Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
I smirked. “Yeah, Stella would kick your ass. Probably put you in traction for the rest of your life.”
Weston’s scowl was deadly. “And then my wife would be fucking pissed, King.”
I winced. “Okay, yeah, feeding you to two she-wolves would be a truly fucked-up thing for me to do.”
“Exactly, so watch your ass and come home in one fucking piece.” He passed me a sheet of paper with three names scribbled on it. “These are your contacts. And these two”—he tapped each name—“have received unexplainable lump sums in offshore accounts that Ace and Wizard traced back to them.”
I memorized the names and other pertinent information, then passed the paper back to Weston so he could destroy it.
“Number two has a familial connection to someone in your directorate, but it’s a stretch to connect those dots into stepping stones for the sale of the list. Number three has no connections to anyone in any of the directorates or higher departments. Not family, friends, or even six degrees to Kevin fucking Bacon, which is why he is most likely your man.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I muttered as I stood, then I gave him a chin lift and exited the diner, heading straight to the airport.
I entered a boring building with no distinguishable features almost nine hours later. Inside the safe house, I dropped my bag onto an unmemorable couch and glanced around a living room decorated in an everyday, typical style. Anyone trying to tell someone about it would basically be describing what every other house in the world looked like.
“Wächter.”
A man with dirty-blond hair and pale-green eyes walked out of the back room, greeting me by my code name in German.
I was familiar with everyone connected to this op, so I knew this was Andres Weiss, code name—Shepherd.
“Schafhirte. Schön, Sie kennenzulernen,” I replied. “Am I the first to arrive?”
He shook his head. “But Pilot and Centurion arrived only hours ago. Olsen”—Pilot’s alias for this op—“is meeting up for coffee with the asset.”
Olsen’s part in setting up the op had been to create a trail between himself and a local girl. It looked like they’d been flirting online, and he’d come to meet her in person. Gail was our asset, an operative we’d had in place for three years as a secretary in a security company, which in this case meant arms dealing.
Intel had pegged them as mercenaries, and there was an “official” mission directive although the op was technically off the books. My job was to ferret out the person who was in possession of the list and who the person or persons who would be purchasing it were. From our research, the “security” company was the most likely buyer.
“I assume Larson”—Centurion’s alias—“is setting up surveillance?”
Shepherd—who was going by Daniel for this mission—nodded. “If everything goes to plan, we’ll pick up the target tonight and set things in motion.”
Which meant they’d be snatching a high-value employee to hold for ransom. “Great. And the asset?” It was my job to extract her and get her to safety.
Since Olsen was most likely our traitor, the director specifically picked him to be the one involved with Gail. If the snatch-and-grab was successful, he would stay with her until I took over her safety.
The worst part of operations was the waiting. Sometimes it took weeks of sitting around a safe house before taking action. At least this time, it was only a matter of hours.
I was drinking my third cup of coffee when Olsen walked into the safe house. Frowning, I waited until the soundproof door was shut and locked before I growled, “What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s Sariah?” I asked, referring to “Gail” by her real name.
Olsen shrugged. “Said she needed to go do some shopping or some shit and would meet me later for dinner.”
I was pissed as fuck that he’d broken protocol, but that wasn’t what was setting off warning signs in my head. “Have you heard from Daniel?”
Olsen shook his head.
Daniel had left to grab us some food half an hour ago, and the microscopic tracker I’d put on the back of his neck had clocked him at the market and was now moving back in the direction of the safe house. But there was a tiny possibility that he’d found it and was buying time by making it look like he was still in the area.
“And Larson?”
Olson’s head tilted as he shot me a confused look. “Sitting on surveillance, I’d guess.”
Something didn’t smell right.
“I need a shower, but let me know when Daniel’s back with the food. I’m fucking starving,” I muttered before dumping my coffee mug in the sink and heading to the bathroom.
After turning on the shower, I removed a flesh-colored patch of silicone from the side of my ribs, revealing a small device that worked similar to a cell phone. It only sent and received encrypted messages, and even though it was supposedly undetectable, I wouldn’t have used it if this wasn’t an emergency.