Page 123 of One Minute Out

During a pause in the conversation in the lobby, he leaned into Cage’s ear. “Sir, Jaco’s team has identified a pair of unknown men in the area. We need to—”

“Is one of them that Gentry prick?”

“No, sir. But they think—”

With a dismissive wave, he said, “Jaco will handle it. Don’t bother me while I’m working again,” and returned to his conversation.

Hall knew Cage was coked up, again, and he would be even more intractable than usual, if such a thing was even possible. He did not respond, only focused more carefully on his mission. If there were new unknown actors involved, then it was certainly a security issue, even if they were not related to the Gray Man.

He took a couple steps away from his principal and spoke softly into his radio. “All elements. Keep it tight out there. White Lion thinks there are possible CIA officers hunting for Gentry in the area.”

One of his men radioed back. “What are the ROEs?”

Hall felt the stomach acid gurgling inside him. “The rules of engagement are don’t engage. We aren’t shooting it out with the fucking CIA. They won’t be here for the principal, they’ll be here for Gentry. Stay out of their way and maybe they’ll nab him.”

If I could be so lucky, Hall thought.

•••

Chris Travers moved through the crowded restaurant calmly, as if he were making his way back to his table from the john. Several steps behind him, Ground Branch officer Pete Hume stepped out of the door to the kitchen, moving more quickly. Travers had made it through the kitchen undetected, but Hume was spotted by a cook, who yelled at him but quickly turned his attention back to the chicken marsala he was plating, no doubt annoyed at the tourist who’d taken a wrong turn heading to the bathroom and wandered through the kitchen.

Outside the restaurant both men turned to the south and picked up their pace even more. The SDR had consumed several minutes, and since they had no idea how long their target would be at his location, they knew it was time to haul ass.

•••

The guy I’ve pegged as the Director of the Consortium has been inside the building next to the casino for nearly thirty minutes. A couple of guys I take for mafia security men are walking around in front of the gate and the casino next to it, but I haven’t detected anyone else from my admittedly limited vantage point here above the nightclub.

I take a few seconds to rub my eyes, then clean off the lenses of my binos. But before I can bring the optics back up to my face I see new movement, close, just outside the window in the alleyway running left to right in front of me.

A pair of men walk below my position, but they don’t turn up the passageway towards the casino and the market building. Instead they glance idly in that direction, but continue along the alley that runs from my left to my right.

I make them as suspicious immediately. They are slick enough, not showing any intensity in their actions that make for an easy tip-off, but there is something about their bearing and dress that tells me this isn’t a pair of rando tourists who wandered off the main streets and down a quiet alleyway.

Nope, these two are in the game.

I can feel it.

After they pass out of view from the market, one of the men brings his hand up to his mouth and speaks into it.

And now I know that these guys are in comms, which means there will be more out there.

They don’t look like the rest of the mob goons, so I’m wondering if these are Consortium operatives sent out into the neighborhood to look for me. There is one other possibility, but I immediately discount it, certain that it can’t be.

Can it?

I rise from my position for the first time in an hour, and I move to another room up here on the second floor above the nightclub, on the opposite side of the building. Here I find a window that looks out over a street one block to the west. It is well lit and there are dozens of men and women in view, but after scanning slowly back and forth for a few seconds, my eyes lock onto two men in particular. These aren’t the men I just saw passing in front of the casino, but they are cut from the same cloth, moving at a steady pace through the tourists and restaurant patrons walking around.

I bring my binos up to my eyes to focus on them, careful to remain far enough back in the room to where it’s unlikely I’ll be spotted by someone on the lookout for me.

As I focus the binos, my eyes widen.

And then I lower the optics. I sag back against the wall, sliding down to a seated position.

What... the... fuck?

I recognize one of the men below me. His name is Chris Travers, he’s Ground Branch, and I’ve spent a lot of time with him in the past year or so while I’ve been doing contract work for Matt Hanley. Chris works for SAC, formerly the SAD, my old outfit.

The outfit run by Matthew Hanley.

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