The caller sat silently in his mahogany paneled office, warmly lit and decorated with rare artifacts from around the world. He still held the dead phone receiver in his hand, and he stared intently at the many buttons on the base. He had anticipated Eagle’s decision. A chance to exact revenge against the man who killed his wife would be irresistible. After a moment, he pushed the speed dial button marked “1” on the phone base, and listened as a single ring sounded, followed by a man’s voice.
“Burke”
“Tiger. Code Grey. Istanbul. Target… Eagle.”
2
James Burke set his phone on the white linen of his table. There are certain phone calls one does not wish to receive when dining at an outdoor cafe in Rome. And he had received one of them. He took a deep breath, then let it out as a long, slow hiss. He glanced absentmindedly at the Via della Luce, one of the quieter side streets in the Trastevere neighborhood, and then grabbed at his menu with sudden focus. The cafe, Antico Carlone, was one of his favorite casual dining locations in the city. Being more out of the way, it tended to attract more locals than tourists, and featured a modest but charming ambience. Occasional traffic drifted by, punctuated now and then by a ringing bicycle bell, and one could hear the rumble of hectic noise from the more popular areas nearby, but the Antico Carlone seemed set apart. Greenery framed the outdoor dining area and rounded glass fixtures lit the area warmly in the evenings. As usual, Burke sat on the farthest table to the left, a position that provided a quick escape and allowed him to sit with his back protected, provided he turned his chair a little. Years of training and experience had taught him to always expect trouble, and precaution had become second nature.
“Cosa desidera ordinare?”
Burke looked up to see a young waiter standing next to his table. “Oh. It’s you,” he said flatly.
The waiter grinned. “Not the warmest greeting I’ve ever had, not even from you. And what has your pants in a twist?”
“Panties in a wad, you mean?”
The waiter shrugged. “If you wish it.”
“I don’t wish it, Angelo. That’s the way the saying goes.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge of American sayings.”
“Well, I am an American, you know.”
Angelo looked pained, as if thinking an unkind remark he very much wished to say. Wisely, given Burke’s present mood, he refrained and instead repeated his original question.
“Would you like to order?”
“Fine, whatever.”
“And what can I get for you?”
“Ugh, decisions. Bring me a wine that won’t cost me a limb when the check comes.”
“And will you be dining alone?”
“No, I’m waiting on a lady.”
“I sincerely doubt you are waiting on a lady. A woman, perhaps, si. But those I’ve seen accompany you in the past can scarcely be called ‘ladies.’”
“Be careful, Angelo. I’ve been known to get irritated when people make snide remarks about my character. You wouldn’t want me to get irritated, would you, Angelo?”
“Would you like to place an order for the lady?” the waiter asked, quickly backing down.
“I would not. The last time I tried that shit, I got a stiletto in the ballsack.”
Angelo cringed and skittered into the trattoria to put in the order.
Burke had known Angelo for almost five years and, when he made one of his frequent visits to Rome, during which he always made sure to visit Antico Carlone at least once, had struck up a mildly antagonistic friendship with the young man. Angelo had even helped Burke on a mission once, albeit unwittingly, by delivering a packet the waiter believed to be a box of lemon candy to a co-agent.
Burke picked up his phone and navigated to his call history. He had to make sure the call had actually happened, and he hadn’t conjured it somehow. But, no. There it was—the call from his boss, J. Carlton Moore, via his private extension at SpyCo HQ.
Burke sat back and squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, as if trying to ward off an impending headache. Now that he thought about it, his temples were already beginning to throb. The order from Moore had not only caught him off guard, it had sent his mind reeling. Over the years, he had performed many unsavory tasks for SpyCo—his covert operations employer—but had taken most of them in stride. He had begun to think nothing could ever surprise him or cause a conflict of conscience, and even worried some about the inevitable hardening that happens inside every field agent. But this mission had caught him flat-footed and entirely off guard—Code Grey, the assassination code. And if that weren’t bad enough, the target was another SpyCo operative, one who had just completed a successful mission in Paris. And he was Burke’s best friend.
Burke knew his job was not to wonder why, but simply follow orders. Normally, that was exactly what he did, not because he was a pawn, but because he often had no wish to know any more than he had to in order to finish the job. And, by and large, he believed in what he was doing. But this was different, and he sat at the cafe, wondering what the hell Moore could be thinking. He knew Perry had a history of going off-track… okay, going fucking rogue, and he understood how that would be upsetting to someone like Moore. Not only was the SpyCo chief literally in charge, but his personality was biased against freelancing. Especially when said freelancing went directly against his orders.
The barest scuff of feet on the ground pulled Burke into the present and he looked up to see Lyndsey Archer coming toward him, a bright smile on her face. It was a face that never failed to make his heart skip and when she cast it in that particular way, her eyes twinkling, her lips turned up just so. It sent him right back to high-school-prom level nerves. This time, however, it also made his throat close a little, because if there was one thing worrying Burke more than axing his friend, it was telling Lyndsey about the job. For one moment, he wondered if there might be a way to keep it quiet, but the next moment he knew the idea was absurd. First, she would be a fount of angry questions once he announced he was cutting their vacation short for a trip to Istanbul and, second, she had known Perry Hall since childhood. Burke couldn’t imagine such a conversation going anywhere but the hottest corner of hell.
Lyndsey dropped her Vuitton bag on the table and slid into a chair. “Hello, handsome.”
Her voice, smooth and velvety, would normally have warmed Burke to the core, but now it chilled his bones. Their relationship had been one of ups and downs. Having been on and off over the years, it was currently on after a long hiatus. Last night had been one for the books, leaving Burke more optimistic than ever concerning their future together. Lyndsey was still riding high from the experience. And now he was in the unenviable position of having to tell her he’d been tasked with killing her oldest friend.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“You lie.”
“I do, but not about that.”
“Oh, I don’t mind those kinds of lies. Have you ordered anything?”
“Some wine of Angelo’s choice.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“He’s a smartass.”
“Aw, did you two have another male bonding experience?”
“We’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Congratulations!” Angelo said, placing a glass of red wine on the table.
Lyndsey laughed and waved her hand. “Not us, Angelo. Do you think I’d marry this reprobate?”
“I thought it unworthy of your fine taste, but had no wish to be insulting.”
Burke huffed. “Since when?”
“Since this humble establishment has been graced with a vision of loveliness.”
Burke huffed again, but kept his mouth shut. He picked up his glass, swirled, sniffed, and took a sip.
“Angelo, if this is the house red, I will need to sever our friendship.”
The waiter shrugged apologetically. “Mi dispiace. The boss saw me taking one of our best bottles and asked who at this time would be ordering such a thin
g. When he found out it was you, he forbid anything better than this.” Angelo turned to Lyndsey. “What may I get for you, signorina?”
Lyndsey inclined her head toward Burke’s wine. “I’ll have one of those and a small dessert. Maybe some sort of pastry?”
Angelo gave a half-bow. “I know just the thing. I shall return shortly.” He then turned on his heel and walked back into the cafe.
Lyndsey leaned over the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You were quite efficient last night, Mr. Burke.”
Burke didn’t answer; he was looking over her shoulder at a balding man wearing a dark sport coat and sitting at a table on the other side of the outdoor dining area.
Lyndsey looked disappointed. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Burke glanced up. “What?”
“Did you even hear what I said?”
“Oh, last night. Yes. It was...to be remembered.”
“Is something wrong?”
Burke had a moment of mental paralysis. He hated situations where he had to make quick decisions without having the facts before him. Moore’s phone call, Perry’s death sentence, and now the man sitting just yards away. He hid his mouth behind his wine glass and murmured,
“There’s a man sitting a couple of tables away. He arrived when you did and I’ve noticed him watch us with more than passing interest.” Burke didn’t have to tell Lyndsey not to look; she was too well-trained for such a rookie mistake.
“Do you recognize him?”
Burke shook his head and then put on a wide smile, as if responding to a joke from Lyndsey. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Should we bolt?”
Burke noticed Lyndsey had not even questioned his judgment concerning the suspected tail, much like he hadn’t felt the need to warn her against betraying their suspicions. Such was their trust in the other’s craft. It made for an excellent working relationship, their personal lives aside. It was then Burke decided he would have to tell Lyndsey everything, not only because of their romantic relationship (or perhaps in spite of it) but because of the professional trust they held in one another. Secrets could get people killed in this business, and Burke didn’t want Lyndsey’s death on his shoulders simply because he hadn’t been man enough to own up to the truth. His own death wasn’t on his bucket list either.
“Lyndsey,” he said, after a gulp of wine. “I have something to tell you.”
She looked up, her lovely eyes wide with anticipation.
Oh god, Burke thought. Does she think I’m about to propose?
Lyndsey did, indeed, look like a woman expecting a man to fall to one knee, and that is exactly where Burke landed. It was not, however, an act of romantic devotion, but rather an attempt to dodge the hail of bullets that assaulted the front of the cafe.
3
Perry moved along the narrow street, his eyes scanning the buildings for the telltale items he’d been told would be there. The current neighborhood was not one of the more upscale locales Perry had ever visited. Why did it seem like the best contacts always lived in the crappiest locations? He had spent the last ten minutes constantly patting his back pocket to make sure his wallet was still there, before playing it safe and moving it inside his jacket. That way it would be next to his gun where it belonged.
Then he spotted the door. It was an unremarkable door in every way, like any other worn wooden door in the city. The only thing slightly different was a pillow and small food dish that sat to the right of the door, but even that feature was shared throughout the city—Istanbul was famous for its stray cats, who ruled the city and enjoyed widespread communal care. But Perry knew this was the right door: the pillow was pink with a crescent moon embroidered on it. There weren’t likely to be two like this.
Perry went to the door and knocked. His knock was answered by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun pump. He knocked again, this time adding a cheeky triple tap at the end.
“That better be a friend,” a voice roared from behind the door. “Otherwise, I’m going to shove this shotgun up your ass and laugh while I do it.”
Perry grinned. “The joke’s on you, then, Zeki. You have no friends.”
There was a pause and then a buzzing click. Perry pushed on the handle and the door swung open. He stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he was taken aback by the scene before him. On the other side of the room sat a bed, featuring a man and woman, both sitting upright and both naked to the waist, the rest of them covered by a brightly-colored quilt.
Zeki smiled widely. “Perry! It’s been a long time! How did you find me?”
“I called a…friend of yours.” Perry had, in fact, called a female escort with whom Zeki was well-acquainted, but in deference to the current guest, stuck with “friend,” a much less inflammatory term. “Now I have a question: how the hell did you unlock the door?”
Zeki held up a small device. “Remote lock and unlock.”
“You really have become lazy.”
“Not lazy. Necessarily inventive.” The man flung back his half of the quilt.
Perry gaped and Zeki laughed.
“Quit staring, Perry. I’m sure yours is just as impressive.”
“Your leg—”
“Oh, that’s what you were ogling. I had it removed during an unfortunate incident during which I refused to impart certain information to a certain captor. He decided two legs were sheer luxury and did his part to keep me from falling into materialism by removing one with a hacksaw.”
“Ouch.”
“It was, yes. Very ‘ouch.’”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, how rude of me. Perry, meet Aria. Lovely, isn’t she? Like a beautiful song.”
Perry had to admit she was lovely indeed and couldn’t help noticing how her breasts moved as she waved at him and smiled.
And then something remarkable happened. He felt the slightest twinge of desire deep inside. It came as a shock. Perry had been completely uninterested in sex since Trina died and assumed his life would be one of celibacy from that moment on. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the urge. It felt...good. But at the same time, he experienced a sense of guilt, as if he was betraying Trina by thinking such thoughts about another woman, even if Trina was gone and the “other woman” was sitting right in front of him and wearing no clothes. But Perry had loved being married and, going against the stereotype, enjoyed monogamy and the closeness it could afford. It had been three years since Trina’s death, but Perry had done little to climb out of the dark hole into which the tragedy had thrust him, choosing to rely on danger and booze to get him from one day to the next.
In answer to Zeki’s question, Perry nodded and then made a covering motion with his hand. “If you don’t mind, let’s not let a good quilt go to waste.”
Zeki grinned, but obliged and covered himself. “What can I do for you, Perry?”
“I’m looking for information.”
“You will have to be more specific.”
“About a man.”
“And still more specific.”
Perry cast another glance toward the woman, but this time the look had nothing to do with her breasts. Zeki seemed to get the idea. He nodded and placed a gentle hand on the woman’s bare shoulder.
“Give us a moment, would you, Aria?”
Aria smiled agreeably and tossed back the covers, revealing the rest of herself in all its glory. Perry knew it would be more polite to turn away, but then again, might it not be considered insulting? Clearly the woman was not shy about displaying her body. The internal discussion was entirely moot, as Perry could not have looked away if his life depended on it.
Zeki noticed, but did not seem offended. Once Aria had left to another room, he smiled. “She is quite something.”
“Yes,” Perry said. “My only question now is what the hell is she doing with you?”
Zeki made as if to once again throw aside his p
ortion of the quilt, but Perry quickly held up a hand to forestall the action. Satisfied, Zeki settled back into the bed. “Now, what man do you wish to know about?”
Perry moved closer to allow a lower tone of voice. “Flick. I’m looking for Flick.”
Zeki’s face turned serious. “You ask a difficult thing. I understand why you would want to find this Flick—I would as well—but if he were so easy to locate, he would be dead by now. And you must know, if I ever got solid information concerning his whereabouts, I would contact you myself.”
Perry nodded. “I understand. And I believe you. I was hoping you might know someone who might know something.”
Zeki thought, his brow furrowing. After a minute, he said, “I don’t know someone who might know something. However, I might know someone who might know someone who might know something.”
“I’ll take it,” Perry said. “Clever wordplay and all.”
“Very well. But you cannot let any of the people you speak to know I was the one who sent you. These men are not to be trifled with. I hesitate even to tell you, because you might very well be going to your death. However, I understand your reasons and am sympathetic to your cause.”
Perry leaned forward impatiently. Going to his death caused no second thoughts. It caused no emotions at all. “Who, then? Who do I see?”
4
As Burke hit the ground outside the cafe, he took Lyndsey with him. With a heave, he pushed their table onto its side. It wouldn’t provide much protection, but might ruin the shooter’s aim. The shooting seemed to go on for several minutes, but couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Burke pulled himself to a crouch, using the upended table for support. He saw a motorcycle disappearing around the bend in the road, its driver still brandishing an automatic weapon.
Assignment- Adventure A SpyCo Collection 1-3 Page 17
