The Invisible

the front desk to ask a question, and much to his surprise, she’d lapsed effortlessly into Andalusian Spanish. It wasn’t the fact that she spoke the language that caught him off guard; naturally, that would be expected of an operative stationed in Spain. It was her accent that he’d found surprising. It was near perfect. When she called down to the lobby, it was as if she’d completely shrugged off her French heritage in the space of a few seconds. Still, Castilian was the official language on mainland Spain, and the receptionist would remember someone speaking with a different regional dialect. For this reason, Kealey couldn’t help but wonder about Petain’s background. Was her Spanish limited in that respect? Had she keyed in on the receptionist’s accent? Or had she just slipped up? It seemed like a small mistake, but given what they were about to do, the slightest error could result in disaster.

She was waiting for some kind of response. Kealey shook his head absently and nodded toward the room. “Any word from Naomi?”

Petain’s demeanor changed instantly, a serious expression sliding over her face. “Not yet. She’s been gone a long time and, well . . .”

She shrugged and looked away. “I know you want to wait for her, but our window of opportunity closes in less than an hour. We can push it back till tomorrow, if you like, but—”

“No,” Kealey said, cutting her off. “We’re going today.” He ran a hand over his face and looked at his watch, a rugged Timex Expedition E-Tide. He’d picked it up a few months ago to replace his aging Wenger chronograph. “How long has it been since the teams checked in?”

“Ten minutes,” Petain replied. She didn’t need to consult her own watch. “The timetable hasn’t changed. As far as they’re concerned, the building site is still the best place to make contact.”

“I take it you agree?”

Petain nodded, but the gesture was barely noticeable. It was something else that Kealey found annoying, though to be fair, she couldn’t have known that. In this kind of situation, he wanted nothing less than clear yes-or- no answers. He kept looking at her, and she finally got the message. “Yes, I think that’s the best idea. Ghafour shares a flat with a number of people, so it would be hard to isolate him there. I think we have a better chance of catching him off guard at work. It’s a good plan.”

“And his employer? The one who caused all the trouble in the first place?”

“He’s meeting with a group of developers in Seville, and he’ll be gone through Tuesday. I verified that yesterday.”

“Okay. Fair enough.” Kealey nodded slowly. It was vital to approach Kamil Ghafour without his employer’s knowledge. Given everything the man had done so far to protect Ghafour’s immigration status, it was likely he’d go to any length to shield his employee from anyone who even remotely resembled the authorities. Kealey lifted the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. Moving back through the open doors leading into the room, he paused to take a deep, appreciative breath. It was only slightly cooler inside, but once you topped the 100-degree mark, even a slight variation could seem like a world of difference. He was moving over to check with Ramirez, who was monitoring the radios, when the door to the hall swung open and Naomi walked in.

Kealey changed trajectory immediately and crossed the opulent room with three quick paces. He could tell that his anger was clearly visible, and on some level, he knew it was all a cover, that he was only trying to shield his relief. But as he drew closer, he slowed down, sensing that something wasn’t quite right. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and she seemed distracted.

“Naomi, where the hell have you been? What are you . . . ?” He trailed off, then leaned in and studied her closer. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” She brushed past him into the room. As she leaned down to murmur something at Ramirez’s shoulder, Kealey watched intently, unsure of his next move. It was hard to tell what was going on with her. She hadn’t been drinking: at least, he couldn’t smell it on her breath, and her movements weren’t raising any internal alarms. He could count the number of times he’d seen her tipsy on one hand, so for that reason alone, it didn’t seem likely. Still, whatever he was seeing was definitely cause for concern. It was hard to pick out the little departures from her normal behavior, and if he hadn’t lived with her for an extended period of time, he might well have missed them entirely.

“Naomi, can I talk to you for a second?”

She crossed her arms and stared at him for a full thirty seconds. Then she nodded and walked past him, out the door. Petain and Ramirez followed her the whole way, with curious looks. Kealey trailed her into the hall and closed the door behind him, then faced her and cupped her elbow in his right hand, pulling her close. She looked up, and Kealey was shocked into silence. Her face was completely blank, no expression there at all, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was her eyes, or more specifically, her pupils. They were nearly twice their normal size. He wondered how he could have missed it before. More importantly, how could Harper have missed it? A flurry of possible explanations began racing through his mind, nearly all of them bad, but he didn’t have time to consider them now.

“What is it?” she asked. Her voice was nearly as dead as her gaze.

“We’re wasting time.”

He shook his head in disbelief and gripped her arm a little harder. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to jolt her out of this strange, detached state. She blinked once, but otherwise, the touch didn’t register.

“Naomi, what’s going on with you?” he murmured forcefully, aware of the thin walls and the deafening silence inside the hotel room. He didn’t have to be inside to know that Petain and Ramirez were trying to listen in. “You’ve been missing since seven this morning. We were about to leave without you.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to go.” He didn’t respond, and a hint of irritation finally crossed her face. “Ryan, I already said I’m sorry. What more do you want? We went over everything last night. For hours on end,” she reminded him. “Nothing has changed, so there’s no problem. As far as I can tell, this couldn’t be more straightforward.”

“That doesn’t make it any less risky,” he shot back. “And it doesn’t change what’s going to happen if we fuck it up. Look . . .” He glanced down the hall to see if anyone was there. Satisfied, he turned back to her. “I just need to make sure. Are you good to go?”

She looked up and fastened her vacant green eyes on his. “Yes.”

“Okay.” In reality, nothing was okay with what he was seeing, but he needed to buy some time. With so much on the line, the last thing he wanted to do was make a rash decision. He thumped the door once with his hand, and Petain pulled it open a split second later.

“Tell Ramirez to start packing the gear. We’re moving in five.”

CHAPTER 14

MADRID

The alley behind the Sofitel Madrid Plaza de Espana was far from ideal. It was brightly lit, open, and clean. Four service doors led out to the space behind the ninety-seven-room luxury hotel, and a number of well-kept dumpsters were wedged against the clean cement walls. In other words, it was almost inviting, and anyone—a custodian, a lost guest, or even a waiter looking to catch a quick cigarette break—could have walked out at any time. Fortunately, none of the service doors were pushed open in the four minutes it took the van to arrive, and none of the city’s less fortunate showed up to poke around in the garbage. As the side door slid open and they all climbed in, Kealey couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift. It was an early stroke of luck, and if it held, they might still be able to pull this off.

Ramirez was the only person who hadn’t entered the van through the sliding door on the right. Instead, he walked to the driver’s-side door. It swung open, and the driver climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition. Then he turned, walked down the alley, and melted into the mass of humanity on Calle de Tutor. The driver knew what needed to happen as well as anyone, but Kealey preferred to keep the 4-man teams intact. That way, everyone was sure to be on the same page. In his experience, even a short amount of time spent working with the same people could make a crucial difference, especially if they encountered a major hitch in the plan.

As the last door closed and the van lurched forward, Kealey dropped the bag from his shoulder and wedged it between his feet. In the time it took him to do that, Marissa Petain had opened a plastic container near the front of