Edric replaced the cap on his marker. “Right again. The CIA needs distance. Also, France is a sovereign nation. The CIA can’t deploy an armed commando force into downtown Paris, uninvited. That’s a serious breach of international ethics.”
“The Russians are doing it,” Lyle said.
Kevin snorted. “The Russians don’t give a shit about international ethics.”
“They really don’t,” Edric said. “Which is why we can expect a fight if things go sideways.” He set the marker down and scratched his injured arm beneath the edge of the cast.
Wolfgang drained the rest of the Sprite. Paris. Russian hit teams. Intriguing teammates. Charlie Team was looking like a heck of a good idea, notwithstanding Kevin and his RBF.
“Okay, then.” Edric smacked his cast with his good hand. “Our mission is to fly to Paris and find Spider before the Russians do, then protect him until he completes his rendezvous with Raven. We’ll be armed, but ideally, we pull this off without any fireworks. I’m setting operational protocols at Code Orange.”
Wolfgang raised a finger, and Kevin rolled his eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. He doesn’t even know the protocol codes.”
“Calm down, Kevin,” Edric said. He turned to Wolfgang. “We have three levels of engagement: yellow, orange, and red. Yellow means we’re unarmed. Orange means we carry guns, but we don’t shoot unless we’re shot at.”
“And red?” Wolfgang asked.
Edric laughed a little. “Red means Kevin takes over.”
Lyle and Kevin joined in on the laugh.
Edric rested his hands on the back of the nearest chair. “When we reach Paris, Kevin, Megan, and Wolfgang will be on the ground. Lyle and I will remain in the rear, running communications and surveillance. Questions?”
Nobody said a word.
Edric grinned. “All right, then. Let’s go save a terrorist.”
3
“Holy cow,” Wolfgang whispered. “Am I getting a pay raise with this job?”
Hot summer wind whipped across his face as he shut the door of the taxi and stared out across the tarmac. A Gulfstream G550 jet sat on the private runway outside of Saint Louis, the engine already running at idle, with the door open and the steps resting on the concrete.
“Private espionage is high-paying work,” Edric said. “When you’re the best, you get the best toys.”
He tossed Wolfgang a duffle bag loaded with what felt like bricks and started toward the plane. Wolfgang followed as Kevin and Megan ran up the steps carrying similar backpacks. Lyle struggled behind them, wheeling two heavy cases full of what Wolfgang assumed to be computer equipment.
Wolfgang shouldered the duffle and turned back, holding out his hand. “Here. Let me help.”
Lyle blinked up at him from behind smudged glasses. He reluctantly surrendered one of his precious cases, and the two started toward the plane.
“Thanks,” Lyle said. “Nobody ever helps with my gear.”
“I don’t mind,” Wolfgang said. “What have you got here, anyway?”
Lyle’s eyes flashed, and Wolfgang wondered if he’d regret asking.
“Everything we need,” Lyle said. “Communications, surveillance, infiltration equipment. It’s just like the movies. I’ve got all the gadgets.”
Wolfgang laughed. “Got any X-ray glasses?”
Lyle stopped mid-stride and squinted up at Wolfgang. “X-ray glasses?”
Wolfgang grinned. “You know. Glasses that let you see through stuff. Walls . . . doors . . . clothes . . .” He winked and tilted his head toward the plane.
Lyle wrinkled his nose before his gaze turned cold, and he snatched the second case from Wolfgang’s grasp. Without a word, he set off in a quick march, wheeling both cases behind him.
“Hey!” Wolfgang said. “What did I say? It was just a joke, man.”
Wolfgang hurried up the steps as Lyle clattered ahead, dragging his cases and disappearing into the plane. The cabin of the aircraft smelled faintly of an ocean breeze air freshener. Wolfgang had to duck to step inside, and he stared down an interior featuring plush leather chairs, a minibar, and a door at the back that he guessed led to bunks.
The others were already gathered around the middle of the cabin, pivoting their chairs to face each other.
“Wolf, hurry it up,” Edric said, waving his cast-frozen arm.
Wolfgang slid into the nearest chair, casting a casual glance around the cabin. He’d never flown first class, let alone private. The aircraft was small, but with only five of them on board, it felt like Air Force One.
Lyle took a seat in the back, pushing his glasses up his nose. Kevin sat in the middle, dressed in cargo pants and a black shirt that was two sizes too small, accentuating a six-pack that would make Chuck Norris envious. He glared at Wolfgang, then looked away as if the newcomer wasn’t worth his attention.
Megan, next to a window, had a closed sketchpad and a stick of charcoal in her lap. She stared out the window absently, her scarlet hair swept behind one ear.
Wolfgang watched her a moment and wondered what was in the sketchpad. He knew next to nothing about art but was intrigued by the idea that Megan might be an artist.
“Hey! New guy!” Kevin’s chunky fingers snapped in front of Wolfgang’s face. “Are you retarded or what? Stop gawking.”
Wolfgang felt a vague irritation and brushed Kevin’s hand away but said nothing. He was still thinking about Megan. Still wondering what lay behind those grey eyes.
“Don’t say retard, Kevin,” Megan said in a soft voice with just a hint of rasp. “It’s not acceptable anymore.”
Wolfgang realized it was the first time she’d said anything in his presence.
Kevin flushed and leaned back, his glare darkening to a scowl.
“That’s enough, all of you.” Edric settled into his seat as the plane’s door hissed shut and the aircraft began to move. He held a glass with a pool of liquor swimming in the bottom, his broken arm held close to his side.
Wolfgang noticed him wincing as he settled into the plush seat and took a sip.
“All right. Eyes front, everybody.”
Wolfgang tore his focus away from Megan and sat up. He felt the blistering wrath of Kevin directed his way and shot the bigger man a wink and a grin. Kevin looked
