Page 93 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
Interesting. Also interesting was the loss of the collar’s signal immediately after the pilot’s last transmission. Granted, the signal had been weak and intermittent, possibly a decoy or a trap, but . . .
“Three, when was the last time we did a scan of the islands?”
Surprise registered in Three’s left eye. The other eye seemed to be perusing a Blue Period Picasso on the far wall, and was indifferent. “I believe the last registered sat scan of the British Isles was six years ago, sir. It was clear; no bipedal life forms detected.”
“Six years!” repeated Thorne, displeased. A lot could change in six years. Scanning technology, for instance. “Run another scan, Three,” he said, rising from his desk. “Divert the satellites from the nearest assets. I want the results back no later than zero six hundred.”
“Yes, sir!” barked Three. He saluted, executed a spin on his heel, and marched out of the office with a stiff-legged gait that would have made Hitler proud. Thorne tried not to roll his eyes. It was men like Three, after all, recruited from the various militaries of the world, who made such wonderfully unquestioning employees.
Men like his second-in-command, Two, who lay broken and burned in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
Thorne sighed. Casualties, always casualties in war. Nothing to be done about it.
He leaned over and depressed the button for the intercom on his desk. “Yes, sir?” came the eager voice of his male secretary.
“Bring subject four-nine-six-two into the interrogation room, along with the Breast Ripper.”
The secretary’s voice didn’t waver. “Yes, sir!” he said cheerfully, and Thorne congratulated himself on hiring a man to the position. He doubted a woman would have quite the same reaction to those words.
Whistling, Sebastian Thorne left his office, on his way to another invigorating chat with the Ikati’s formidable, and quite delectable, Queen.
Perhaps today she’d have something useful to tell him.
If not, there was always tomorrow.
“This can’t be right. There’s nothing here,” said Magnus, frowning at the GPS coordinates glowing softly green on the windscreen display of the motorcycle. He looked up and around, and Lu followed his gaze.
They’d passed the deserted Czech border fifteen minutes ago, and were now headed south on the 6, a major north-south artery through Austria that connected with the defunct A22, which, if followed, would lead them directly into the heart of New Vienna. The GPS coordinates given to them by Nola had them navigating off the highway, however, onto a small collector road in what used to be perhaps an agricultural area, due to its parcels of flat land divided by even smaller roads than the one they’d followed off the highway. Now it was utterly desolate, with nary a leaf in sight, bald and ugly in the dim carmine light cast from the lurking cloud cover. Far in the distance, away on the flat horizon, Lu spied the glow of the grow fields outside New Vienna, and a shiver of dread coursed down her spine.
“There was nothing where we landed in France, either,” Lu reminded him.
“Yes, but Jack warned me about that; I knew Nola would be coming. I thought these coordinates would take us directly to the last safe house.” He was frowning, on edge, not liking the ambiguity of the situation. Lu had to agree. She felt like a sitting duck out here in the middle of nowhere.
“Well,” she said lightly, squinting up at the sky, clotted as congealed blood, “maybe we’ll get a sign.”
As if on cue, a pair of headlights cut through the darkness, perhaps a kilometer away.
“Magnus!”
“I see it.” He’d gone still as stone, his gaze sharp and calculating. “All right. There’s only one car. Most likely it’s the rendezvous, but just in case,” his gaze flicked to hers, “keep frosty.”
Lu raised her brows. “That might be more appropriate for my sister, don’t you think?”
He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against him, winding his arm around her back. “It’s old military slang for ‘keep alert.’ In your case I suppose we could change it to ‘keep toasty.’” He pressed a warm kiss to her neck, and she laughed, in spite of her nerves.
“That won’t be too hard, if you keep pawing at me, mister!”
“You like it,” he said, tightening his arms around her.
“No,” she said, sobering. She pulled away to look into his eyes. “I love it.”
They stood there like that for a moment, the words hanging in the air, until the car drew closer and Magnus gently pushed her behind him.
“Really? You still think I need protection?” Her tone was sarcastic, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Everything precious needs protection,” he answered, gaze trained on the car. He gave her hand a final squeeze, then dropped it so he could cross his arms over his chest and glower in an appropriately sinister manner at the long black vehicle approaching slowly over the dirt road.
The car rolled to a stop. It was by far the most luxurious vehicle Lu had ever seen, and she tried not to gape too obviously. The driver’s door swung open and a uniformed driver appeared, bowing and tipping his hat. A brisk, diminutive man with a conquistador’s narrow black beard, he went to the back of the limousine and opened its rear door. He gestured inside.
