Page 87 of Out of Control

“Think he’ll come alone?” Spencer asked as they walked back toward a more residential area.

“Don’t know. Depends on how compartmentalized Khoury’s terror cell was. If Fayez was the local leader, he could have been meeting separately with each of the members.”

Spencer murmured, “Is it possible that Khoury struck out on his own? Broke away from Hamza?”

“It’s possible. Not probable, though. Fanatics need a guru to follow. Hamza’s charismatic. A dynamic talker. He surrounded himself with sycophants back in the day when we were tracking him.”

“So you’re saying once a sycophant, always a sycophant?”

He glanced over at Spencer. “Usually. As long as Hamza’s alive, Khoury would have had no reason to break away. Not only would Hamza have provided leadership, but also money, resources, and intelligence.”

“Do you think this Aziz guy knows Khoury is dead?”

Drago stopped walking to stare at Spencer. “That’s an excellent question.” He thought for a minute and then added, “It’ll depend on who killed Khoury. If someone from within the terror organization killed him, Aziz should know. If it was an outsider, then maybe not. His name was never released to the media, and no announcement of his death was made.”

While Spencer played lookout, Drago hotwired an unlocked car they found parked at a curb. In a perfect world, they would boost the car, use it for tonight’s meeting, and return it to this space before morning, its owner none the wiser unless he or she paid close attention to the odometer.

Spencer loaded the black bag of gear into the back seat, and they drove away. Drago went to a park a couple of miles away from the meeting site and parked the vehicle in the dark shadows of overhanging trees.

“Time to gear up,” he murmured.

They’d both purchased black clothing earlier and wore it now. Spencer went through a methodical and thorough equipment check and verbally walked through the entire plan. They synced their watches and tested the earbuds they both placed in their ears. The buds acted as both passive microphones and radio receivers. They weren’t quite as high-tech as the integrated helmet microphones or tooth radios SEALs and other special operators favored, but they would be adequate for tonight.

Drago watched Spencer smear black grease paint on his face and offer the stick of camo paint to him.

“None for me. Wouldn’t want to scare off Aziz before I can ask him any questions.” The idea was to get Aziz talking and find out if the man was in contact with Hamza. If they got any kind of positive indication, then he and Spencer would launch a surveillance op on the guy until they got a lead to follow.

Easy in theory.

He hoped it would go that smoothly in actual fact.

“Time to roll,” he announced. “You ready?”

“Always,” Spencer replied. His voice was crisp. Controlled. Focused. God, it was nice to work with a professional of Spencer’s caliber.

They drove to the back of the same brick factory they’d laid on earlier and parked in an employee area behind the cluster of industrial buildings. Spencer jogged up the ladder with the sniper rifle slung across his back while Drago headed for the large open area in front of the factory.

Drago wore a cheap courier satchel slung across his body. Inside was the first laptop—the one without the sensitive information—and a loaded pistol.

He sauntered into the open yard and took up a position leaning against a wall, making sure to stay in plain sight of Spencer. No use having overwatch if the sniper couldn’t cover your ass. His watch said it was 11:45 p.m.

And now the wait began.

Drago was experienced with the phenomenon of minutes seeming to pass like hours, and settled into a state of zen relaxation where he breathed deeply and slowly, allowing every sound and sight and smell, even the sensation of moving air on his skin, to register fully.

He heard the contact before he saw the guy. Coming from straight ahead, an alley passing between two buildings. Hah. They’d guessed the direction of approach correctly. Spencer had a clear view of the alley too.

“Incoming,” Spencer breathed.

“In sight,” he muttered without moving his lips.

He pushed away from the wall and moved forward to meet Aziz in the middle of the open space where Spencer had maximum coverage with his weapon.

“Aziz?” Drago called quietly.

“Oui.”

“English?”

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