this, since he himself would sound the alarm.
He would take one of the civilians, someone from the kitchen staff, as a hostage, insurance just in case something unforeseen happened.
No — he would grab one of the men who had been having breakfast. They were important guests; their death would be more sensational.
“Done,” said Gray Wolf, coming back. “They are locked in the storage pantry.”
“And they can’t get out?” asked the Black Wolf.
“Blue is there.”
The Black Wolf nodded. The men used English to communicate, since they came from different countries. The teams were always mixed. The Black Wolf had worked with all of the men involved on this mission before, but not together.
“The one with the wheelchair was trying to make a phone call. I stopped him,” added Gray.
“A wheelchair?”
Gray repeated the word in German.
“I understood the word,” said the Black Wolf.
“Yes, a chair. Here is the phone.”
Gray handed him a BlackBerry. Black Wolf stuffed it into his pocket, then put his hand to his ear set.
“Cafeteria is secure. Red, what is the situation?”
“Nothing on the road.”
“We will wait,” said Black Wolf. “It should not be long now.”
Zen rolled the wheelchair back against the shelf unit in the storeroom, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. Besides himself and Lynch, there were three other people inside the large pantry storeroom — the waiter, a cook, and his assistant, a woman roughly Caroline’s age. All had been searched, the contents of their pockets emptied.
“Is this a robbery?” whispered Lynch.
“No,” said Zen. “My bet is they’re after whoever’s coming to that meeting the staff was setting up for. It’s a kidnapping or an assassination.”
“Bloody hell. Leave us out of it.”
“We’ll be lucky if they do,” said Zen. He thought of the girls upstairs. There was no way to get a message to them.
Had the man he’d seen been Stoner?
It couldn’t have been. And if it was, it wouldn’t help.
“There wouldn’t happen to be a trapdoor in the place?” Lynch asked the others. “A secret exit or something?”
“No,” said the waiter.
“How about a ventilation shaft?” asked Zen. “For the air conditioner or heating?”
The waiter said something to the cook. They spoke for a few minutes.
“No. There is no vent here — this is a closet,” said the waiter finally. “In the kitchen — over the range. That is where the ventilation is.”
“Is it wide enough for someone to get through?” asked Zen.
“You’re not thinking of climbing through, are you?” asked Lynch.
“I was thinking someone with legs would be more useful,” said Zen.
“Kess could fit,” said the waiter. “She’s thin.”
Zen glanced at her. She was fairly small.
“The shaft goes to the second floor and out,” continued the waiter, translating for the chef. “There are two large fans at the side, on the wall where the vent opens. She would have to push them out.”
“Could she?” asked Zen.
He turned toward the young woman. It was too dark to see much of her face.
“Do you think you can climb through?” he asked.
“I will try.”
“To do this, she would have to be in the kitchen,” said the waiter.
“How do we get in the kitchen?” asked Lynch. “The door is locked.”
“We’ll have to get them to open it,” said Zen.
72
Danny turned on his sat phone as soon as they landed, checking to see if Zen had replied to his message.
He hadn’t.
He decided to try him by phone. He punched in the number and waited for the call to connect, watching out the window as the plane trundled toward the terminal.
The call was just about to go to voice mail when the line clicked open.
“Zen?” said Danny. “Jeff — are you there? Zen? Yo, Zen?”
There was no answer. But there was definitely someone on the line.
“Zen? Hey, it’s Danny Freah. What do we have, a bad connection? Are you there? Zen?”
“Who are you looking for?” said the voice.
“Zen. I—”
The line clicked dead.
Danny looked at the phone, making sure the preset number had dialed correctly. It had. He tried again. This time it went to voice mail.
What the hell was going on? Had the lines crossed?
He gave another call. This time someone picked up, but there was no answer.
“Zen? Jeff? Zen?”
It clicked off.
The plane had stopped. The other passengers were starting to get off. Danny remained in his seat, punching the quick dial to get the night operator who handled Whiplash operations.
“I know it’s pretty late over there,” he told her when she came on the line. “But I want to talk to Ms. Stockard. Or Reid. Can you wake one of them up?”
“Ms. Stockard is in Prague,” said the operator. “At Kbley Airport. She just landed.”
“She did? Let me talk to her. Right away.”
73
Nuri’s head was pounding and his lungs felt as if they were coated with dirt. His clothes were caked with grit. But his fun time in the hole did bring one positive: he was wide-awake. Very, very awake, and thirsting for revenge.
The UAVs patrolling the area had returned to their base, but the Rattlesnakes were still at the staging area they had used a few miles away. After telling the others he was all right, Nuri called Boston, who was overseeing the load-out.
“I can have them in the air in ten minutes,” promised Boston. “We just have to get them off the pallet under the blimp.”
“Do it,” said Nuri.
