Carroll had his reservations about using Mugs in the rough forest terrain, but he didn't have much choice. The robot could right itself if tipped and was capable of climbing over medium-sized fallen trees, but he was concerned that it might get caught up in thick branches. Mugs had a bad habit of trying to push through thick brush. The density of bushes didn't register as an obstacle that needed to be avoided.
The two SEAL DEVGRU operators disappeared into the surroundings and began the long waiting game that would consume most of their morning. If all went well, they would be able to cautiously advance with Mugs once the motion detectors were disabled. Their robot couldn't jam or disrupt the signals, but the data sent back to his communications rig would be transmitted to a nearby E-8C JSTARS aircraft. NSA techs onboard the command and control aircraft would figure out a way to penetrate the compound's computer network and disable the sensors. If the techs worked fast, they might not have to wait for Mugs to finish the entire journey. Until then, there was nothing to do but remain hidden and try to keep Mugs from getting stuck.
Chapter 30
Jessica stared at the young woman like she was holding a wet brown paper bag filled with dog feces over her lunch. The waitress looked to Daniel for support, still holding the phone out for someone to grab. Jessica didn't need to ask to figure out who was on the line. Few people knew they were here, and only one of them would have the nerve to call them. Given the fact that he had tracked them down at lunch on the first day they were together, Jessica was pretty sure this wasn't a social call. She could barely bring herself to look at Daniel, who should have snapped up the phone immediately. She was starting to wonder if this was her husband's intention all along, to let her make the decision. Well fuck both of them.
"I'm not talking to him," she said to Daniel, then turned to face the ponytailed, twenty-something waitress. "And if you continue to hold that phone in my face, I'll throw it over the railing into the water."
The woman retracted her hand and bit down on the top of her lip, unsure how to proceed.
"I realize this isn't your fault. I apologize for snapping at you," Jessica said, staring at Daniel. "I'm talking to her, not you. Go ahead and hang up on the gentleman, miss. I'll add a twenty to your tip if you do it within the next three seconds. Three, two…"
The waitress smiled and pressed the disconnect button. Before Jessica could dig the money out of her handbag, the phone rang again.
"I'll make that $500 if you throw it into the water."
"Don't throw the phone over. She doesn't mean that," Daniel said to the waitress. He turned to Jessica. "You want me to take this?"
"Not really, but I have a feeling it's inevitable. I don't want to talk to him. He's not going to get my approval to drag you off on another crazy adventure."
Daniel took the phone from the waitress and thanked her. Before she scurried off, Jessica gave her two twenty-dollar bills and apologized for putting her in the middle of their dispute. She watched the waitress walk quickly away from the table and thought about the difference between the two of them. At her age, Jessica had been learning spy craft at Camp Peary, Virginia, also known as "The Farm." A world apart. One woman ready to cry after being placed in an uncomfortable position while waiting tables, the other training for the rigors of an undercover position in war-torn Yugoslavia. She envied the waitress and wished her a simple life that she herself had had.
She caught snippets of the conversation, choosing to focus on finishing her grilled calamari salad. It was a little heavy on the southern spices, but otherwise cooked to perfection. She drank most of her Bloody Mary, staring out at the marina, watching the masts bob up and down, back and forth. She heard enough of the conversation to be satisfied with Daniel's performance. Her suspicions had been wrong.
"He won't be bothering us anymore," Daniel said, placing the phone on the table.
"What did he want?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Jessica considered his question with her own internal query. Were they really done with the Black Flag program? Could they afford to cut ties with the program? That seemed to be the real question they needed to answer. Neither of them could predict how long their current immunity deal would last under a new administration. They were one year away from an election year and a possible reshuffle of the White House. They had planned to disappear as Jessica and Daniel Petrovich and reemerge as a "regular" couple somewhere within the United States. Living in another country remained an option, but their options would be limited, unless they were willing to spend a considerable sum of money. Money like that always attracted the wrong kind of attention.
"Where does he want to send you now? Back to Europe?"
"Atlanta, and he doesn't need me. He wanted to speak with you for a reason."
"He found a job for me? He is still aware that I was recently beaten to within an inch of my life and shot in the hand, right?"
"All of that supposedly makes you the best candidate. If not you, he'll have to hire from outside the group."
"A woman with a claw hand, strangled neck and black eye is the best candidate for the job? Why can't he send Diyah Castillo instead? I'd be happy to punch her in the face a few times."
"Diyah's in critical condition, along with Sayar Abraham. The rest of Sayar's team is dead. They were part of an FBI undercover operation in New Jersey. Sanderson's already sent Munoz and Melendez to Atlanta to start surveillance. The target is a highly successful quasi-lobbyist and fundraiser named Benjamin Young. Apparently, he has a weakness for beautiful women."
"Don't they all?"
"He has a specific weakness for the professional ladies," Daniel said.
"Sanderson needs someone to play the role of a prostitute? Wonderful."
She started to get up, but thought about what little she had heard of the conversation. Daniel had flat out refused whatever Sanderson had suggested, quickly ending the call. She had to remember that none of this was his fault. She lowered herself back onto the plastic patio chair and finished the Bloody Mary in one long gulp.
"You know how I feel about work like that," she said.
"The suggestion didn't sit well with me either," Daniel said.
On paper, two years of intense training with the CIA had prepared her to operate undercover in Belgrade. In reality, nothing could have prepared her for the ordeal she had been selected to endure. She had been too naïve and enthusiastic in Virginia to put the pieces together. Too caught up in her success within the agency to see it coming. From top to bottom, men dominated the Serbian government and paramilitary structures. Women played no role in these corrupt and brutal organizations. This fundamental characteristic of Serbia was so overwhelmingly obvious that it remained invisible to her. The training continued, and she remained blind to the jaws waiting to chew her up and spit her out when she arrived in Serbia. Her handlers only made matters worse for her in the long run.