Page 61 of The Atlas Maneuver

A soft rap came to the office door. One of her men entered and stepped to the desk, stopping in front.

“Forgive the interruption, but we have located the cell phone.”

They’d already determined that the dead intruder from yesterday was hired help who had worked for the CIA before. Then there was the matter of her missing man, the one who’d been charged with obtaining and delivering the van to the consulate. He had to be located. So they’d searched for his phone.

“Where is it?”

Her subordinate showed her a cell phone screen with a map of northwestern Switzerland, along with a flashing blue dot.

She stood. “Let us go and see where that leads.”

KYRA HAD MADE EXCELLENT TIME.

A fifteen-hour flight from Mongolia, aided by the seven-hour time difference, had placed her on the ground in Basel by dawn. She’d slept on the plane, eaten two meals, showered, and changed clothes, her toned legs now clad in tight jeans tucked into high leather boots beneath a black sweater. She’d also received three reports from Switzerland and one from Luxembourg on Kelly Austin. So far the elusive computer scientist was still among the missing. She’d not returned to her hotel and one of the people she’d hired to make a search reported a street shooting yesterday.Was it related to Austin? Hard to say as the details were sketchy. But apparently no one had been hurt, which was encouraging. The entrance of the Japanese had definitely added a new dimension. To what extent? Another unknown. But she’d ordered her people to monitor the consulate in Basel for activity. Nothing had happened there so far.

“It is imperative that Kelly be found,” Catherine Gledhill told her during an in-flight call. “The situation is critical and I need her secured somewhere, isolated, away from anyone and everyone. But under no circumstances harm her. Is that clear?”

She’d provided the correct response.

A car had been waiting at the Basel airport inside the charter company’s hangar. She’d driven herself into town, traffic light in the early-morning hours, deciding to head for the consulate, as it seemed the only tangible lead. No doubt existed that, at some point, Kelly Austin was going to die. Betrayal often commanded that price. For now, though, Austin was to be found and held alive, unharmed.

She operated her business on a select few rules. No emotional involvement. No targets under the age of eighteen. No pregnant women, though once the child was born they were fair game. No remorse. Not ever. It was just a job, like everybody else had. And, above all, always give the client what they want.

So her course was clear.

Especially considering the bonus of another seventeen million euros in bitcoin.

She entered Basel’s diplomatic district, the quiet, tree-shaded neighborhood speaking of power and dignity. Her acolyte, someone she’d used before, was stationed half a kilometer away from the Japanese consulate in an empty parking lot, out of sight and camera range, but with a view of the gated entrance. She eased up alongside the vehicle and lowered her window. The man in the other car did the same.

“A car just left,” he said. “Mercedes coupe. One occupant. Female.”

“Who?”

“Aiko Ejima. She’s known around here as the local head of the PSIA. I sent one of ours to follow.”

She needed to keep on the move.

And that PSIA woman intrigued her.

“Find out their location,” she ordered. “Send me the information. I want to head that way too.”

CHAPTER 34

COTTON HAD TAKEN HIS USUAL NAVY SHOWER, JUST LIKE HE HADfor the past forty years. His father, a full commander and submariner, taught him.

“It’s pounded into your head from day one at boot camp. Turn the water on. Wet down. Water off. Soap up. Scrub down. Water back on. Rinse off. Water off. Towel-dry. The whole thing takes about three minutes. No reason to take any more time, since it’s really only about getting the stink off.”

But it was also about saving resources, since fresh water was one of the most valuable assets on a bluewater vessel. Cotton had been bathing like this since he was seven, a way for a young boy to connect with a father he idolized. After his father disappeared at sea when he was ten he kept up the habit as a tribute. Once he too joined the navy he continued as a matter of practice and procedure. To this day he still felt guilty if he let the water run for more than three minutes.

He was clean, but could not shave. No razor. He stared into the mirror, hair tousled, a day’s growth of stubble sprouting from his jaw, more than a few of the whiskers a disturbing gray. He didn’t feel nearly fifty, but was starting to look it. Not the body, though—he’d always kept himself in reasonably good shape. Notthe hair, either. Still full and tawny, with only an accent of gray at the temples. But the neck. Yes. That was it. The skin there a little loose and thin. And around the eyes. When had the wrinkles invaded? Not a lot of them. But enough.

He and Suzy had left the van, without its markings, parked in the supermarket lot and managed to snag a ride with a local to a smallgasthausfarther into the Swiss countryside. A first for him, actually. Hitchhiking. But it had been necessary. No Ubers, taxis, or anything traceable could have been used.

He’d let two rooms for the night, Suzy next door in the weathered-wood building. Luckily, he had enough cash on him to cover the costs. The front desk, for a few more euros, had managed to provide some toothpaste and a couple of brushes, which had been welcomed. A change of clothes would be great, but that wasn’t possible. It felt like the old days as a field officer, working for days, sometime weeks, the necessities of everyday life taking a back seat. Getting the job done was all that mattered. Results. Wins. That’s what made the difference. And he’d been a winner. Sure, he made mistakes. Who hadn’t? But he always recovered, and rarely had he outright failed.

He wasn’t going to start now.

His cell phone vibrated. The guy at the front desk had also allowed them to use his charger. He answered the call.

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