Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6

by Craig A. Hart

  “I dislike cats as well. I’m not what one might call an ‘animal person.’ Never have been.”

  “Good. The idea of a master villain stroking a cat while plotting the downfall of the world has been done to death.”

  “At least you recognize my status as a master villain.” Now it was Zmaj’s turn to laugh. He knew many found his own expression of mirth unsettling, but most had the good sense to keep their opinions to themselves. One less discreet individual had compared it to the sound of thick gelatin being forced through a strainer. That individual was no longer gracing the world of the living.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” the Wolf said. “Master villains are a dime a dozen these days. And we need to make one thing clear. If I agree to undertake this job, the job will become mine. I will never be your employee. You will not give me directives. You will not treat me as hired help. You will not interfere with my methods.”

  Without warning, Hodges took a step forward. “Who are you to speak to—?”

  Bang!

  In one smooth motion, the Wolf drew a pistol from his waistband and shot Hodges through the head. The big chauffeur’s face assumed a macabre look of surprise and then he dropped to his knees. He knelt, swaying for several seconds, before falling forward. His face made a crunching sound as it hit the concrete floor.

  The Wolf held the gun ready and stared at Zmaj. At last, he said, “Well? Any questions?”

  “Just one,” Zmaj said, still staring at his deceased driver. “How the hell am I supposed to get home?”

  3

  About fifteen seconds after Charlie disappeared into the bathroom, the man Dot described walked into the pub and sat at the very end of the bar.

  “He’s not looking this way,” Lyndsey said, “so I’m guessing he won’t be asking us all back to his mom’s basement.”

  Dot snarled. “Well, shit. I was hoping to tie a decent one on before I had to kill anybody today. Few things piss me off more than some jack-off interrupting my drinking.”

  Adabelle’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure he was following us, Dot?”

  “Don’t doubt me, girlie.”

  “Then what do you think he wants? And why would he be tailing us? This assignment has no relevance to anything else that might be going on. There’s really no reason for anyone to be onto us.”

  “I’ve been here for a while getting things ready for Little Miss Down Under,” Dot said. “I’ve got a real humdinger of a recon set up, but it looks like we’re going to have to at least postpone it to find out if someone’s been watching me. If so, our leak problem that you’ve been working on so hard, Foxy, may not be plugged up all the way.”

  “Damn!” Adabelle said, rapping her knuckles on the bar in irritation. The bartender took the gesture to mean his services were needed and he moved toward them. Adabelle was about to give him a dismissive wave, but Dot reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Let’s not be hasty, now.”

  “Come on, Dot. Now is not the time to be thinking about your next drink.”

  “I was thinking about my next drink ten minutes before I ordered my first one. Besides, I like to drink while I watch a show.”

  As if on cue, Charlie exited the bathroom and took a slow, casual look around the bar, spotting the target with the first pass. As the other women watched, Charlie went through a complete transformation. A quick muss of the hair, two extra shirt buttons undone, and a fresh layer of lipstick created a more sultry appearance, but it was her attitude and demeanor that had the watching agents gaping. Head to the side and hand on hip, she began walking toward the man’s table with a leggy, sensual stride completely at odds with her normal gait. Charlie practically glided along the floor, her red lips curving upward in a come-hither smile. The man looked up, saw her coming, and seemed ready to swallow his tongue. Charlie bent over, leaning her forearms on the table and displaying ample cleavage and a decent amount of black lace bra. Her smile widened, showing white teeth, which she used to lightly bite the end of her tongue, as if feeling shy and uncertain of herself. Then she said something and the other agents strained to hear, but the words were lost in the rumble of the bar’s ambient noise.

  “Damn it,” Lyndsey said. “I’m dying to hear what she’s saying.”

  Dot cackled. “I don’t think it matters a bit. With that approach, she could call his mother a dirty whore and he’d just smile and nod.”

  “Well, that was fast,” Adabelle said.

  And indeed, the man was grinning and rising from his chair. Charlie slipped her arm in his and the two of them headed for the door. As it closed behind them, Dot drained her drink and slid from the stool to the floor.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s go.”

  The agents left the bar and saw Charlie leading the man toward the Impala. The two of them opened the rear door and piled inside, pulling the door shut behind them.

  “Let’s get him,” Dot said.

  As they approached the car, they saw Charlie’s head over the back seat, looking downward at the man.

  “Never figured her for a top girl,” Dot mused.

  Then they reached the car and Dot flung open the door. “Okay, fun’s over, Romeo.”

  “Turns out his name is Connor,” Charlie said, pulling her skirt back down.

  Connor’s eyes widened and he started to struggle, but Charlie pulled out her knife and pressed it into his crotch. Connor immediately lay still and Charlie used her free hand to search his pockets.

  “Let’s see what our little tail is holding onto here,” she said. She pulled out a cell phone and pushed the home button. “What’s the passcode, Connor?”

  When he answered with garbled sounds, Dot leaned into the car for a closer look. “What’s that in his mouth, Charlie? Is that your unmentionables? Oh, I like that. Girls make a note. Bonus points for creative use of ladies undergarments.”

  Charlie held the phone toward Connor. “Key it in, asshole. And don’t mess around because my knife hand is feeling extra twitchy tonight.”

  Connor moved his hand slowly and deliberately, punching in the phone’s six-digit passcode. Charlie handed the phone to Dot, who snatched it and began poking icons. After a minute her, eyebrows shot up.

  “So, Connor, why do you have J. Carlton Moore’s phone number? Hmm?”

  Again the man tried vainly to verbalize, producing a long string of unintelligible sounds.

  “Jesus, Charlie. Take your panties back, would you?”

  Charlie slid a finger into the Irishman’s mouth and hooked it around her underwear, tugging it out.

  “So I repeat,” Dot said. “Why do you have Moore’s digits?”

  “Because I’m SpyCo! Will you get that knife away from my sack?”

  “If you’re SpyCo, why did you follow us all the way from the airport, then come in and pretend to be so cool down at the end of the bar?”

  “And make it that obvious? Give me a little credit. I have a message for you and didn’t want to tip my hand too soon. If I was able to follow you, someone could be following me as well.”

  Dot frowned. “Then quit shitting around and spit it out. What’s the message?”

  “Your mission parameters have changed. It’s no longer a simple recon. Zmaj is active in Ireland, and you three need to find out what he’s up to.”

  Dot sighed. “You know, just once, I’d like for something to go as planned. A simple mission, that’s what this was supposed to be. Well, shit. I guess it’s time to call Moore and see if your boyfriends are available. I have no idea how deep this goes and we may need backup.”

  4

  I suppose I should thank you for driving me,” Zmaj said from the back seat of the Rolls as the black car purred along the roadway. “Yet I can’t help but think you had an ulterior motive.”

  The Wolf emitted his unsettling chuckle. “You cut me to the quick. What possible motive could I have other than a desire to help?”

  “To find out where I live, for one.”

&nb
sp; “Nonsense. If I’d wanted that information, there would have been a dozen ways to accomplish that without leaving my lair. Driving you back was the least I could do after offing your chauffeur.”

  Zmaj did not miss the reference to the “lair.” The Wolf had clearly embraced his persona beyond a simple appellation. By all accounts, the man also possessed the storied cunning of the legendary animal, and this reminded Zmaj to proceed carefully. He knew better than to expect reverence from the Wolf. The man stood alone in his field; even the internationally dreaded—and now deceased—assassin, Flick, could never have aspired to the heights of reputation enjoyed by the Wolf. And yet, in order to use the man effectively, Zmaj knew he would have to find a way to bring him to heel—it would simply take a new strategy.

  Zmaj had approached the entire situation as a chess game. His opening move was appearing at the Wolf’s factory hideaway, as if in an attempt to project strength. Predictably, the Wolf responded in kind, and the unfortunate Hodges had turned out to be an expendable pawn, an acceptable sacrifice in Zmaj’s long-term game plan. The Wolf’s anticipated counter set up the next move nicely, and now it was time to put it into action. Namely, retreating in the face of the Wolf’s statement of power. It was galling, not something Zmaj enjoyed, but he was clever enough to play the game in spite of his emotions. Threats and brute force would not work this time. The Wolf had been in the game a very long time and probably thought he’d seen all there was to see. By letting the Wolf play his first cards from a perceived position of power, he could begin to use the man’s unbearable arrogance as a method of control.

  Zmaj cleared his throat in an attempt to appear unsure of himself. “He should not have questioned you. The man was never bright. Not much of a loss, really.”

  “What a shame,” the Wolf said. “I’d have liked to test your dedication to working with me.”

  “You needn’t worry yourself about that. If I weren’t eager to work with you, would I have risked my own life by coming to your fortress practically unguarded? I may not have a knowledge of espionage as deep as you, but I do know you are the best at what you do.”

  The Wolf nodded. “Sound logic. I was wondering why there weren’t more armed guards in your party. As you were approaching the factory, I scanned the surrounding area with infrared cameras, expecting to see men hiding in the brush and waiting to attack, but detected no one.”

  “My motives are pure, I assure you.”

  “I would find that singularly disappointing, Mr. Zmaj. Pure motives are not your forte, from the stories I’ve heard.”

  “The best stories are neither known nor told,” Zmaj said, quoting the Wolf.

  “How right you are. Now—tell me more of your proposal. What I know thus far has been intriguing.”

  “Simply put, I need soldiers and field agents. My operation is expanding rapidly and, with the ongoing collapse of Scorpion, is being called upon to fill an ever-increasing power vacuum.”

  “Your pockets are deep, aren’t they? Surely it can’t be that difficult to find willing men.”

  “I’m not looking for only men, as I have no time to train them. I want experienced people—soldiers—who can begin on Day One. Hit the ground running, as the saying goes.”

  “And where do I come into this?”

  “I have heard you worked for the IRA during The Troubles.”

  The Wolf called upon his unsettling chuckle. “I have heard that as well.”

  “Ah, the man waxes coy,” Zmaj said. “Just how much am I allowed to know about the legendary Wolf?”

  “Only as much as you can afford.”

  “As you say, my pockets are deep.”

  “My story is deeper. But the Rolls handles well and I am in a good mood. I’ll give you your first one for free. Ask a question.”

  “Your time with the IRA. Is it true?”

  “I was among their ranks for a time. I was near Crossmaglen in the early 90s, working as a sniper against British patrols.” The Wolf smiled at Zmaj in the rearview mirror. “We were so feared that signs reading ‘Sniper At Work’ were erected along roadways.”

  “Are you Irish? I seem to hear a trace of a brogue.”

  “I was when it paid.”

  “So you ultimately switched your loyalty.”

  Again the chuckle. “No, Mr. Zmaj. I was ever loyal to the Wolf.”

  In spite of his feeling that he was moving the conversation where he wanted it, that answer gave Zmaj a chill—and he loved it. “And after the war ended?”

  “For me, I moved on once the money ran out, but in the hearts of many the war has never ended.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on. Do you still know individuals from those days?”

  “Ah,” said the Wolf. “At last we come to the crux of the matter. And so I won’t play word games with you. I generally take care to cut all ties once a job is complete and leave a situation an unchanged man. But there was something different about The Troubles—perhaps only my Irish blood. In any case, I do maintain connections there.”

  “Then you probably know what I am about to ask next.”

  “Indeed. I had it mostly worked out from the moment I was first contacted.”

  “So you’ve had time to think it over.”

  “I have. But I have not yet arrived at a decision.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help that along?”

  “I need to know you are serious, Mr. Zmaj. I will admit to hearing some of what you claim, in terms of your expansion, but I have yet to verify its scope. Before I introduce any former IRA to you, I will need to see more. And that we can begin once we arrive at your own headquarters.”

  “So that is why you offered to drive me. You were feeling the situation out.”

  “Yes,” the Wolf chuckled. “And because I shot your chauffeur.”

  5

  James Burke ducked as a sudden change of wind swung the yacht’s boom in his direction. He came up a second later, holding his glass of Pappy van Winkle aloft.

  “Didn’t spill a drop!” he announced.

  J. Carlton Moore scowled from his post at the wheel. “Get away from there, you idiot! Haven’t you ever been aboard a sailing vessel before?”

  Burke grinned sloppily. “All the time.”

  “He’s lying,” Perry Hall said, his head popping up through the companionway. “He’s never been on anything as classy as this. Party barges are more his style.”

  “You’re just grumpy because you haven’t had sex with Adabelle for a week,” Burke said. “For you, that must seem like a drought.”

  “Oh, please, look who’s talking like an old married man. I’m sure you and Lyndsey are keeping the sheets hot.”

  “Why do you think I’m drinking so much?”

  “Because you’re a lousy drunk,” Perry said and then smiled. “Oh, wait—that’s me.”

  Burke couldn’t help but laugh, partly from relief at seeing his friend being so carefree. The fact he was joking about his past heavy drinking was a good sign he was beginning to move on from his wife’s death, the tragedy that had defined his life for so long. In fact, Perry had gone off the sauce during his pursuit of the killer and his first drink since the man’s killing had occurred the day the three of them—Burke, Perry, and Moore—had set off on their male-bonding sailing expedition in the Pacific. And even then, Burke had noticed he’d only had one.

  The expedition was, Burke guessed, Moore’s way of apologizing for ruining his Hawaiian getaway with Lyndsey. It was a generous gesture on the part of the SpyCo chief, although Burke would have much preferred just getting a do-over. But Moore had other plans for the women of SpyCo, sending them on a simple recon mission in Dublin as a training exercise for their newest recruit, Charlie Perkins. Charlie had come to Burke’s attention during his mission in Sydney, and now that she’d completed her in-house training, it was time for some field work. Meeting Charlie had also brought Burke’s relationship with Lyndsey into sharp focus. His reputation as a playboy was n
ot entirely unwarranted and he had strayed on at least one occasion, an act Burke still regretted. Granted, the mercurial nature of the relationship between Burke and Lyndsey had made the cheating seem less egregious than it turned out to be, but it had still created a chasm between them that was only now healing. It was healing so well, in fact, that Burke was contemplating a proposal. He knew Lyndsey was the woman for him and this latest iteration of their saga together only made that more obvious. He had scarcely noticed another woman in weeks, which for Burke was something entirely new and noteworthy. Only one thing was still holding him back from dropping to one knee, ring in hand: Lyndsey still had not said she loved him. Burke had said it more than once but had yet to hear it. And that fact gave him pause.

  Moore’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m getting a call on my sat phone. One of you take the wheel.”

  Perry dropped into the cockpit. “Do I just hold it?”

  “That’s what she said,” Burke said, exhibiting a drunken, lopsided grin.

  Moore ignored the sophomoric humor. “What the hell, I thought all rich guys had boats.”

  “Too much hassle and upkeep,” Perry said. “Boats were my dad’s thing.”

  “Well, just keep her steady. If the wind shifts, correct with the wheel or you could get us in irons.”

  “I didn’t realize the rules of the sea were so strict,” Burke said. “One wrong move and they toss you in the brig, huh?”

  Moore growled. “It means stopping in a headwind and getting pushed backward. Don’t you guys—?” He stopped when he realized Burke was simply goading him. “The hell with you both.”

  Perry laughed as he took the wheel and Moore stalked below deck to take the call.

  Burke sat down on the windward side of the cockpit and sipped at his drink. He gazed out over the ocean, a feeling of serenity descending over him. This excursion was just what he needed to recharge after an insane few months of high-stakes international espionage. He jerked his head toward the companionway through which Moore had disappeared.

  “You think he’s regretting bringing us along on his little voyage?”