Page 45 of The Devil's Ransom

I’d sent in Knuckles and Veep to penetrate the building, looking for cameras and other surveillance, then plant a small Wi-Fi camera on the wall to surveil the apartment. They’d managed to do so without any high drama, and now we were looking at the feed in our hotel using the very same open Wi-Fi network of the bar upstairs.

We had no idea if anyone was in that apartment, but with enough watching, we’d figure it out. This was only Alpha, so sitting and watching was the whole point. No rush. The plan was to see the guy leave, put someone on him for early warning, thencrack the apartment and rip through it for evidence of the ransomware attack.

The president of the United States was screaming for results, but that mattered little with me. Slow and steady wins the race.

I said, “Jennifer’s right. That’s a long hallway with a lot of doors, so we need to get in without a lot of dicking around. We can’t be sitting on the ground working the door when someone else comes out. Did you guys take a look at the locks when you put the camera in?”

Knuckles said, “Yeah, we did. It’s old-world crap. If he doesn’t use the bolt lock, it’s a credit card. If he does use the bolt lock, it’s like seven seconds with a pick kit. We can get in.”

I said, “Alrighty then, we have a winner. Knuckles and I will get inside, with Knuckles doing the work. Jennifer, you get surveillance right here, watching the computer. Brett and Veep take the follow, giving us early warning. Any questions?”

Jennifer said, “Yeah, why do I get computer surveillance?”

“Because that’s the way it is.”

“But you’ve got Brett doing the follow. He sticks out like a sore thumb here. I should do the follow.”

“What the hell are you talking about? He’s one of the best I’ve ever seen at that.”

She looked at Brett, then back at me, saying nothing. I said, “What?”

She looked at Brett again and said, “He’s black. We haven’t seen a single black person here. He’s going to stand out. He’ll be burned with one turn of the target.”

She looked at him and said, “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say about that. Brett Thorpe was one of the best operators I’d ever served with—a killer with an instinctthat was above reproach—but Jennifer had a point. I thought about how to respond, and was saved by Brett himself.

He said, “She’s right. I can follow that guy to a single point of entry, but if he moves again, I’m done. Especially if he has some countersurveillance in motion. You guys can put on a different hat or coat, but I can’t put on a different skin.”

I honestly thought the entire thing was bullshit because I respected his skills greatly, but the real world didn’t care about diversity, especially when it came to killing. I said, “You sure about that?”

He laughed and said, “Yeah. The next mission we do will probably be in Soweto. When that happens, you can repay me by staying in the hotel.”

I smiled, him reminding me once again about the sacrosanct worth of our team. I said, “Okay, okay. It’s Veep and Jennifer on the follow. It’s getting late. If they’re going out, it’ll be soon. Let’s go.”

We left the hotel after lunchtime, going toward the target, walking down a park that spanned the length between the lower level and the upper level, nobody saying anything. The park itself was crowded with families, most out enjoying the weather. If I hadn’t been working a problem, I would have enjoyed it.

The road we were on ended at a large square with a statue of some guy on a horse holding a sword, the front of the square bounded by public trolleys going left and right. This was the beginning of the upper level, and you could readily see the difference. The roads turned into cobblestone alleys, laced with bars and cafés as far as the eye could see, all of the alleys rising to the high ground at the top.

We crossed the square and Jennifer checked her phone, pointing up one narrow thoroughfare lined with umbrellas and tables. We continued on, now walking uphill with me watching the people at the outdoor tables enjoying life, with laughter and the clink of beer mugs permeating the air like some idolized commercial selling a lifestyle. It really made me want to hold up a hand and say, “Hey, I have a better idea. Let’s get some lunch and a beer.”

Instead of breaking a hundred different laws inside this country based on some vague order from an organization that didn’t exist—and clearly didn’t understand what my team had just been through—we could enjoy life, like everyone else seemed to do in the real world. We could become the beer commercial on TV. Happy smiles and success just by opening a bottle.

I knew that wasn’t going to happen, though. I had a mission, and I would execute. Just like the man I was targeted against was trying to do.

We took another narrow alley running perpendicular to the one we were on, walking by a bar named after J. R. R. Tolkien, then entered a park, a huge mural of Gulliver tied to the ground running the length of the building.

I said, “Jenn, you sure you know where you’re going?”

She pointed at an archway spanning a set of steps, appearing to be some city wall from ancient times, saying, “The street is about a hundred meters through that arch.”

We started walking again and Brett called, saying, “Two men just exited the apartment. Pictures on the way.”

Shit.

I hung up, told the team what had transpired, and said, “Two out. Most we can do is check for a third. That’ll be Knuckles and me.”

I pointed to a couple of park benches next to the mural ofGulliver and said, “Let’s give them a chance to clear the building before we continue. Don’t want to burn ourselves this soon without even knowing our target.”

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