Page 3 of Wolf
“Send it back,” says the one higher up the foodchain.
I point at the letter again. “Are you sure you want your boss to find out that you’re the one who sent back something he might beexpecting?”
Narrowing his eyes at me, he holds out his open palm. “Give it to me. I’ll take itin.”
“My apologies, but I’m afraid I can’t do that.” I show him the front of the letter again. “Our hotel prides itself on catering to the most discerning client request and on ensuring the utmost discretion. I absolutely must hand deliver it only to Mr.Mikhailov.”
Groaning out his impatience, he opens the door a crack and retrieves a state of the art hand scanner that detects metal, radioactive materials, and other undesirablesubstances.
“Step forward and hold out your letter toward me,” heorders.
I do as he says and he runs the wand over the letter, then scans my body from head to torso, groin to thefloor.
“Enter,” he barks after scanning my back, and the next guard pushes the door open for me. “He’s in the sitting room. Boris will take youthere.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” I answer and follow the guard who enters ahead of me. Boris, Iassume.
My initial thought as I follow him in is that they made this a bit too easy. All of our scenarios counted on one of them attempting to open and inspect the letter at the door, which would’ve been fine, as it contains a flashbang nanotube prototype we’ve been testing in the field for the last six months. Still, I’m in, and may need to use this weapon to neutralize the guards on my wayout.
Boris knocks on the French double doors of the sittingroom.
“Enter,” says the voice frominside.
Boris pushes the door half-way. He humbly explains the reason for the interruption, speaking inRussian.
“Fine,” the voice replies, and Boris motions for me to go in, warning me that he and four other men in the room have their eyes on me. None of that matters. I’m a few feet from my target. They led me right tohim.
I reach for my pen and delivery pad, explaining that his signature is required. When Mikhailov extends his arm for the envelope, I place the letter it his hand and simultaneously stab him with the pen, which is a hypodermic needle filled with whatever deadly toxin my employer is issuing thismonth.
The sound of him gasping for air and struggling gets the guards’ attention. Two close in on me, while the other two and Boris go to Mikhailov’s aid. I quickly disarm one, but the other meathead grabs me around my neck from behind. It takes me a few moments, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A swift elbow to the gut and backward head-butt does the trick to neutralize him. Scooping up the letter again, I slip out the side door that leads to a private elevator down to the service stafflevel.
Minutes later, I slip in my earpiece and drive away on my vehicle of choice, a Kawasaki Ninja H2 motorcycle. As I speed to the rendezvous point, my employer informs me that plans have changed. The mission to Karachi has been reassigned. They give me the order to restock my provisions at the resupply warehouse in Maryland, then I’ll head to my next stop. I’m being put on what sounds like a dull, three-week surveillance assignment in Midwest,USA.
The targets: An eighty-one-year-old Pearl Adams and twenty-year-old RoseAdams.
I glance back at the six-star luxury hotel, neatly tucked into the side of a low ridge in the SwissAlps.
It looks like I’ll have my downtime afterall.
2
Thorne
I stand at the counter of the resupply warehouse, waiting for the logistics staff to fill the last few items on my list. I’m low on ammunition and a few things in my medical kit, for starters. It’s three in the afternoon, and I’m at the front of the line. This team is timely. I should be out of here withinminutes.
“Look who it is,” I hear the familiar voice say behind me andsmile.
“If it isn’t Bridges,” I shout and turn to shake his hand. Eugene Bridges and I spent three years in the same Special Ops unit. We were tight for a long time, but like a lot of people in our line of work, life, assignments and the day to day tends to get in the way of keeping in touch. After our team returned state side America, Bridges and I were the only ones approached by the company. I don’t see him often, but it’s good to see a familiar face when we return to base. “How the fuck areyou?”
“Busy,” he answers, seeming a lot less friendly than the last time we saw each other. “Theusual.”
We’ve been trained not to discuss our assignments, including with coworkers. It’s a non-negotiable rule that my employer invests a lot of resources intopolicing.
“Samehere.”
I give my old buddy a good, long look. His light brown hair looks a few shades lighter. His clothes are wrinkled, his skin leathery from months under a sweltering sun. There are specks of dust on the cream loafers on hisfeet.
“Coming back from Karachi? Or has Dawn dragged your ass to Arizona like she’s been wanting to do all thistime?”
