by Logan Ryles
“Charlie One, we’re in.”
“Charlie Two, on standby.”
Wolfgang started to speak, but Megan just shook her head. “Relax, hot stuff,” she said. “You’re as tense as Kevin.”
Wolfgang flushed, following Megan through the hotel’s double doors and into a stunning lobby. Bright lights glistened from chandeliers, reflecting off marble flagstone flooring and illuminating rows of oil paintings that lined every side of the lobby and proceeded into the halls. Everywhere, people in expensive evening attire gathered, admiring paintings and murmuring as they sipped champagne. White-gloved servers scurried in and out of the main lobby, replacing champagne flutes and serving hors d'oeuvres.
“Just like the movies,” Wolfgang whispered.
Megan rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I didn’t want to come?”
“I’m not sure, actually. I was wondering about that.”
Megan shot a sunbeam smile at a server bright enough to blind him, and accepted a champagne flute.
Wolfgang waved the server off with a polite smile.
“You should drink,” Megan said. “You’ll stick out if you don’t.”
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Why the hell not? Are you sober?”
They drifted closer to a row of paintings as Wolfgang scanned the room for any sign of Raven. The American was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m not sober. I just don’t drink. Why didn’t you want to come to the party?”
They settled in front of an obscure art piece that may have depicted a battle, or a sunrise, or a circus—Wolfgang really had no idea—and continued to scan the room.
“Let’s just say I’m not much for tropes,” Megan said.
“Tropes?”
“You know. The hot spy girl dressing up for a party to catch the bad guys.”
“So, you admit to being hot. I’m relieved. I was starting to think I was seeing visions.”
Megan stared at him a moment, and he almost thought she’d slap him. A smirk played at the corner of her mouth, and she took a sip of her champagne, leaving a lipstick smudge on the flute. “That’s almost funny.”
“Kind of my move,” Wolfgang said with a self-deprecating shrug. “Why don’t you like tropes?”
“Hypothetically?”
“If you like.”
“Okay. Hypothetically, dressing up like this makes me feel a touch objectified.”
“Hmm. I can respect that. But can I offer an alternative interpretation?”
Megan pretended to study the painting and took another sip of her champagne, and Wolfgang took her silence as permission to proceed.
“Everybody on the team respects you. Kevin waits on you like a freaking lap dog. You’re the only person whose opinion Edric blindly accepts. You’ve got me ready to jump off a building, if that’s your call.”
Megan rotated the flute in her fingers. “Your point?”
Wolfgang shrugged. “Doesn’t sound much like objectification to me. Sounds more like . . . a pedestal.”
Megan lifted one eyebrow, and he thought he saw that smirk playing at her lips again. She finished the champagne and turned away. Wolfgang followed her, casting casual looks at the passing art and settling on a painting that was most definitely a nude of some kind of princess. He twisted his arm until his watch camera captured the canvas, and Lyle uttered an involuntary snicker over the earpiece.
Megan jabbed him in the ribs. “You’re a child. Focus on your job for a change.”
A sudden rustle from the crowd brought a stillness to the room, and then everybody started moving toward another set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Wolfgang and Megan moved with them, checking every face they passed. There were lots of old, overweight men in tuxedos—one of whom actually wore a monocle—but no sign of the trim, dark Raven. Wolfgang felt uneasy again. In this crowd, it shouldn’t have been hard to spot the Russians. He needed only to look for men who weren’t twenty pounds overweight and guzzling booze. But that also meant there would be no confusion for the Russians in identifying Raven, or Spider, or himself, for that matter.
“SITREP,” Edric said.
“We’re moving into the ballroom,” Megan said. “I think there’s gonna be a speech.”
They passed through the double doors and into a massive square room. More appetizers lined one wall, while a string quartet in the corner sat stiff and upright on their stools. The center of the room was left open.
Wolfgang felt a twist in his stomach. Dancing. He didn’t dance. In fact, he’d never danced, unless you counted a quick movement of the feet to dodge a bullet. Wasn’t this supposed to be an art gala?
There shouldn’t be dancing.
A soft clinking sound rang off a champagne flute, and the crowd grew quiet. Then a short man with tiny glasses and a bald head appeared at the front of the room, standing on a low platform. He held a mic, smiled, and then launched into a quick salutation in French. Wolfgang couldn’t understand a word of it.
Megan stood attentively, appearing to watch the speaker while her eyes darted almost imperceptibly, scanning the room. Wolfgang followed suit but still didn’t see Raven.
Raven should be here by now.
The speaker concluded his monologue with a clap of his hands and a big smile, and then the quartet began to play. Everybody in the room turned to their partner, and almost in unison, started dancing.
Megan sighed, then twisted and offered her hand with the enthusiasm of a janitor approaching a soiled toilet.
“I can’t dance,” Wolfgang mouthed, feeling his face flush.
“What’s that? You can’t dance?” Megan was loud enough for at least a few people standing nearby to hear, not to mention the entire team.
Wolfgang’s blush deepened, and Megan offered a slight smirk. “Relax, dude. Just follow me, and don’t step on my feet.”
He took her hand reluctantly, and they swung into a smooth side-step, followed by a turn, then a backstop. Wolfgang struggled to keep up, even though Megan moved decidedly slower than the rest of the crowd. His face flushed again, and Megan actually laughed. It was a dull sound, but it still brought to life that warmth in his chest again.
“Relax,” she said. “Pull me a little closer . . . that’s it. Now, move like the wind. Smooth . . . easy. Feel the music.”
Wolfgang did feel the music. He focused on the violin’s gentle hum, matched by the deep throb of the upright bass and the rich gravity of the cellos. The beautiful, haunting sound, made him momentarily forget about the mission, and he lost himself in the reality of where he was standing. In Paris, the City of Lights, the city of love, dancing with a beautiful woman at a beautiful gala.
Her grey eyes flashed fire as she ducked and twisted, challenging his ability to keep up. Wolfgang was certain he looked like a waddling duck next to the rich and accomplished art connoisseurs around him, but he didn’t care anymore. He pretended he knew what he was doing, and it seemed to help.
The music wound down, and they stopped. Wolfgang wobbled on his feet a minute, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. He steadied himself and offered his best imitation of the bows the men around him performed.
“You’re pretty good,” he said.
Megan released him and stepped back. To his surprise, she offered another smile—softer this time.
“You’re not half-bad yourself.”
She led him to the edge of the room and selected two flutes of champagne from a server. She passed him one and held up hers. “You don’t have to drink, but at least pretend.”
Wolfgang returned her smile and lifted the flute, but Megan’s gaze darted over his shoulder to the far side of the room.
“Charlie Lead, I have eyes on Raven.”
Wolfgang started to turn, but Megan stopped him.
“Don’t look now. You’ll draw attention. He’s in the corner, near the hors d’oeuvres.”
“Charlie One, close on target,” Edric said. “Charlie Three, maintain surveillance.”
<
br /> Megan drained her flute and set it down, then set off casually across the room without a second glance at Wolfgang. He felt a tug of longing watching her go, but he shrank back against the wall and scanned the room until he saw Raven.
The American stood alone in the corner, dressed in a white tux, sipping champagne. The string quartet had started up again, but nobody danced. The crowd milled about, enjoying the food and drifting in and out of the art galleries. Raven seemed to ignore them all, but to Wolfgang’s trained eye, the American was looking for something. Or someone.
“No sign of Spider,” Wolfgang whispered. “Charlie Two, do you have anything from outside?”
The line remained silent.
Wolfgang licked his lips and scanned the room again. “Charlie Two, anything from outside?”
Still, Kevin said nothing. Then Wolfgang felt a powerful hand descend on his arm from behind and yank him into the hallway.
9
Wolfgang slid backward into the shadows before he could reach for the pistol that wasn’t even there. He grunted and felt his shoulder blades collide with the wall as his attacker stepped in front of him. Wolfgang braced his knee for a groin shot and twisted to break free of the hold, then he looked up and faced his attacker for the first time.
Kevin shoved a meaty hand against Wolfgang’s throat, half-choking him while his free hand descended over Wolfgang’s ear, cutting off the mic built into the earpiece.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kevin snarled.
Wolfgang wheezed and tried to break free, but Kevin owned all the leverage. His forearm pinned Wolfgang’s neck against the wall, held just beneath his chin, while Kevin continued to block off the earpiece.
Wolfgang choked and tried to kick. Kevin blocked the attack and then drove the toe of his shoe into Wolfgang’s shin. Pain shot up Wolfgang’s leg and his eyes watered. He gasped for breath, and Kevin leaned closer.
“You greasy weasel!” Kevin snarled. “You think I’m gonna let you poach Meg like this?”
Wolfgang’s vision blurred, and Kevin relaxed his forearm just a little. Precious oxygen flowed in, and Wolfgang gasped it down. “What’s wrong with you?” His voice sounded distorted in his own head with Kevin’s palm still clamped over his ear.
“I’m watching you, you rat. Back off. She’s not a piece of meat!”
Wolfgang gritted his teeth and smacked Kevin’s hand away from his ear. Then he dug out the earpiece and flicked the power switch off.
“You wanna do this? Right here and now? I’ll wreck you.” He stepped forward, his fists balling up, ready to fight. Then he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a couple walking across the ballroom, approaching the hallway. He relaxed his shoulders and stepped back. The couple passed by, casting each of them a suspicious glance but saying nothing.
As soon as they rounded the corner, Kevin closed the distance. “I’ll make this perfectly clear, shithead. Meg is off the market. So back off. I’ll kill you, and I won’t think twice about it. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
There was an edge in Kevin’s voice that chilled Wolfgang to the bone. He saw a blend of self-righteous justification and stupidity in his dark eyes—perhaps the most dangerous cocktail known to man.
Wolfgang’s blood boiled, but he rubbed his throat and slid the earpiece back into his ear. “We’ve got work to do,” he snarled. “But don’t worry. This isn’t over.”
Wolfgang flicked the earpiece on and was immediately flooded with radio chatter.
“Charlie Three! Do you copy? Target inbound, possibly Spider!”
Wolfgang hurried back into the ballroom, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket. He caught sight of Megan almost immediately, standing near the wall, her body tense and ready for action. He followed her line of sight to a clean-cut man in a tuxedo and black-rimmed glasses. Wolfgang walked with grace and purpose, making a beeline for Raven, who now stood near an emergency exit door.
“That’s him,” Kevin whispered from just behind Wolfgang. “That’s the guy I saw at the café.”
“Charlie Two, is that you?” Edric said.
Wolfgang and Kevin exchanged a glance, and Wolfgang saw the defeat in Kevin’s eyes. He’d been caught away from his post. Wolfgang wanted to smirk, but he didn’t have time.
“Charlie Eye, can you confirm identity of target?” Wolfgang twisted his left arm, aligning his watch’s camera with Spider. He tracked Spider for ten feet, then dropped his arm to avoid drawing attention.
“Hold one, Charlie Three,” Lyle said.
Wolfgang held his breath, counting the seconds as Spider drew closer to Raven.
Lyle’s excited voice broke over the coms. “Identity confirmed! Target is Ramone Ortez. He’s a Spanish-born physicist specializing in nuclear technology, currently employed by a conglomerate of nuclear power plant owners based in Kiev. No living family or known associates.”
Nuclear technology. The blood chilled in Wolfgang’s veins. He remembered Edric’s briefing back in Saint Louis when Edric mentioned that the CIA was attempting to mine information out of Spider about an impending attack. A nuclear attack. Was Spider building a bomb?
“Copy that,” Edric said. “All right, everybody. This is it. We’ve got to give Raven time to obtain Spider’s plan. Charlie One, close on Raven, but remain undercover. Charlie Two, where the hell are you?”
Wolfgang saw Kevin swallow and heard Edric’s threat echo in his mind: “If any of you ever leave your post . . . you’re done.”
Kevin spoke clearly, without hesitation. “I’m with Charlie Three, Charlie Lead.”
The line was silent for a moment, and when Edric spoke, his anger was barely contained. “Copy that. Establish a security perimeter. Any sign of our Russian friends?”
“Negative,” Kevin said, scanning the room. Then he paused. “Wait . . . I’ve got two men entering the room from the north. Black suits, dark hair—”
Wolfgang held up his finger, then pivoted the watch toward the intruders, stepping into the room and searching over the tops of the guests’ heads. Even though they wore matching tuxedos, nothing about them said ‘art enthusiast,’ but Wolfgang could smell ‘Russian killer’ from across the room.
“Hold on, Charlie Three,” Lyle said again.
The seconds ticked past, and Wolfgang held the watch next to his face as if he were reading a text message or checking the time.
“I only got a clear image of one of them,” Lyle said. “Facial recognition is coming up empty.”
Just then, the left-hand man’s gaze swept to the left side of the room and collided with Wolfgang’s. He was a big man with long black hair and a dominant stance that reeked of military experience and a lifetime of giving orders. A split second passed, and then, like glass shattering on the floor, recognition passed across his face. A soft smirk tugged at his lips, and he lifted two fingers and tapped his temple.
Wolfgang recalled the impact of the rifle butt crashing through the air and colliding with the side of his head . . . right where the man tapped his fingers.
“That’s them,” Wolfgang snapped, lowering the watch and starting into the ballroom. “They’re the Russians.”
“How do you know?” Edric said.
“I know. One hundred percent.”
“Copy that, Charlie Three. Keep them away from Raven. Watch out for guns. Charlie Two, take his flank.”
Kevin stepped out behind Wolfgang, pivoting to the left and sliding his hand into his pocket as Wolfgang walked along the right-hand wall, circling toward the Russians and keeping his sights on them the entire time.
“Raven is on the move,” Megan said. “He’s approaching the gallery. Spider is with him.”
“Stay on him, Charlie One!” Edric said. “Charlie Three, where are the bogies?”
Wolfgang said, “Moving toward the hallway, Charlie Lead. They’ve identified Spider.”
“Copy that. Charlie One, stay in between Raven and the bogies. Charlie Two, Three�
��close in.”
Kevin and Wolfgang quickened their stride, casting wary glances around the crowd of laughing, half-drunk art connoisseurs as they moved toward the main art gallery. The Russians were quicker, splitting up and taking separate hallways that both led to the gallery.
“Bogies have split,” Kevin said. “They’re closing in.”
“Copy that. Stay on them.”
Kevin and Wolfgang parted ways without a word, each taking the Russian closest to them as they moved into the hallways. Once more, Wolfgang was bitterly aware of the space beneath his arm where his pistol should have been. Why didn’t he have a smaller gun? Or a knife? Or a freaking rock? Something.
The long-haired Russian with the devilish smirk led the way, walking in quiet confidence without glancing over his shoulder, even though he had to know Wolfgang was on his heels. It was Wolfgang’s friend from the apartment outside the café.
You won’t get me twice, Ivan.
Wolfgang quickened his stride, breaking into the main gallery and squinting under the bright lights. There was art everywhere, lining the walls and suspended on circular stands throughout the room. He caught sight of Raven disappearing down a short hallway and saw Megan stop short and cast an unwilling glance his way.
“Problem, Charlie Lead,” Megan said. “Spider and Raven have entered the men’s room. I can’t follow without breaking cover.”
Megan hesitated at the end of the short hallway, but Ivan didn’t. He walked quickly across the room and right by her, winking as he passed.
“Move in, Charlie Three,” Edric said. “Don’t let him near Spider!”
Wolfgang broke into a fast walk, smiling quickly at an old woman he almost ran over on his way to the bathroom. Ivan shoved the bathroom door open and stomped inside like he owned the place, then Wolfgang heard a broken shout from Kevin over the radio.
“Charlie Lead! I’m engaged. Back alley!”
There was a crashing sound, then Kevin’s muted scream.
“Charlie One, help him out!” Edric said.
“Copy that!” Megan broke into a run through the middle of the art gallery, breaking for the exit door to the back of the hotel.
