Edric produced a file from the seat next to him, opened it, and passed photos around the circle. They were black-and-white distance shots of a tall man in a business suit with black hair and a bold jaw. He appeared to be Caucasian but sported a tan so dark he may have been of Italian or Greek descent.
“This is Raven,” Edric said. “He’s currently in the air on the way to rendezvous with Spider. Our communication with Raven will be highly limited on the ground. The CIA doesn’t want him to wear any direct communications equipment in case Spider searches him.”
Wolfgang stared at the face as the plane gained speed and the wheels left the ground. The deep eyes of the man in the photograph were penetrating, but not uncomfortably so. If Wolfgang had to guess, he wouldn’t have said that this man was a CIA operative, but maybe that was part of the job description—you had to blend in.
“We also don’t know where the meeting is going to take place,” Edric continued. “Spider will communicate that information to Raven at the last moment, for security purposes.”
Kevin said, “We can’t talk to Raven, we don’t know where Spider is, and we don’t know what he looks like. How the hell are we supposed to pull this off?”
Edric nodded at Megan, who was fixated on the photograph.
“We know when Raven lands, right?” Megan asked.
“Yes,” Edric said.
“So, we pick him up at the airport,” she said. “Trail him from there to the meeting spot. Stay in the shadows and look out for both Spider and the Russians. It’s not ideal. It leaves us at the vulnerability of whatever terrain Spider chooses. But if we can’t communicate with Raven, it’ll have to do.”
Megan leaned toward the file, her relaxed and disengaged posture of only moments before melting away. Her voice was clear and strong, carrying a hint of command that Wolfgang hadn’t noticed before.
Edric smiled. “Very good. That’s the plan.”
“What about an SDR?” Wolfgang asked, eager to contribute. “Won’t Raven run one?”
“SDR?” Kevin said.
“Surveillance detection route,” Wolfgang said. “It’s a tactic used by covert operatives to shake away anybody trailing them—”
“I know what an SDR is, moron,” Kevin said. “Did you miss the part where this guy is working with us? He’s not trying to shake us.”
Megan ran a hand over her eyes. “Don’t say moron, Kevin.”
“Of course Raven doesn’t want to shake us,” Wolfgang said. “But if he’s in communication with Spider, and Spider is worried about security, don’t you think he might order Raven to conduct an SDR? Raven wouldn’t have a choice.”
“Wolfgang’s right,” Edric said. “It’s a possibility we have to consider. Raven will do everything he can to keep us with him, but he doesn’t know what we look like, and he can’t appear to be working with anyone. Unfortunately, we can’t put a tracker on him for the same reason we can’t put communications on him. So, it’s up to us to stick on him like a flea on a dog. We cannot lose him. Understood?”
A chorus of grunts passed around the room.
Edric drained the glass. “Good. Everybody familiarize yourselves with some Parisian maps. Lyle and I will be positioned in a van as close to the action as possible. I’ll drive and maintain operational control of the mission while Lyle hacks into the Parisian traffic camera network. That should give us an edge on keeping track of Raven. Megan will take point on following him while Wolfgang and Kevin provide direct support. Megan, did you work out some transportation?”
“Yeah. Got us set up with some bikes.”
“That should do it. Questions?”
Wolfgang looked back at the photo of Raven, absorbing the facial features staring back at him—the face he couldn’t afford to forget.
Eric stood. “Okay, then. Make sure you guys get some sleep.” He reached into his coat and produced a glossy travel brochure, then flipped it to Wolfgang with a smirk. “Welcome to Paris, Wolf.”
He disappeared into the back of the plane, and Wolfgang studied the brochure. It was an English travel guide to Paris, prominently featuring the Eiffel Tower. He flipped through it, surveying a few paragraphs of tourist lore. He’d never been to Paris before. “The City of Lights,” the brochure said, and a city of romance. He glanced over the top of the brochure at Megan. With her notebook now open, her hand moved in gentle arcs across the page, scraping charcoal against the paper.
Kevin snapped his fingers again. “Hey, dum-dum.”
Wolfgang looked up and sighed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Snap your fingers at me. It’s really irritating.”
“Oh yeah? What you gonna do about it?”
Wolfgang held his gaze, then grinned, lifting his lip just enough to expose some teeth. It was a tactic he’d used before. He called it his “crazy stare,” and it never failed him.
Kevin broke after less than twenty seconds, standing up and stomping to the minibar while muttering curses.
Wolfgang stood up also, tapping the brochure against his fingers, and stepped across the cabin toward Megan. His stomach felt suddenly unstable, as if an ocean were swimming inside. “What are you drawing?” he asked.
Megan continued to sketch, her body language tensed and focused.
Wolfgang fiddled with the brochure. “I mean, I don’t want to pry. I just like art. Maybe when we get to Paris we’ll have some time to see some paintings. Have you ever been to the Louvre?”
Without looking up, Megan drew a slow breath and swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you have questions?” Her voice was calm, but all business.
He frowned. “Questions? I just thought we could get to know—”
“About the operation. Do you have questions about the operation?”
“Oh.” The ocean in his stomach froze over instantly. “No. I think I’m good.”
“That’s great. You should probably get some sleep. This is gonna be a high-energy job.”
Wolfgang could feel Lyle and Kevin’s eyes on him. “Right. Of course.” He turned toward the tail of the plane.
The engines roared outside, reduced to a loud hum by the
