The driver guided the SUV into a parking space two rows back from the entrance to Starbucks, and Daniel slid out of the back seat of the sedan. Staying low, he sprinted from one row of cars to the next, centering on the back of the Cherokee to avoid detection in either of the Cherokee's side mirrors. He heard the doors unlock, and the dark haired driver leaned over into the front seat. As the man straightened back up in the driver's seat, Daniel opened the door and pressed the barrel of his pistol to the back of his head.
"Hands up on the dashboard above the radio. Do not turn your head. Understood?" Daniel said and closed the rear driver car door, settling into the back seat and easing the pistol back from Parker's head.
Parker nodded once and carefully placed his hands, palms down on the dashboard.
"I'll ask you some questions. If I don't like the answers, then all the general's horses and all the general's men, won't be able put you back together again. Understood?" Daniel said, and Parker nodded once more.
"I assume you've read some kind of file regarding my previous line of work?"
"Yes, but I don't know anything about the name I mentioned earlier."
"Which name?" Daniel said, curious if he'd repeat it.
"Zorana. The general told me to use this name if I didn't think you would meet with me."
"Well, the general must not like you very much, because he knows damn well I won't entertain any of his proposals…and giving you that name was potential death sentence. How well do you know General Sanderson?"
"I've been working directly under General Sanderson for two years."
"He's not a general any more. Pissed on too many people. Important people. How did you get stuck with him?"
"We met in Afghanistan before he retired," said Parker.
"Retired…doesn't sound like he retired."
"He didn't. That's why I'm here."
"What do you know about Zorana Sekulic?" Daniel whispered, and pushed the pistol into the base of his skull, at the top of his neck.
Parker cleared his throat. "Absolutely nothing beyond the name. The general stressed to me that the first thing I needed to clear up with you, is the fact that I know nothing about Zorana. He said my life depended on it."
"And you still showed up?" Daniel said, pulling the pistol back, but keeping it aimed at the back of Parker's seat.
"I didn't really have much of a choice," said Parker.
"That's the problem with General Sanderson. He doesn't like for any of his people to get comfortable with the concept of free will, which is why we parted ways long ago. I'm done with your general, Mr…?"
"Parker. James Parker. Can we talk about this over some coffee? The mission is critically important to our work and national security. You might change your mind."
"I'll listen, but I need you to know that I won't hesitate to add your brains to the African artwork in that place. Are you armed?"
"No. Gun's in the glove box…but I have a small Spyderco knife in my right front pocket."
"I expect to hear that knife clatter on the pavement as soon as we start walking. You can pick it up later, if it's still there. And the coffee's on you. Fair?"
"Fair," said Parker, clearly relieved.
A few minutes later, Parker placed two coffees on the table and took a seat across from Daniel, who sat against the back wall, one hand hidden under the table. Daniel examined him for a few seconds, as he reached out for his drink. Parker had deep blue eyes and thick, black hair, closely cropped for a neat, trimmed impression. Not short enough to immediately betray a military background, but clearly the preferred look for someone not completely comfortable with civilian life. His outfit matched the haircut: khakis, casual blue dress shirt with no tie, and a dark blue blazer. Business casual for the ex-military officer. Petrovich suspected that he had been a senior Army captain or possibly a major. He looked lean, and slightly muscular.
"Special Forces in Afghanistan?" Daniel said, and took a sip of steaming hot cappuccino.
"Navy SEAL platoon commander. I met General Sanderson at Forward Operating Base (FOB) Anaconda in 2004. He showed a lot of interest in the spec ops guys operating out of the Korangal Valley. That was before we started sticking outposts up there. Fucking Wild West. We stayed in touch, and he offered me a job as a security consultant when I got out."
"So what's in the bag, Mr. Navy SEAL?"
"Mission specifics. Untraceable weapon," he responded, glancing around secretively as he spoke.
Daniel kept control of the tension evoked by the sudden realization that Parker had lied about being armed, and only slightly tightened his grip on the Sig Sauer pistol hidden under the table.
"I thought I said no weapons," said Petrovich.
"The case is locked, and I don't have the combination. I have a phone number for you to dial, which is programmed to respond to your cell phone number. You get the combo from a recording. I know who the target is, and all of the mission details, but Sanderson did not want me to have access to the contents of the briefcase. I don't ask questions."
"What's the phone number?" Petrovich said, removing his cell phone from one of the inside pockets of his jacket.
"You're going to open the case here?" asked Parker.
Petrovich leaned across and whispered, "You're goddamn right I am. I don't need this case exploding inside my car…and if I don't like the contents, I don't want to make another trip to return it. The number please."
Parker recited the number as Daniel dialed. The call lasted less than thirty seconds before Daniel abruptly snapped the phone closed. He leaned over the left side of the table to look at the nylon case.
"May I?" said Daniel.
"The case is yours."
Daniel lifted the case off the floor and placed it in his lap, backing his chair up flush against the wall. He still wanted some room to maneuver, just in case this elaborate set-up was a trap, though he felt comfortable enough about Parker. The guy was far from a trained agent or contract killer. Daniel suspected that he was exactly what he claimed to be.
He dialed the four-digit combination and flipped open the top of the case. He stared at the contents, noting the presence of a Ziploc bag enclosed pistol in the padded compartment normally reserved for a laptop computer. He found two sealed documents in the other side of the case, and removed them. One was a thick packet, and the other was a small envelope.
"Do you have to look at this here?" said Parker, glancing nervously over his shoulder at two women who occupied brown leather chairs several tables away.
"You need to relax. I didn't drag the gun out, did I?"
Parker didn't look relieved by his response, and continued to look over his shoulder while Daniel unsealed the packet. Daniel extracted the contents, and placed them on the table next to his coffee. The top item was a picture.
Petrovich opened and read the contents of the envelope, and replaced the letter. He put the envelope back into the briefcase and took the picture off the table. Staring at the picture, he asked, "I suppose this gentleman needs to take a permanent vacation?"
"Something like that. His name is…"
"I don't need to know his name. I assume this packet contains all of the information I'll need? Places of business, hours of work, gym, favorite bars…though I get the feeling this guy might not partake in the consumption of alcohol, or bacon."
For the first time since Daniel placed a gun against his head, Parker cracked a smile.
"Ah, a sense of humor. I don't think the general likes those either," said Daniel. "So, I'll track this guy down, and find an opportunity, but I need to talk to your general personally, right now, or this whole thing is off."
"The general isn't available to talk right now. He went offline right before I arrived in Portland."