The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(24)

Back in his vehicle, Krantz turned on his smartphone and waited for it to boot up. He then scrolled through his contact list and pressed one of the numbers.

“Who’s this?” a man answered, his strong South African accent evident.

“This is Phoenix,” Krantz said. “Identification is Romeo-Five-Five-Six. Confirm.”

“Confirmed. This is Erik. Identification is Victor-Six-Five-Five.”

“Confirmed,” Krantz replied. “Are you with Frank?”

“Yes, but I can’t reach Albert.”

“Understood. Albert has been taken into custody,” Krantz said. “You gentlemen need to begin your exfil now. Follow the third protocol. You know which one this is?”

“Stand by,” the South African mercenary replied.

Krantz knew they had cheat sheets. They weren’t supposed to, but these types of guys always did. They were shooters, not spies. Krantz and Oxley had built different exit protocols. They were primarily for the safe withdrawal of Van Heerden and his men, but also for unfortunate scenarios like the one they presently found themselves in.

“Got it,” the man replied thirty seconds later.

“You have the keys for the vehicle?”

“Frank found them on a small hook under the bathroom sink.”

“Perfect,” Krantz said. “These keys are for an old, light gray Honda parked a few hundred feet west of your apartment building.”

“If Albert is out of commission, who’s gonna pay the second half of our fee?” the mercenary asked.

“Let’s focus on getting you guys out of the country first,” Krantz replied. “Since our arrangement was with Albert, you’ll have to give us your wiring instructions.”

“Give me a minute,” the mercenary said.

The man must have placed his hand over the phone because Krantz could only hear muffled voices in the background, but he knew exactly what they were arguing about. Seconds later, he was proven right.

“Frank and I want to get a cut out of the other guys’ payments.”

Krantz’s lips curled in a defiant sneer. “That wasn’t part of our agreement—”

“Then change the fucking agreement,” the mercenary spat, interrupting him. “Or we’re coming after you.”

If the two South African mercenaries had been in the car with Krantz, they would have seen his coal-dark eyes dance with cruel amusement. He had given these two way too much credit. Van Heerden would have never renegotiated the terms of an agreement while under stress, especially trapped in hostile territory. These two guys were well-trained brutes, but poker players they were not, and they held none of the good cards. Oxley had made the right call.

“I understand,” Krantz replied, waiting just long enough to give the mercenary the impression he had indeed considered his offer. “Very well. Send me the instructions at the number appearing on your phone, and I’ll see that you get your money by the time you reach your first waypoint.”

“Good,” the mercenary grunted in satisfaction.

“One more thing before you guys take off,” Krantz said. “Did you leave the two SUVs where you were supposed to?”

“Yes, but they’re still dirty.”

Krantz knew what the mercenary meant. The bodies of the Secret Service special agents they had murdered were still in their respective vehicles, and they hadn’t wiped clean their fingerprints.

“Understood. I’ll take care of it,” Krantz said. “But you need to go now before the authorities cordon off the entire area.”

“We’ll call from our first waypoint, Phoenix. Don’t you forget our money.”

Krantz dropped the phone into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and tossed his baseball cap on the passenger seat. These two twats were caught in the middle of a cyclone, and they were threatening the only person able to get them out. Not that Krantz had any intention of helping them, but they didn’t know that.

Krantz kept an eye on the rearview mirror of the Jeep Cherokee, looking at the main entrance of the building. It took the two men less than five minutes to pack up their stuff and exit onto the sidewalk. They scanned their surroundings before taking off in the direction of the Honda. Krantz lost them a few seconds later, their dark silhouettes disappearing behind a large panel van. But it didn’t matter. He’d know soon enough if he’d done a good job or not.

The ground under the Jeep Cherokee shook as the Honda exploded in a brilliant flash, sending a pillar of fire into the night. The old car lifted off the ground and came to rest upside down in the middle of the street, a burning heap of twisted metal.

Krantz suppressed a smile. Clearly his demolition skills were stale. He had used way too much explosive on the Honda. If he’d been back in training and this mission had been an assessment, his SAS instructors would have failed him.

And rightly so, he thought, driving off.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


San Francisco, California

White slowly rubbed his face, trying to massage away the numbness. As he waited for the paramedic to return, he thought again about how courageous Veronica had been to come out of hiding to defend him. She had unequivocally, and heroically, saved his life. If it wasn’t for her, he would have been punched to death.