Connor ignored the look that Tanaka was giving him, and even though he maintained a neutral expression, inside he was freaking out.
That coral-encrusted mess looked exactly like the pictures he’d just received from the UDC of the B43 air-dropped nuclear bomb.
And it didn’t look damaged at all.
Chapter Eight
Annie took another bite of her bologna sandwich as she watched the next room’s occupants on a hidden video camera. The last few days had been nothing but sitting around, watching her target sleep with a seemingly unending string of prostitutes. His stamina was incredible, like a teenager who’d just figured out what his dick was for, but enough was enough. How many times did a man need to get his rocks off before he actually got down to real business?
Not to mention the fact that he’d selected the worst hotel in all of DC. There were hundreds of better choices, yet he’d had to pick this rundown, seedy, back-alley motel on the outskirts of the capital. And the way he was going through money on these whores, clearly he could have afforded a four-star in a better part of town. And then she could’ve ordered room service on the Outfit’s dime.
She washed down a bite of her sandwich with a swig of water as yet another prostitute collected her things and began her long walk of shame out of the hotel. This one was tall, with an athletic build, long blond hair, and overly large breasts. The working girls that had visited Wagner’s room over the last few days had all been similar in appearance.
“Where in the hell did he find so many identical whores?” Annie wondered aloud.
“This is only half the rate,” the girl said, holding up a handful of twenty-dollar bills.
Annie turned the volume up slightly and leaned forward. This was something new.
Wagner sat on the bed, his back against the headboard. He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “You’re not worth full rate. And you were late. I take bonus off for that.”
The girl put her hands on her hips. “The hell you say. Bonus? Look, man, I don’t know who the hell you think you are or how they do things over in Euro-wherever-the-hell you’re from, but here in America, we agree on the rate and then you pay it.”
“You were not up to standard. That is what you get.”
The girl stood by the door for a long minute, red-faced. She put her leg out and leaned to the side, the stance all women took when they were getting ready to make a point. She pointed at him, still holding the bills. “You’re messed up in the head.”
“Bah,” Wagner said, waving her away. “Get out.”
“You’re gonna hear from Benny, you better believe that. You screwed up, big-time.”
“I’m terrified. Now leave!”
The girl paused, then with an indignant huff she collected her purse and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“Stupid bitch,” Wagner said, throwing an empty cigarette pack at the back of the door.
“Now, that wasn’t very nice, Frederick,” Annie said, taking another bite of her sandwich. “You should really treat whores with more respect than that.”
She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. Men were all the same. Horny little momma’s boys that couldn’t think with anything but their dick. Of course, that weakness had often helped her get the job done.
The little red light on Annie’s computer screen flashed, indicating her target was getting a phone call. Probably the next in a line of whores.
“Damn, that was fast,” Annie said, tapping the record button. The Outfit’s computer could pick up, record, and trace almost any phone system on the face of the Earth. And Annie’s computer was connected to the Outfit’s encrypted network, enabling her to run the voices it recorded through the main audio reference library, looking for matches.
She watched as Wagner grabbed his phone off the bedside table and answered in German. “Hello.”
Annie’s computer automatically translated and transcribed the conversation, allowing her to refer back to it immediately if she needed to. Linguistics had never been her strong suit—they had people back at the Bunker that could take care of that—so she contented herself with reading the translation on her screen.
“Are you here?”
The voice on the other end of the line was female, with an accent that was hard to place, other than it was likely European. The computer pinged the main server for voice analysis and identification.
“I’ve been here for two days already,” Wagner said. “I’m running out of whores to screw.”
“We didn’t send you there to screw whores,” the woman said. “You better not cause any issues with the locals. We don’t need that kind of attention.”
“They’re whores,” Wagner said. “No one pays attention to them anyway.”
“Eh, you’d be surprised what American whores are capable of,” Annie muttered aloud.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself like last time,” the woman said, and there was no mistaking her tone. Clearly Wagner’s vices had gotten him in trouble before. “Our first delivery is today. Then we will be able to open the restaurant.”
“And I’ll be able to leave this hellhole? This country has no idea what hospitality is.”
“You are not there for your comfort,” the woman said. “Have you forgotten already?”
“No. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. Once the delivery is made, we should be able to serve within a day or two.”
“And how many are we serving?” Wagner asked.
“Our initial count is ten, but that could change depending on a number of factors. I want you to verify that we have the vehicles ready and they’re packed and loaded properly.”
Wagner kicked off the sheets. “You want me to go to Baltimore?”
The woman gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Frederick, I want you to go to Baltimore. That is your entire job. Did you think you were going on a goddamn vacation?”
“It just seems like a job better suited to Johann or Sebastian.”
“Oh? Would you like me to tell Müller that you’re not satisfied with your assignment?”
Wagner immediately sat up in bed, his casual demeanor replaced by
