Russell Blake - Betrayal

He finished the dregs of his cup, wiped his face, put a five-dollar bill on the table for the two-dollar coffee, then stood and made his way to the door, ignoring the stares from the few interested patrons near the front entrance. He’d long grown accustomed to being a freak, a monster, the thing of childhood nightmares. There was nothing he could do about it but try to live as normally as possible. Assuming one believed that being one of the top CIA black ops managers was deemed normal.

Looking up at the sky from beneath the awning, he opened his umbrella and pushed out into the storm, his car and driver waiting for him in the red zone a scant twenty yards away.

A contingency plan was prudent, he knew. The attack on the woman was fair warning. Something more was in play than they understood.

And Arthur hated surprises.

Edgar sat with his back to the wall in the main dining room of an Italian restaurant, two hundred yards from the Nana complex, stirring his iced tea and watching the customers arrive for an early lunch. He checked his watch. Ten minutes late. He took a drink of the concoction and studied the menu absently.

Jet appeared out of nowhere and took the seat across from him, facing the window. Edgar’s face betrayed nothing, although she could tell he was again surprised at her arrival.

“Came in through the back?” he asked.

“Seemed prudent.”

He studied her. “What happened? I saw some reports on the news…”

“I won.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much sums it up, don’t you think?”

He didn’t respond.

The waiter brought her a menu, and she ordered a bottle of mineral water. Once he had departed, Edgar put his menu down.

“Who were they?”

“Don’t know. But they were tenacious. Amateur, but tenacious just the same.”

“You got away clean? No injuries?”

“I’m good to go. Rob?”

“He has a sore ankle from the jump on the roof, and he lost some skin on the fire escape, but other than that, tip top.”

The waiter arrived and set a bottle of water in front of her, then took their order and left them to their discussion.

“Why did you cut out the tracking chip?”

“Self-preservation. I was traced,” Jet stated flatly.

“That’s impossible…unless…”

“What?”

“There was a rumor. That’s all it was.”

“Are we playing twenty questions? Tell me.”

He rubbed his face, looking tired for the first time. “About Hawker. Nobody was sure about who could be trusted when he went rogue. But one of the rumors was that he had someone at headquarters…someone at Langley. Nothing ever came of it, but that would be the only explanation.”

“Assuming that it was him.”

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the way any of this is shaping up. Nothing is as it seems.”

“Welcome to Thailand. You get used to that in everything here. Wheels within wheels. A Russian doll. Always another layer.”

She fixed him with a hard stare. “Shit. Do you have a tracking chip?”

His eyes widened. “No. I’m not…I’m not active in that way…”

Jet nodded. “And Rob?”

“Yes.”

“Lose it. Bad idea. Maybe conceptually, it’s a positive for a control freak, but as you can see, in practice it’s just another way to get yourself killed.”

“Noted.”

“And what’s the latest with Lap Pu?”

“Surveillance says it looks like he’s wrapping up his business here. So we can expect him to make a move at any time.”

“Then I’m going to need to get some supplies. I made a list.” She slipped a piece of paper across to him. He opened it, read quickly, then nodded.

“I’ll need to check on the MTAR. What’s your second choice?”

“FN P90. Although I prefer the MTAR with a laser sight and suppressor. In 9mm.”

“I’m thinking I can get one flown in. It may take a day.”

“Then I hope we have one,” she said.

“Worst case, I know we have some M4s with laser sights and suppressors.”

“Bulkier. In a pinch that would work, I suppose. But if you want to keep a girl happy, get the MTAR and a few hundred rounds of ammo.”

“Hmm. No problem on the night vision goggles. Infrared might be tricky. Let me see what I can do.”

“I didn’t make out that list as suggestions. If I’m going into the jungle, then I’ll need to be properly equipped. Unlike the last teams, I have no intention of being road kill.”

“Which brings me to the part you’re not going to like.”

Jet’s eyes narrowed.

“Headquarters feels it would be a good idea for you to work with Rob when you go after Lap Pu.”

She took a gulp of water and frowned. “Absolutely not. He’s not in the same league as I am. Don’t get me wrong. He’s not bad, but he’s not me. And that could get me killed. So forget about it. I don’t work with a partner. Arthur knows that.”

“He sensed there might be some problems. Asked you to call today.”

“Arthur can screw himself.”

“Yes, well, perhaps. But he still needs you to get in touch.”

The food arrived, and they dug in. Her chicken picata was indifferently prepared with some traces of odd spices. The Thai version, she supposed.

“What else?”

“We may not have a lot of warning when Pu takes off, so I’d stay alert.”

She gave him a glum look. “Really. Stay alert. I’ll try to do that. But until you have my list in hand, I can’t go anywhere, unless you’re thinking I should go into the jungle with only a KA-BAR and a smile.”

“Point taken. It will be my top priority. In fact…” He flipped out his phone and typed in the list, pausing occasionally to take a bite of lasagna. “…There. By the time I get back to my office, I’ll have a line on all of it.”

When she’d eaten half of her uninspiring meal, she pushed back from the table.

“I’m going. Thanks for lunch. I’ll contact Arthur.”

“How will I get in touch with you?”

“I’ll call you at five. Let’s hope that Pu stays put one more night.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to do it. That wasn’t our deal.” Jet’s voice was quiet, and yet had an edge to it. She peered absently around the internet cafe from her position in the glass internet phone booth.

“I’m afraid that circumstances have changed. This isn’t negotiable. Rob will accompany you and assist in whatever way you need, but he is going with you,” Arthur said.

“What part of ‘no’ are you having trouble with?” She could hear his breath coming in harsh rasps on the other end of the line.

“What part of ‘you’ll do as you’re told or never see your daughter again’ are you unclear about?”

Jet seethed. She’d been expecting this, waiting for it, but it still took all of her willpower to keep from hanging up and jumping on the first plane to the United States to hunt him down and kill him.

“We have a problem, Arthur. You’re breaking your word. That makes me think you’ll also break your word when the time comes to give me Hannah. I guess we could call this a crisis of confidence. And you really don’t want a crisis of confidence.”

“Look. I heard all about your run-in with the gunmen. I also know that it was Rob’s quick thinking — his decision to split up when you wanted to stay together — that was largely responsible for both of you getting away.”

“Ha! Is that what he told you? Please. I suppose it escaped you that I single-handedly dealt with both of the remaining shooters and the driver without big strong Rob to keep me from breaking a nail.”

“Be that as it may, you are both going to go into the jungle and bring me the target’s head. Do that and you will get your daughter back. There’s an easy way and a hard way to do this. I would strongly suggest you do it the easy way.”