Rankin had joined the First Team from the Special Forces; he was in fact still a soldier, even if it had now been nearly two years since he’d worn fatigues. Surveillance wasn’t really his specialty. He did know the basics, however, thanks to several weeks at the advanced spycraft school the Agency had sent him to when Special Demands was formed: change your appearance often, don’t be predictable, and above all else, don’t get too close.
So he was more than a little surprised to spot Ferguson talking to their subject.
Rankin almost stopped. He knew it would be the wrong thing to do, though, and he forced himself to look away, concentrating on the reddish brown bricks he was rolling over.
Rankin found a coffee shop about a block away. It was late November, and while not cold for Rankin — he’d recently spent some time in North Korea, where your sweat froze in its pores — it was well past the season when waiters would prowl outside. Needing some sort of reason for sitting there, he went in for a coffee, struggling to remember how to ask for milk until the woman behind the counter smiled and told him in Texas-accented English that it was right behind him.
When he came outside, Ferguson was waiting for him.
“What the hell were you doing?” Rankin asked.
“Getting a date. How’s the coffee?”
“Aren’t we following her?”
“She’s in the Commune. Give her a few minutes, then slip inside and make sure she’s still there.” Ferguson looked at his watch. “I’m going to run up to the train station and grab Thera and Guns. Watch her until I get back, all right? Then we’ll get those guys on the case.”
“Just me?”
“And don’t get too close. She’s already spoken for.”
5
Thera Majed stared out the window as the train made its way through the mountain valley toward Bologna. Her eyes weren’t focused so much on the landscape as the blur of the brown fields she passed. She’d put her mind in a kind of holding pattern; the train was white noise around her.
She could have used a vacation. She hadn’t thought so; when Corrigan had called and asked if she was up for a mission she’d agreed without hesitation.
“Your option, totally,” he’d told her.
And meant it, she thought, though you couldn’t really be sure. The CIA was like a big corporation in a way —
Risked being arrested and God knows what else in North Korea and then South Korea, but that was two weeks ago; we’re on to something new now.
So what the hell. Yeah, she was up for it. Whatever. It was only now, looking at the beautiful countryside, longing to be
She looked forward to seeing Ferg. He could be difficult to deal with, but she liked him. She admired the hell out of him — they all did, even Rankin, who would put a pitchfork through his head rather than admit it.
Ferguson was good, really good. He’d spent pretty much his entire life as an op and so much of what he did just seemed to come naturally. That was a downside for having him as a boss — he didn’t understand that not everyone was like him, that other people were human.
He didn’t seem to be himself. He’d spent several days in a North Korean jail, probably been tortured, certainly been starved, but of course he wouldn’t say. Here he was, back in the middle of something new, undoubtedly gung ho about it.
He had another side to him. He was actually concerned about people. That was something
“You ready?” said Jack “Guns” Young, sitting across from her. “I figure we’re about ten minutes away.”
“I’m ready,” said Thera. She kept her gaze out the window.
“You look spacey,” said Guns. He was a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant, which accounted for his nickname. Originally he’d been chosen for the team because of his skills with weapons and demolitions, but he’d become adept as an all-around op. As Ferg put it, Guns had found his inner spy. There were still some rough edges, but Ferguson had taken a liking to him — partly, he suspected, because he didn’t talk that much.
“I’m with you,” she said, tapping his knee and getting up as the train began to brake. “It’s just a beautiful place to be.”
Ferguson stood at the end of the platform, hands dug into his pockets, sunglasses on though the day was overcast. The bright white earbuds of an Apple iPod were in his ears — though the music player was in reality a radio.
He could be a movie star, Thera thought.
“Hey,” said Guns, surprised Ferguson had come to meet them.
“Hey yourself,” Ferguson told the Marine. Guns was actually a couple of years older than Ferguson, but the CIA officer thought of him as the younger brother he’d never had. He was tall and on the thin side, with a face that could have belonged to a sixteen-year-old.
“Ms. Majed, you made it,” Ferguson told Thera.
“You could have warmed up the weather,” said Thera, feeling a chill as the wind blew through the platform. “Rome was warmer.”
“Next time, Italy in the spring.” Ferguson took one of the suitcases she was carrying and began walking toward the taxi stand. Cars needed a special pass to get into the central city. He’d rented three vehicles with the proper paperwork, stashing them in parking garages in case they were needed. In truth, bikes and scooters were much more practical. He and Rankin had placed a dozen around town, along with a pair of motorcycles.
“Where are we at?” Thera asked.
“We’re doing a surveillance. We could use you and Guns to switch off,” said Ferguson. “She came right in on the plane that Corrigan said she would. Even intelligence guys get things right once in a while.”
Ferguson had spent about an hour and a half the day before scoping out the surveillance cameras at the station, and fell silent now, not wanting his lips to be caught on the camera. He doubted the security people studied the video very closely before it was erased, but discretion now might pay off later.
“I’m going to need the video bugs,” he told Guns as they reached the cab. “Do you have them?”
“This suitcase,” said Guns, lifting it slightly.
“All right. We swap in the cab. I want you to go to the Oxford Hotel. It’s about two blocks from where I left Rankin. Once you’re checked in, switch your radios to channel three and tell him you’re his relief. I’m getting out first at the Borgia. That’s where she’s staying.”
“What are you doing there?” Thera asked.
Ferguson saw a carabiniere walking in a bored circuit not far from the cab line. He waited until the man turned in the other direction to answer her.
“I have to seed some of these around where I’m going to be with her tonight. If we get a chance, we’ll all meet back at the Bene around seven. Two-eleven. If not, I’ll talk to you when I can. Get rid of the phone cards from Rome. Keep switching, OK?”
The Bene was one of several hotels in the city where they had reserved rooms for the operation.
“Did you say you’re going to be with her tonight?” asked Thera.
“We have a date. Jealous?”
Thera felt her face flush.
“Strictly business,” said Ferguson.
