“I try.” Her phone rang, interrupting the conversation.
The caller ID read “Blocked number,” which told her it was coming from a secure line. She knew immediately it was her contact in the NSA, a fellow Southerner whom she’d first met in Somalia.
“What’s up, Sammy? Tell me you have good news.”
“Yeah, I have the phone. He’s on the freeway heading for the airport.”
“I need to know where he’s going.”
“Well, I can’t tell you that, I’m not a mind reader. Hold on.” The muffled rustling on the other end told her he had placed his hand over the phone. Despite his attempt to block the receiver she could hear someone else talking in the background.
“Renee, he’s getting a call on another line. We’re trying to triangulate it right now.”
“I need that phone.”
She could hear a flurry of keystrokes and then another muted voice was talking in the background. “All right, I’ve got audio, just stand by for a second.”
Renee pulled onto the freeway and headed toward the airport.
“Okay, he’s off the phone and headed to 976 Mayweather. It’s a parking garage just south of the freeway.”
They were ten minutes out from the meet-up. Renee pulled over on the side of the road and had Joseph take the driver’s seat so she could get her camera ready.
Renee plugged the address into the SUV’s GPS and Joseph followed the red line right to a bunch of warehouses behind the airport. No matter what country she found herself in, it always seemed to get shitty around the airports. Renee checked the focus on the camera’s lens as Joseph pulled onto a side street about a block south of the parking garage.
She got out and stood on the corner of the street. Through the camera she could clearly see the entrance. But once the targets went inside she’d be blind.
“I need a better spot,” she muttered.
The target had picked a perfect place to conduct countersurveillance, and it was impossible for her to see anything from where she was. The parking garage dominated the high ground and had an excellent field of view of the only access road. Renee knew that if they left the concealment of the side street, they’d be caught out in the open.
There wasn’t any time to move the Jeep.
“Do you want me to move or not?”
“Just hold on,” she said.
Joseph was keyed up. Maybe it was the fight with his wife or maybe he was just tired, but the usually implacable agent was on edge. Surveillance was a passive art and required patience and proper positioning. His boss’s chicken-shit move had cost them the positioning, and Joseph was straining her patience.
“There’s Dr. Keating’s car,” Joseph said as a black BMW pulled into the lot.
Renee lifted her trusty Nikon and snapped a few shots of the car and the plate as it flew into the garage. The camera’s sturdy black housing was dinged and scratched from countless operations around the Mideast, but it was still as functional as it had been the day she bought it. It was her safety blanket and one of her only real possessions.
She checked the images on the digital display just as a Chevy Malibu crept down the street and pulled into the target location. Renee knew she had to move or risk missing the meeting.
“This spot isn’t going to work. Keep your radio on and don’t do anything until I get back,” she told Joseph.
Something told her not to leave Joseph by himself. The man was a solid partner and had spent his time in the shit, but she had a feeling he’d gotten sloppy since coming back from the Mideast.
But Renee knew she couldn’t worry about him right now. She just didn’t have any more time to dick around. She found an alley ten feet behind the Jeep and sprinted to the first fire escape she saw. Slipping the camera strap over her head, she jumped for the bottom rung of the metal ladder. It creaked under her weight but held as she pulled herself up. She scrambled up to an open window and slipped inside.
The building’s interior smelled worse than the alley. The floors and exposed metal beams were covered in pigeon shit and a fine layer of dust, and insulation covered everything that hadn’t already been looted. But a grimy window on the north side provided her an excellent vantage point on the garage.
Making sure that her shadow didn’t flare across the glass, she took her position and brought the garage into focus. Once she was set, she slipped an earpiece into her ear and hit the transmit button on her radio.
“I’m good.”
“Okay,” Joseph replied.
The meeting was on the third level of the four-story garage. Two cars were pulled into the shadows, but the Nikon was set up for low-light shots and she could see everything despite the darkness.
She snapped a string of shots before giving Joseph an update. “I’ve got three guys pulling security, plus the two targets.”
The three men had the swagger of ex-military. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but to the trained eye, it was just another uniform. Each man wore the huge Suunto watch loved by Special Ops troops. The watches were made in Finland and had replaced the coveted Rolexes of the Vietnam era.
Her target, Decklin, was dressed in a tailored suit and looked nothing like the Department of the Army photo that was in the database. He’d changed a lot since being bounced from the military and graduating from being a thug for hire to running his own team of ex-soldiers who sold their skills to the highest bidder.
The man got around, that was for sure, but what her boss back in Afghanistan needed to know was why he was here. Her team had lost him two weeks ago in Pakistan, and it had been a stroke of luck that the NSA had picked him up making a call in northern Mali before catching a flight to the States.
His dark beard and olive complexion gave him the illusion of respectability that his file adamantly contradicted. The man had a nasty reputation and the ability to move almost invisibly from one continent to the next. They called him the Ghost, and the nickname, like his reputation, was well earned.
Zooming in with the camera, Renee saw Decklin hand the doctor a bulging manila envelope and stand patiently as Keating counted the money inside. Zooming in with the camera, Renee saw that it was a lot of cash. He didn’t trust the doctor, and like most men in the business, he paid half at order and half on delivery.
The doctor stuffed the envelope in his pocket and then popped the trunk of his BMW with his key fob. He lifted a heavy black Pelican case out and, after closing the trunk, laid it on the car. He popped the latches and opened the lid, revealing a row of silver stainless steel tubes.
“Package is in the open.”
“How many does he have?”
“Looks like five or six.”
“That’s too many, we can’t let them leave,” Joseph said.
Renee heard the growing concern in her partner’s voice, but their orders were clear. “We’re not here for that. I need you to stay put,” she warned.
The radio was silent.
“Joseph, do you copy?”
Through the camera she could see that the meeting was wrapping up. Decklin handed the case to one of his men and was shaking the doctor’s hand when Renee noticed a subtle shift in his body language.
His posture became rigid, and his hand moved up to his head as if to tuck his hair behind his ear. It was an awkward movement and it didn’t fit.
“What are you doing?” Renee said to herself.
She held her breath and waited.
Decklin’s carefree attitude had been replaced by a military concentration. Something was wrong.
Focusing in on his ear, Renee discovered a small earpiece just as Decklin turned and looked toward where the Jeep was parked. She knew he couldn’t see anything from the garage, but somehow they’d been compromised.
Renee ducked out of the window. Had someone seen her?