed. He continually crossed the street. And occasionally when he would pass a darkened plate glass window he would stop in front of it and pretend to look at the merchandise while he used the reflective surface to check who was around. Sometimes he would simply stop, turn around, and start walking in the opposite direction, his gaze swiveling in all directions. Robie and Reel knew all of these tricks but still had to hustle to keep their cover.
The trail finally ended at a large old building on the outskirts of town, far away from the scheduled event and security perimeter.
Johnson went inside and Reel and Robie stood next to each other in the deep shadows of a nearby alley.
“Warehouse?” said Robie.
“Or operations center more likely,” said Reel.
“Then we need to get in.”
“Tricky. It’s probably better guarded than the Middle East event.”
“And yet here we are just a few feet away with a target under surveillance.”
The front door of the place opened and a man came out.
Robie lifted his night optics to his eyes and took a peek. He handed the optics to Reel, who watched the man slowly walk down the street.
“Judge Samuel Kent,” said Reel.
“They brought in the big gun for the finale.”
“That validates our decision to come here.”
“validates, but that’s all.”
“We need to split up,” said Reel. “I’ll take Kent. You take the warehouse.”
She started to head off, but he gripped her arm. “Follow, don’t kill. We need him alive. For now.”
She pulled free from his grip. “Do you really think you need to tell me how to do my job?”
“I’m thinking about your lost friends. Sometimes the temptation can be too great.”
“I don’t want just him. I want them all, Robie. And if he needs to keep breathing in order to do that, so be it.”
“Just so we have it straight.”
“We have it straight.”
She headed off into the darkness.
Robie watched her until she and Kent disappeared into the night.
He turned his attention back to the building. Slowly he made his way around its footprint, checking out all entry and exit spots as he went along. Most of the windows were dark, but not all.
Three lighted windows, and he saw movement at two of them. They were all on the lower level.
He figured perimeter security was posted 24/7 if this was really their command center. And because Kent had been here, Robie had to assume it was. So how to get in and then out with what they needed but no one the wiser?
“Pretty much impossible,” he told himself as he crouched in the alley staring up at the building. But then another idea struck him.
He spoke into his mic. “Progress report?”
“very little, actually. Still walking,” answered Reel. “Don’t think he’s staying at the same place as the hired help. You?”
“Gonna try something.”
“What does that mean exactly?” she said, sounding a little startled.
“It means exactly that I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
“Robie, if you’re going to go in there I’m coming with you.”
“I didn’t say I was going in there.”
“You didn’t say you weren’t either.”
“I’ve been doing this sort of thing solo for a long time, okay?” he said harshly.
“Right, okay,” she said, sounding sheepish. “Report back when you can.”
Robie took a few careful steps out of the alley and peered upward. The front and rear doors were out. They would be guarded. The lower-level windows were out for the same reason.
That was why Robie was peering upward. He figured this strike team didn’t have unlimited manpower. They would have to conserve what they did have and utilize it optimally. That meant not wasting it guarding portals that were literally out of reach.
But few things were truly out of reach. And this building was old. And the veneer was brick. Uneven brick.
That meant there were handholds.
The back of the building faced an abandoned structure. Robie gripped an edge of brick with fingers that were nearly as strong as steel. Handling a fifteen-pound sniper rifle, pulling triggers, and bracing for recoil to immediately fire again had made his grip one of the strongest things about him.
It would come in handy tonight.
He had to make the climb in darkness, because even a penlight would seem like a ship’s beacon. But there was a dull glow of moonlight. That was both good and bad. Good if it made him see a handhold he ordinarily wouldn’t have seen. Bad if they had a patrol passing around the outside of the building and one of them happened to look up.
He kept going, slipped twice, nearly fell once, but his hand finally gripped the ledge outside a darkened window and he lifted himself up and perched on the narrow space. The window was locked.
He pulled out his Swiss Army knife, which the security checkpoint had missed, and a few seconds later passed through the open window and dropped noiselessly to the floor. Now he used his penlight to see, because the darkness was nearly complete in here.
The room was empty except for a few odd pieces of furniture, some old paint cans, tarps, and rusted tools. It seemed someone was going to renovate the space and then thought better of it.
He moved to the door very slowly. The floors were wooden and old, and such floors creaked. He didn’t take actual steps. He slid his feet along the floor to minimize the noise. He reached the door and put his ear to it.
He could hear sounds. But they all seemed to be coming from downstairs.
He shined his penlight on the hinges. They looked old and rusty. That wasn’t good. They might sound like a fighter jet shrieking in when he opened it.
Robie looked around and his gaze lighted on the stack of paint cans, tools, and tarps. He slid over there, quietly rummaging around until his hand snagged a can of oil.
He went back over to the door and soaked the hinges with it. He let the lubricant seep deeply into the metal joints and then he slowly opened
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