Марк Грини - One Minute Out

But that was not all that Klerk found remarkable in the pair. He watched them as they passed, then scanned behind them for signs of others who might be with them. He did see one man who interested him but quickly discounted him when he stopped walking and picked up a menu from a rack in front of a restaurant. Then he brought his hand to his mouth and spoke softly into his cuff mic.

“Lion Actual. Lion Eight. I’ve got a pair of suspicious characters on the main street up here.”

“Describe them.”

“Subject one is white, thirties, gray jeans and brown shirt. Subject two is white, forties, off-white shirt and black pants. They have small rucks with them. They are moving with intent in your direction.”

Verdoorn replied, “We’re looking for one man, not two. Either of them look like the target?”

“Negative. Neither of these blokes is Gentry. But they are somebody . Maybe they’re confederates.”

Verdoorn paused as he thought, then said, “Or maybe they’re hunting him, same as us. CIA has been after him for years.”

“These two definitely could be from American intelligence.”

“If they are, they might be watching you now.”

“Negative. Saw one potential follower, a military-aged male with a pack, but he didn’t look American. These other boys are Yanks, for sure.”

Verdoorn said, “Copy.”

Klerk then asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Verdoorn paused a moment, then replied, “Tail ’em. The rest of you stay on mission. Gentry is the primary target. These new fucks are just a curiosity.”

Klerk brought his cuff mic down, stepped out onto the street, and continued eating his gelato as he slipped in behind the pair.

• • •

Seventy-five feet behind the South African, a third-generation Mexican American CIA Ground Branch officer named Teddy Gonzalez put the laminated menu he’d been holding back in the rack at the outdoor café, then he brought his own hand to his mouth. “Zulu Four to Zulu Actual.”

A second later he heard Travers’s voice through his earpiece. “Go for Zulu.”

“Be advised, I’ve got a subject on your six. Looks like he’s made you. Can’t see him clearly, but don’t think it’s our target.”

“He look like he’s carrying?”

“Can confirm he is armed with an ice cream cone. Anything else on him is concealed at my distance.”

“Roger that, we’ll do an SDR to confirm.”

“I’ll tail and report.”

Gonzalez caught a glimpse of his team leader and Zulu Five as they turned left down Calle Rabbia, a narrow passageway that led to the north, away from the casino area. Their surveillance detection run would lead the potential follower away from the rest of the Ground Branch team, and it would lead them away from their target.

He then began following the unknown subject half the distance away and saw him bring his hand to his mouth. He couldn’t tell if the man was transmitting through his cuff mic or just taking a bite from his cone.

A few seconds later the lone man turned north on Calle Rabbia.

“He’s still on you, Zulu.”

“Roger that. If you’re sure, we’ll drop the SDR and lose him, head back to the target location. All Zulu elements, run SDRs to see if there are others out there.”

Gonzalez rogered up, then said, “I can get ahead of you, check my own six, and then find a route for you guys to slip your tail.”

“Do it,” Travers said.

Teddy Gonzalez walked past Calle Rabbia, then picked up his pace. He made his own left at Calle Masena, walked through the darkened alley, then stepped into an open rear doorway into the kitchen of a restaurant. Slipping past the cooks hard at work, he made his way to the dining room undetected, then exited the front. Once he saw he could make his way back down to the main street from here, he transmitted to Travers with the location, confident they could lose their one-man tail easily.

• • •

A few minutes later Willem Klerk’s frustrated voice came through Jaco Verdoorn’s earpiece. “Lion Actual. This is Eight. I’ve lost the scent.”

“Did they shake you, or did you just fook it up?”

“Dunno. They didn’t see me, dead certain of that, but I can’t say there wasn’t someone back behind me I didn’t recognize who alerted them.”

“All right,” Verdoorn replied. “Bring the ring in tighter. If Gentry is here at all, he’ll come to the bladdy market. I want all Lions within one hundred meters. If CIA is here, we’ll be ready for them, too.”

• • •

Kenneth Cage stood in the lobby just off the sales floor of the palace where the market was being held. Behind him, in the darkened great hall, four of the women had already been paraded across a small riser, surrounded by buyers, then sold off, each going for over one million euros. A fifteen-year-old Ukrainian, a twenty-two-year-old Bulgarian, a nineteen-year-old Macedonian, and a sixteen-year-old Romanian were already the property of four different criminal organizations, and would soon be shipped off to Dubai, Frankfurt, Bangkok, and Stockholm, where they’d be condemned to a life of servitude.

There was a break in the action now while the next four were prepared to go on the block, so Cage and some of the buyers from a group of Gulf states stood in the lobby chatting and drinking whiskey.

Hall stood close by his charge, but his attention was partially focused on listening in to Verdoorn’s men on his earpiece as they discussed a potential new threat.

During a pause in the conversation in the lobby, he leaned into Cage’s ear. “Sir, Jaco’s team has identified a pair of unknown men in the area. We need to—”

“Is one of them that Gentry prick?”

“No, sir. But they think—”

With a dismissive wave, he said, “Jaco will handle it. Don’t bother me while I’m working again,” and returned to his conversation.

Hall knew Cage was coked up, again, and he would be even more intractable than usual, if such a thing was even possible. He did not respond, only focused more carefully on his mission. If there were new unknown actors involved, then it was certainly a security issue, even if they were not related to the Gray Man.

He took a couple steps away from his principal and spoke softly into his radio. “All elements. Keep it tight out there. White Lion thinks there are possible CIA officers hunting for Gentry in the area.”

One of his men radioed back. “What are the ROEs?”

Hall felt the stomach acid gurgling inside him. “The rules of engagement are don’t engage. We aren’t shooting it out with the fucking CIA. They won’t be here for the principal, they’ll be here for Gentry. Stay out of their way and maybe they’ll nab him.”

If I could be so lucky, Hall thought.

• • •

Chris Travers moved through the crowded restaurant calmly, as if he were making his way back to his table from the john. Several steps behind him, Ground Branch officer Pete Hume stepped out of the door to the kitchen, moving more quickly. Travers had made it through the kitchen undetected, but Hume was spotted by a cook, who yelled at him but quickly turned his attention back to the chicken marsala he was plating, no doubt annoyed at the tourist who’d taken a wrong turn heading to the bathroom and wandered through the kitchen.

Outside the restaurant both men turned to the south and picked up their pace even more. The SDR had consumed several minutes, and since they had no idea how long their target would be at his location, they knew it was time to haul ass.

• • •

The guy I’ve pegged as the Director of the Consortium has been inside the building next to the casino for nearly thirty minutes. A couple of guys I take for mafia security men are walking around in front of the gate and the casino next to it, but I haven’t detected anyone else from my admittedly limited vantage point here above the nightclub.