No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(65)



“How long will that take? I mean, how long until they get here?”

“I don’t know. Could be hours. Could be a day, but I’m betting it’s more like hours. That’s why you’ve got three people. Work it in shifts. Can you leave the hostages alone?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve taken to roping them up like the goats on a farm. We can leave them for the duration of the operation. Days if necessary.” He gave a brittle laugh. “I mean, it’s not like we want to be in the room with them anyway.”

“Good. But don’t let them suffer. That’s not our way. We get nothing by dragging out the suffering. Make them as comfortable as you can.”

Braden quickly said, “That isn’t what I meant. We still let them go to the bathroom and feed them on a schedule. I remember what you told me. I’m doing what’s right.”

“I know you are. It’s why I picked you for this mission.”

Braden let the praise wash over him, buoying his psyche. He said, “Keep me in the loop. I’ll be working the diversion, so I’ll be busy.”

“The Serbs ready to go?”

Braden barked a laugh and said, “Yeah, that wasn’t pretty. I swear, I thought they were going to gut me.”

“But they’re on board? Ready to execute?”

“Most of them are here. They left a couple of guys in Brussels, but they brought the hit team with them, including the females. They are really not comfortable with me controlling the timeline. Not comfortable at all. I made them leave on the spur of the moment, and now they’re sitting around wondering why. I’m not sure they trust me anymore.”

“Did you clean out your signature in Brussels?”

“Yeah. I no longer have a room there.”

“Then we’re good.”

Braden said, “We’re not good. Only you are. Do you know why he left those guys in Brussels? He was going to use them on the operation, but he didn’t. You know why he’s not?”

“Why?”

“Me. He thinks we’re pulling something shady, and he’s left them there to find me after it’s done. He wanted some insurance in case things go bad.”

“It won’t go bad. Remember why we’re doing this. Keep the faith.”

Braden said, “For Brian.”

“For Brian.”






45




Four hours later, in a deep fog, I felt something jabbing me. I rolled over and looked at the clock. Three twenty-nine in the morning. What the hell?

I turned over and saw Jennifer completely dressed. She said, “It’s time.”

Irritated, I said, “No, it’s not. Jesus.”

My watch alarm went off exactly when I’d set it: three thirty. I slammed it to silence. I looked back at her, aggravated at the early-bird bullshit. I saw wide eyes. Someone who needed strength, not my whining about being awakened a minute early. Although I would have liked that damn minute.

I rubbed my face and swung my legs off the bed. “You ready?”

“Yeah. I think so. It’s still raining. That’s going to make it hard.”

I smiled. “And f*cking cold.”

She said, “Thanks. That’s a lot of help. I wish I’d known I’d be climbing. I would have packed different clothes.”

She was wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeved tourist T-shirt we’d bought at a bar, with sensible leather shoes on her feet. She had her hair in a tight ponytail and had forgone any makeup. She oozed nothing but business, and it brought a smile to my face.

She said, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I pulled on my jeans and said, “You just look so serious.”

“Well, we’ll see how that works in about thirty minutes.” She started pacing while I finished dressing.

I said, “You okay?” She looked at me, and I said, “Hey, this is a walk in the park. Remember Singapore? This is nothing like that. A one-story climb, with a huge window.”

She calmed down, saying, “Yeah, but it’s a driving rainstorm. And we don’t know the reaction time for anyone. We don’t even know about alarms. We don’t know anything.”

“We’ll have the cameras once you slave. Is Dunkin ready?”

“Yeah. I called him ten minutes ago to make sure he was set.”

Boy, I bet that early wake-up pissed him off.

Finished dressing, I said, “Okay then, let’s get it done.”

We took the back stairs to avoid the reception desk seeing us leave, exiting on rue Charles Buls and walking straight to the Grand Place. Now dead, the area was spooky. A large expanse of stone surrounded by gothic buildings made of granite, it was full of tourists and markets in the day. Cheerful and airy. Something people the world over came to see. At night, it became sinister.

As we slipped along in the darkness, it seemed the towering stone buildings were looking down on us with disapproval. We scurried through, sticking to the shadows, making a half-assed attempt at looking like tourists out for a stroll at four in the morning but knowing we looked skeevy slinking around.

We passed down the alleys of deserted restaurants, the chairs all on the tables, the rain dripping down. We saw not a soul. We skirted by the hotel’s alley entrance and reached rue de l’écuyer. We paused, waiting for a car to pass. The rain had let up some, turning into a miserable drizzle.

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