Zoya said, “Okay.”
She looked uncomfortable for a moment, and Court thought he understood.
He said, “You take the bed. This will seem strange, but when I am operational, I usually sleep in the closet.”
“I sleep in the closet, too,” she said.
Court continued to be amazed her tradecraft so closely matched his own.
Zoya added, “But… there is just the one closet.”
“No problem,” Court said. “I’ll take the floor on the far side of the bed. And the pistols. That will make me feel a little safer.”
“You won’t give me one of the guns?”
Court shook his head. “Not even one of the knives. Sorry, Banshee. I like you, but I’m a shitty judge of character. I’ve liked people in the past who’ve tried to kill me.”
They both slept hard and woke up early the next morning, and after breakfast they went for a walk along the beach to the east that took them to the area below the Chamroon estate high on the cliffs. The helipad was just south of the home, which meant if there was a helicopter there they should have been able to see it from where they walked, but they saw nothing but a mansion surrounded by a low wall.
They returned to the hotel lobby and the boutique there and, fortunately for both of them, they were able to outfit themselves with clothes that would help them fit in on the beach or hiking through the jungle. Zoya made a joke about Chad’s company paying for their trip, the insinuation being that she knew the CIA was footing the bill, but Court didn’t go for the bait and say anything more about his relationship with the Agency.
By the early afternoon they’d hiked all over the area around the resort to get their bearings. The Chamroon estate was massive and walled but just guarded with a couple of gatehouses, a few patrolling guards, and a couple of Jeeps with young men sitting in them. Also, as had been the case in Vietnam, the local police presence seemed to be watching over the estate, as both Court and Zoya had noticed the occasional patrol car rolling by.
They rented kayaks in the late afternoon and looked at the area from a few hundred yards offshore, and while Zoya and Court agreed that the facility seemed well protected, neither of them had a baseline on the guard setup to compare against, so they couldn’t say whether Fan Jiang and Kulap Chamroon were inside. It might have just been the case that the hearty security situation was common for the property, or that the boss was expected in the next day or two.
They agreed they would not breach the property until Kulap’s helicopter arrived or they had some other indicator of an increased security profile around the area. They decided they’d rent a boat and diving equipment the following morning, then take a picnic lunch to a small island just offshore of the estate. There they would be able to use their optics to get a decent look around the area, and possibly even inside windows of the building.
Court and Zoya had worked well together all day, and Court found that Zoya’s earlier reluctance to open up to him was slowly giving way. She’d mentioned she’d enjoyed boating as a child, and she talked about some of the upper-body exercises she did to keep in shape. She also gave Court some insights into her ability to disguise herself with wigs, changes to her eyes, and foreign accents.
It wasn’t much, and it was positively wooden for two people who were supposed to be married, but Court found himself hanging on every word Banshee said that didn’t have to do with the operation.
Moving around the resort all day meant they attracted the notice of the hotel staff, so they decided that for their second evening here they would need to do something in keeping with their legends. They both agreed dinner and drinks out among the other guests would help bolster their cover for status.
They went to the bar for a drink at sunset, dressed casually but neatly, just like everyone else here at the stylish lounge with the views of the sea. There were several other couples and even a few families sitting around, and the two intelligence officers made small talk with others around the bar when spoken to. A South African family regaled them about their travels, and a British couple in their fifties enjoying a second honeymoon talked about the great diving in the area. They even met a couple from Chicago at the bar, and since Zoya had already committed to a cover claiming to be from their city, they asked her questions that would have made Court squirm if he were in her shoes.
But she answered confidently, and the other couple clearly bought into her legend in full.
Court was glad to see that he and the Russian woman had established their bona fides, because he identified one of the two bartenders as a potential informant. The man asked a lot of questions of the foreign guests, Court and Zoya included, and he seemed to be listening in to the conversations of all the English speakers.
Court assumed the man was in the employ of the Chamroon Syndicate, and he had no specific concerns about the American couple, although he might have been ordered to increase his scrutiny in light of what happened two evenings earlier in Bangkok.
After their drink Court and Zoya were led to a romantic table right out on the sandy beach, and here they both made idle chitchat about the restaurant while their hands felt around under the table and their chairs, subtly as to not draw any attention to their actions. They both felt confident there were no listening devices present, but only when a band started playing on a riser on the beach nearby did they speak openly.
Zoya simply said, “That bartender.”
Court nodded. “Yep. He’s getting paid to snoop into the guests.”
“Right, but do you think he’s getting paid by the neighbor?”
“I do.”
Zoya had been thinking the same thing. “Pretty sure we satisfied him we were legit.”
“You did,” Court said. “That was amazing; you really know Chicago.”
She shook her head with a smile. “I’ve never been.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I’ll prove it. Name any one of the top twenty-five largest U.S. cities.”
Court shrugged. “Jacksonville.”
Her eyes furrowed. “Okay… name another.”
“Philadelphia.”
Zoya slipped effortlessly into her Philly accent, talked about her high school there and how she’d wanted to go to Penn State but ended up having to go to Pitt, and then she dropped the name of the street her apartment was on and talked a little about her view of the Delaware River.
Court realized he would have been fooled if he’d met her on the street.
“You are so completely full of shit.” Court said it with an amazed smile on his face.
She took this as a compliment. “Very true. I can do the top cities in the UK, Germany, France, Belgium… and a few other places.” She added, “I’m working on Australia, as well. UK and Germany are my favorites because people from there don’t make you answer a hundred questions about your life. I’d never say I was from Dallas or Atlanta, because if I met someone from there they’d probably try to adopt me and I’d never get away.”
Court laughed. He noticed her growing ease in talking to him, which was more than likely helped along by the alcohol. She seemed relaxed and in her element here, which was amazing to him considering forty-eight hours earlier she was in the role of a drug-addled human trafficking victim, and a few days before that she’d been ninja-ing her way through a gun battle in Vietnam.
Court was fascinated by Banshee. He could slip into and out of roles as required by his job, of course, but he’d never been around anyone else who could pull it off.
After more wine she seemed comfortable to a point where Court felt he could finally probe a little more, and when their entrées came, Court took a chance. “How did you get into this life?”