Heidi nodded. The only sound in the room was of fingers tapping plastic. The whole hotel was quiet.
She’d almost drained the entire bottle of water before Butcher sat back, exhaled and threw her a grin.
“I got them.”
Heidi felt a surge of excitement. “Where? Who?”
“Agent Pang!” Butcher yelled. “You should come in here.”
“Pang.” The CIA man appeared almost immediately. “Quit with the ‘agent’ bullshit. I’m just Pang.”
“Sure. The vehicles that crashed—the SUVs and the helicopter—are registered to an address in Bologna, Italy. The who is—Tracelyn Holdings, a faceless entity to be honest. We’d have to get closer. Says here they specialize in high-end vehicles, but they have no physical property. Just... well, just this address.”
“Sounds like a front,” Heidi said. “Yet one more shell company.”
“It is,” Butcher agreed. “But this address is real, and it’s a postal and rental resource. It pays rent. And it’s the source of all the shell companies. Someone works here. And if we can find them, we can—”
“Identify and track them,” Heidi said. “Great work.”
“So what are we waiting for?” Pang grunted.
“You’re welcome,” Butcher said, looking hurt.
“He’s a fighter,” Heidi tried to explain Pang’s behavior. “Always battling something, even his own colleagues.”
“We all have our wars to fight,” Pang said. “And often, they’re right in front of us. Or inside us.” He added the last as an afterthought and strode toward his overnight bag before picking it up. “Come on. The sooner we’re in Italy, the sooner we can end this.”
*
It was dark when they landed, the runway a smooth stretch of black asphalt, like a tramline of burned rubber left by some impossibly gargantuan vehicle. Heidi climbed out into the night, taking a lungful of cold, fresh air and looking left and right. The only illuminations were the lights of the terminal building. Apart from that, they could be in any country in Europe. Pang slung his bag across his wide shoulders and stalked ahead of her across the asphalt.
Butcher walked with her. “He’s an intense guy.”
“Oh, he’s one of a kind.”
“How’d you end up saddled with him?” Butcher looked apologetic. “Not that I think he’s—”
Heidi waved it away. “Don’t worry. I think, deep down, he knows he’s ridiculous. He’s certainly warring internally. I just hope the right Pang wins.”
Butcher looked even more confused. “The right Pang?”
“The one that sees the CIA and its hierarchy for what it really is.” Heidi decided to say no more, not wanting to reveal too many of her feelings to a guy she’d just met. Butcher seemed okay on the surface, but then so did an iceberg.
It was easier to let Pang lead the way, easier to allow him to organize their transport and easier to let him drive. Heidi was happy to stand back and let him have the hassle.
It took over an hour to leave the airport, cocooned in a relatively small European car Butcher called a crossover. Smaller than a proper SUV, it was a mongrel vehicle, culled from different models to form a top-heavy, low-powered, school-run car. Heidi shifted in the back seat, alongside Butcher, uncomfortable.
They arrived in Bologna in the early hours and took a quick spin past the address Butcher had found before heading to their new HQ. It was an industrial area, replete with retail warehouses, gyms, office buildings and tire fitters. The address belonged to a nondescript two-story office with opaque windows and a heavily barred front door. Heidi saw a smaller building alongside with lit windows, possibly a guard’s hut.
“Interesting,” she said. “They put the security office for the whole estate next to that office.”
“Or did they?” Butcher wondered.
“It’s worth a proper look,” Pang said. “What did you find out about the area?”
The question was directed at Butcher, Heidi assumed, since he’d been researching during the flight.
“Nothing obviously amiss.” Butcher shrugged. “And not a single comment on any local complaint forum, trip advisory, or social media page regarding the office that houses our address. I mean, nothing. It’s almost as if the place doesn’t exist.
“Just as its occupants want,” Pang said.
“I’ve heard of places like this,” Butcher said.
“Me too,” Heidi said. “But let’s get to the HQ first so we can formulate a plan. And, I’m starving. Isn’t this the home of Spaghetti Bolognese?”
Butcher nodded. Pang stared at her as if she’d grown two extra heads. Heidi sighed and stared out the window into impenetrable darkness. It was going to be a long couple of days.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Bodie had seen canyons of rock before, he’d trudged through twisting valleys of it; but he’d never seen a place so utterly carpeted in rock like the vast area containing the ancient megalithic ruins of Algeria, a place to which their tour guide only referred to as Djebel. North of Timbuktu, and part of the Sahara Desert, it was a place where, every now and again, planes went missing. Their tour guide was full of similar uplifting conversation, regaling them as they neared their destination.
Their transport was a rugged old jeep with thick tires and a canvas hood. The vehicle jounced from rock to rock. When their guide announced they were close, Cassidy asked him to stop and let them out, citing seasickness. Bodie took a moment to allow his head and stomach to settle before grabbing hold of the off-roader’s cage and levering himself out the door.
“Site is due east.” Their guide pointed with a flat hand. “Past those rocks. Lots of ruins, megaliths, blocks of stone. You can’t miss it.”
