by Logan Ryles
The hours dragged by as the sun rose over Paris, then descended toward the ocean. Edric remained in his bedroom, leaving the four others to occupy themselves however they chose. Kevin drank until Megan cut him off, then he sat at the table next to Lyle and made a show of cleaning his firearms. He’d brought quite a few, and Wolfgang was impressed to see that they were already spotless.
Lyle remained behind the computer, still fussing with the satellite. It clearly bothered him that his technical issues had threatened the mission’s success. He didn’t speak to anyone, but toiled at the computer for hours on end without moving.
Wolfgang rubbed his sore stomach and watched Megan. From his angle in the corner, he could see the bright flash of her eyes as she pored over maps of Paris and scratched notes on a pad. The sun that leaked between the blinds shone against her scarlet hair, turning golden on translucent skin. All the distance and weariness he’d noticed when they first met was gone. She worked with an intensity and a focus that would rival a professional scientist, ignoring the world around her as completely as Lyle.
He looked down at his battered hands. The Russian in the apartment had left Wolfgang’s Berretta, and Wolfgang recovered it before returning to the hotel. It now rode in the shoulder holster again, but when he had crashed to the floor, his knuckles, propelled by the heavy gun, slammed into the hardwood.
I failed the team. I failed Edric. I failed Megan.
Wolfgang shoved his hands into his pockets and stood up, shuffling toward Megan. He could feel Kevin’s stormy glower on him the entire way.
Wolfgang cleared his throat. “Hey, Megan?”
“What?” she said.
“I just . . . I just wanted to say I’m sorry about today.”
“You should be.” Her tone remained cold and uninviting.
Wolfgang sat in the chair next to her and dusted off his knees. “What are you working on?”
She turned back to the maps. With practiced twists of her elegant fingers, she left another line of neat handwriting on the pad. It was feminine and strong, written with confidence and command.
“Listen,” he said. “I know I messed up today. There’s no excuse. But you can count on me, all right? I really am good at my job, and I can contribute, too. Maybe if we talked more ahead of time, I could really add to the discussion and be an asset.”
“An asset?” Megan’s lips were set in hard lines, but he saw a vein flex in her temple. “I don’t need an asset, Wolfgang. I need somebody who follows orders. We’re not a family. We’re not friends. We’re a team, and all I need from you is for you to get the job done. Are we clear on that?”
Wolfgang felt like he’d been kicked in the gut again. He winced, feeling his cheeks flush. Megan looked back at her maps, and Wolfgang stood up, catching sight of Kevin smirking at him from the corner.
Is she always this cold?
Wolfgang found his way to the minibar and sifted through the alcohol until he found an unopened can of seltzer. It was warm, but the carbonation still helped to clear his throat. He felt Kevin’s glare on him, and a bubbling wave of rage began to boil inside of him again.
What the heck is wrong with this guy? I’ve not done a thing to him.
Wolfgang turned to Kevin, ready to resolve the issue head-on, but the bedroom door swung open, and Edric appeared, a notebook in one hand. “Gather up! We’ve got another shot at Spider.” He flipped the overhead lights on and motioned everybody to the table. “Megan, bring the maps.”
The group crowded around the table as Lyle reluctantly shifted his computers to one side. Megan spread out the map, and Edric traced it with the tip of a pen. He stopped at a point in the heart of Paris, just northeast of the Arc de Triomphe.
“The Hôtel Salomon de Rothschild. An exclusive, invite-only art gala is taking place there later tonight. Spider has reached out to Raven and rescheduled their meeting for during the event.”
“So, he hasn’t gone to ground,” Megan said.
Edric let out a tired sigh. “Thankfully, no. He must’ve seen Wolfgang running, and it rattled him enough to cancel the rendezvous, but apparently, he’s willing to reschedule.”
“Not only that,” Megan said, “he gave Raven the rendezvous point hours ahead of time. He wouldn’t do before.”
“That’s true,” Edric said, “and it gives us more time to plan. But we have to assume that the Russians have obtained the same intelligence, and they also have time to prepare. They still want this guy dead, and we can only assume they’re willing to shoot up a gala to get the job done.”
“So, what’s the play?” Kevin said. “Do we establish a perimeter and monitor for intruders?”
Edric shook his head. “No. Spider chose the gala as a rendezvous because he believes it’ll be safe. I can only assume that hotel security is already pretty tight, and like I mentioned, it’s an invitation-only party. Spider provided Raven with a fake invite. They will each enter the party posing as VIPs, and I’m sure the Russians will do the same, which means . . .” Edric looked at Megan.
She began shaking her head almost immediately. “No. I told you, I don’t play dress-up.”
Edric smiled disarmingly. “Come on, Megan. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need it. Raven provided a copy of the invite so we can doctor and duplicate it for you and an escort. Then Lyle can hack the hotel computer systems and add your pseudonyms to the electronic guest list.”
“I told you, I’m not a Barbie doll. We can infiltrate the hotel via the roof and provide protection from the shadows. Armed.”
“No go,” Edric said. “That drastically increases the complexity of the mission. Megan, I need this. I need you to play ball.”
Megan scowled but nodded once.
“Thank you.” Edric turned back to the map. “Lyle and I will park the van two blocks away. We’ll provide central control, and hopefully, satellite surveillance.”
Lyle nodded quickly. “I’ve almost regained access. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Wolfgang held up a hand. “Wait. Regained access? Does that mean what I think it means?”
Edric waved the comment off, but Lyle blushed. “Look, it’s not like we can afford our own satellite.”
“So, when you said earlier that you were having trouble with the satellite, what you meant was . . .”
“I was kicked off, yes. But no worries. I’ve just about hacked my way back in. We’ll be good to go.”
Edric waved his hand again. “Let Lyle take care of the satellite. Wolfgang, you’ve got other things to worry about. What’s your tux size?”
“Wait, you’re sending him?” Kevin lurched out his chair, his fists balled. “He’s an incompetent moron!”
“Sit down, Kevin.” Edric snapped his fingers, but Kevin didn’t budge.
“I don’t like it, boss. I should go. Megan and I have worked together for years. We know each other!”
“You’re right,” Megan said. “And we both know you have the acting skills of a pop star on cameo. You’ll blow our cover before we make it past the front door.”
Kevin fumed. “Are you serious? Meg, come on. We did the London job together.”
“It was a corporate board meeting, and you played my bodyguard. Completely different scenario.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not about trust, Kevin. It’s about skill set. Don’t make this personal.”
Kevin folded his arms. “James trusted me.”
The room fell deathly silent, and Wolfgang noticed Lyle’s gaze drop to the floor as darkness crossed Megan’s eyes.
Edric spoke between gritted teeth. “Sit down, Kevin.”
Kevin slumped into his chair, his cheeks dark red.
Megan turned away, facing the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Wolfgang opened his mouth, but then thought better of saying anything. A hundred questions boiled into his mind, but this didn’t seem like the right time to ask them or press
an advantage over Kevin.
“Meg?” Edric said,
She turned around. “What’s my identity?”
“Rebecca and Paul Listener, from Toronto.” Edric produced a pair of fake Canadian passports from his coat and passed them to Wolfgang and Megan. “You’ve been married for three years. Paul teaches humanities at Centennial College, and Rebecca is a full-time art critic. You’re traveling to Paris on vacation, and your invite was courtesy of a friend in the art world. Be vague about that.”
Wolfgang admired the passport, feeling the smooth perfection of the laminated pages, and tilted the primary ID page in the light to examine the inlaid Canadian seal. The passport was a perfect fake—or very close to it.
“The mission is simple,” Edric said. “Kevin will drive you in and remain on standby for exfiltration, and if it comes to it, additional firepower. Once you’re inside the gala, make your way around the party until you locate Raven. Stay with him until he meets with Spider. Wolfgang, we’ll need a full facial image. Use the watch.”
Wolfgang nodded. “What about the Russians?”
“Protecting Spider is still our primary objective—at least until he completes his rendezvous with Raven. After that, the CIA has requested we forestall any sort of fireworks until Raven has left Paris. Remember, they’re looking for plausible deniability here. So, ideally, we’ll shield Spider until the end of the gala. Then we’ll withdraw, and what happens, happens.”
“What about Wolfgang?” Kevin asked. His voice was still sulky but less hostile. “The Russians will recognize him.”
Edric nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Wolfgang, were you able to identify the sniper?”
Wolfgang shook his head. There was no point in lying about it. “No, I never saw his face.”
“Okay. In that case, he’ll identify you before you identify him. That’s not ideal, but it could put the Russians on guard. They know you aren’t actually a humanities professor, but it’s not like they’ll set off any alarms. After all, they’re working under false identities, also. The most important thing is for you to pick them out as soon as possible. Feed Lyle as many facial images as you can, and look out for the usual signals—body language, people who look out of place, people who are checking out faces more than they’re checking out paintings.”
“No problem,” Wolfgang said. “What happens after I find them?”
“Hopefully, nothing. Stay between them and Spider, and stall for time. As soon as Raven and Spider complete their rendezvous, Raven will leave, and Spider probably will, also.”
“What if the Russians . . . you know . . .” Wolfgang trailed off, unsure if he was playing up a movie stereotype.
“Go full Ivan, and light the place up?” Edric leaned against the wall, rubbing his chin with one hand. “There’s not a lot we can do about that. Kevin will be on standby in case you need additional muscle. If you’re confident the Russians are about to turn up the heat, I guess I’d rather you disable them. Quietly, of course.”
Wolfgang exchanged a glance with Megan. “I understand.”
The room was silent for a minute as Kevin’s brooding darkness hung over them like a black cloud. Wolfgang knew they were all thinking the same thing.
He cleared his throat. “Look, I screwed up today. I realize you guys are taking a risk by working with somebody you don’t know. And I just want to say . . . I’ve got your backs. You can trust me.”
There was a hint of a smile on Edric’s face, too vague to call, but it still gave Wolfgang some reassurance.
“Everything that happened this morning is behind us,” Edric said. “We move as a team, now. Charlie gets it done.”
Megan grunted. “Charlie gets it done, but Charlie’s gonna need shopping money.”
8
Wolfgang stood in the main sitting room of the hotel suite and fidgeted with his cuff links. Following the brief, Megan had left the hotel and returned two hours later with a couple of shopping bags and two shoeboxes. She produced a brand-new tux from one bag, complete with a black bowtie, a pressed shirt, and silver cuff links. Wolfgang wasn’t sure if a professor from a liberal arts college would wear cuff links, but he wasn’t about to question her.
Megan disappeared into one bedroom, and Wolfgang dressed. Kevin left to rent a car that could pass as a private taxi, and Edric took a shower. Wolfgang wondered how you showered with a full-arm cast, and decided he probably didn’t want to know.
“How do I look?”
Wolfgang turned to Lyle, flexing his arms and wiggling his shoulders beneath the jacket. Lyle looked over his computer screen, squinting through his smudged glasses. Then, to Wolfgang’s surprise, he stood up and stepped around the table, approaching Wolfgang and inspecting him from head to toe.
The tux fit well. It wasn’t a custom garment by any stretch, but Wolfgang felt good in it. He just wished it left room for his gun. There was no chance of squeezing the Berretta into the confines of the form-fitting jacket, and he felt a little naked.
Lyle nodded once, then reached up and adjusted Wolfgang’s bowtie. “Almost good enough,” Lyle said.
“Good enough?” Wolfgang laughed. “Good enough for what?”
Lyle pointed toward the bedroom as the door clicked open. “To stand next to her.”
Wolfgang turned, and the breath caught in his throat. Megan wore a jet-black evening gown, long enough to trail the floor, with a slit that ran up her right leg to just inches below her waist. The gown hugged her hips and was suspended by a single shoulder strap that rode just to the left of her neck.
Her hair was pinned back on one side, while the majority of her locks flowed loosely over her shoulders and down her exposed back. Her crimson lipstick matched her hair in a darker shade of red, but the whole ensemble was offset by an awkwardness in her posture that Wolfgang hadn’t seen before.
Wolfgang swallowed, and Lyle laughed.
“What?” Megan snapped, avoiding his gaze.
“Nothing,” Wolfgang mumbled. “You . . . you look nice.”
“Great. Are you ready?”
Kevin acquired a black Mercedes sedan to ferry them to the gala. He drove without a word, chewing gum and glancing from time to time into the rearview mirror.
Wolfgang ignored him, sinking into the back seat and watching Paris flash by. The city was alive now, with lights on every building, glimmering like a million stars as the Mercedes bounced through streets and whizzed down the highway.
As they topped a hill and turned south toward downtown, Megan tapped on her window. “Look.”
Wolfgang leaned over, peering through the glass. In the distance, he made out the elegant, curving outline of the Eiffel Tower, shooting up from the Parisian skyline like a giant in the night. It was so much taller than he expected, framed against the black skyline with just a couple of marker lights.
“Have you ever been?” He asked.
“I’ve been someplace a lot like it, once,” Megan said, her voice a little wistful. “Never here. I thought it was usually illuminated at night.”
“Maintenance,” Wolfgang said. “I read about it in a travel brochure.”
Megan said nothing, and Wolfgang sat back, his focus drawn away from the distant tower and back to her legs, crossed over each other with casual elegance. She leaned back and closed her eyes, and for a moment, Wolfgang just stared. He was conscious of Kevin glaring at him through the rearview mirror, but he didn’t care.
Screw this guy. I’m done worrying about him.
After another ten minutes, Kevin turned onto a quiet street, and Wolfgang saw other cars lined along it: Mercedes, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and a smattering of supercars purred in neat lines, all gently circling through the hotel’s main entrance. Wolfgang leaned close to the window, admiring the display of opulence and wealth, his attention settling on a bright-red Ferrari with gloss-black wheels. Wolfgang knew very little about cars beyond basic brands, but this car was beautiful in every sense of the word, hugging the ground and rumbling with
the restrained power of its massive Italian engine.
Wolfgang pictured himself behind the wheel of a car like that, rocketing up the California coast. He imagined riding with the windows down, the radio playing, and somebody special sitting next to him.
Focus, fool. You don’t have time for this.
Wolfgang shelved the daydream and turned his attention to the people gathered around the cars. A small crowd of men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns stood in knots, laughing and migrating inside.
Megan pressed her earpiece into her right ear, then turned to Wolfgang. “Got yours?”
Wolfgang nodded, slipping the earpiece out of his pocket and into his ear.
“Keep it in your ear this time,” she said.
A valet approached Megan’s door, bowing and opening it in one smooth motion. In a flash, Megan’s icy expression melted, replaced by a smile both warm and austere. Wolfgang felt his heart lurch, and he hesitated a moment in the car, watching her walk.
“If she gets hurt,” Kevin said, “I’ll kill you.”
Wolfgang cocked his head, almost willing to let the threat go, then he smacked Kevin on the arm. “Kev, you couldn’t kill me if I was tied to an electric chair. Keep the motor warm, will you?” He slid out of the car, adjusting his tie.
Megan waited at the bottom of the steps, glancing back at him. To his surprise, she reached out for his arm, and he accepted while trying to disguise his satisfaction.
Act or no act, it still felt great for her not to be glaring daggers at everybody.
They ascended the red-carpet stairs, arriving at the admissions guard at the top.
“Mr. and Mrs. Listener, Toronto,” Wolfgang said.
The guard smiled and bobbed his head, then checked his iPad.
Wolfgang stiffened a moment, suddenly realizing he’d never received confirmation from Lyle that the hack was successful.
“Welcome to the gala, monsieur, madame.”
The guard nodded them in, and Wolfgang relaxed a little. So far, so good.
“Charlie Lead, all systems, check.”
“Charlie Eye, I’m live. Satellite is back online.”
