Page 61 of One Minute Out

Verdoorn’s answer was succinct. “E.E.”

Men nodded impassively, but they were all pleased. They knew that “extrajudicial execution” was a euphemism for assassination, and they knew their target would be in possession of great skill. When White Lion killed, their targets were usually hoodlums involved in the pipeline who’d gone astray. A “weapons-free” order against a former CIA Ground Branch paramilitary was a thrill to each and every one of Jaco’s troops.

Someone asked, “Where do we start?”

“We talk to the woman he’s working with, and then we’ll go hunting. Trust me, you’ll have to be switched on tonight. He’ll be ready to look for men like you.”

He surveyed his team now. “Jonker. Lose those pants. Too new. Klerk, your watch... what tourist wears a Luminox? Van Straaten... the necklace. Put it in your kit bag and buy something local from a street vendor.”

“Sir.”

“Liebenberg... every bladdy item you’re wearing has to go.”

“Right, sir.”

He went through the rest of the team, looking them over one by one with a discriminating eye, trying to pick out the most subtle clues that they were involved with this sort of work. He found things wrong with the attire or gear of Bakkes, Duiker, and Boyle, but Loots, his second-in-command, was perfectly clean of incriminating telltales.

“Let’s break out the maps and get to work. Three hours till landing.”

NINETEEN

The Old Town is a ghost town in the middle of the night when the tourists leave, and it’s so quiet I find myself on the verge of dozing as I sit here on the slanted slate roof of the apartment building, tucked behind a small satellite dish that breaks up my silhouette to anyone looking from a distance.

But I fight sleep, check my camera feeds every couple of minutes, and try to push worry from my mind.

I have a rope already attached to an iron bar affixing the water tank to the roof. I’m wearing leather gloves, and my backpack is secured on my back. I’m in the black T-shirt and jeans, the brown Merrell hiking shoes, and I have a black balaclava over my hair like a watch cap, ready to pull down over my face if necessary.

The Glock 19 is hidden inside my waistband on the right with an extra magazine and a quick-utilization tourniquet; my Spyderco matte black Paramilitary 2 folding knife is in my back-left pocket next to my SureFire Tactician tactical flashlight. I have medical gear, more clothing, rope, cash, and ammo in my pack.

This is me rolling light, but I’m in the middle of the city, and that mandates the absence of body armor, a long gun, and other gear that would make me less comfortable, but more comforted, considering I might have to put myself up against a half dozen assholes tonight.

I also have Talyssa’s pistol in a side pocket of the backpack, but I’d fire every round on my person out of my Glock before I went for her little gun.

Around one a.m. I hear the sound of movement over my earpiece. Talyssa is stirring in her bed. I’m surprised that she’s been able to sleep, and wonder if she might have been doing so only because she was finally granting me the nearly blind trust I’ve been asking from her for the past two days.

Her soft voice comes through a second later. “Harry?”

I’m on the roof directly above her window, but she doesn’t know my exact location. “I’m here. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” she replies.

“What do you—”

“I have something I need to tell you.”

Yes, she does. I know she is lying about parts of her story. I’ve worked out a theory about some of it, and I do want to hear it all from her at some point.

But not now. Now I need her focused on the operation, not on what led her to everything that has happened.

“Listen, Talyssa, whatever it is, it will keep until we—”

“No. I need to tell you, I need to tell someone, because I don’t know if I will still be alive when the sun comes up.”

There goes my theory that she was giving me blind trust. She doesn’t even know if I can keep her alive for the next few hours.

“Two things,” I say. “You aren’t going to die, and I already know what you are going to tell me.”

“No, you don’t.”

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