That Time in Paris, Logan Ryles [room on the broom read aloud TXT] 📗

Kevin sat at the rear of the cabin, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his lips gleaming with residue from the drink. He grinned as Wolfgang stepped toward the door to the bunks. “Why don’t you pour yourself a drink, Wolf? We can get to know each other.” The sarcasm in his tone cut like a blade.

Wolfgang stopped at the door and dug his fingernails into the travel brochure before reaching for the handle. “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

4

The plane touched down a little over ten hours later, the tires squealing against a private airport someplace outside of Paris. Wolfgang slept six or seven hours and spent the rest of the flight studying maps of the big city. It was impossible for him to really absorb so many streets in such a brief period. Paris was huge, sprawling over an area of almost forty-one square miles, packed with over two million people. Finding one man in that mix and keeping track of him through the busy streets for an indefinite period was daunting, to say the least.

Wolfgang changed into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a loose leather jacket that allowed for plenty of room to conceal the Beretta in a shoulder holster. Handguns in Paris were highly restricted items, and being caught with one was sure to be a nightmare. But being caught without one while hunting an elusive terrorist amid a team of Russian assassins seemed the greater risk.

Wolfgang stepped out of the plane and shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight that was just breaking over the eastern horizon. There wasn’t much around them other than rolling green farmland. The plane sat at the edge of the tarmac near a row of low hangars, and Wolfgang realized he had yet to see or interact with the pilots. He glanced up at the cockpit, then shrugged and hurried to follow the others toward the nearest hangar.

Dusty and dimly lit inside, the cavernous space was empty except for four vehicles—a white Mercedes panel van and three identical motorcycles parked in a neat row, their front wheels all canted to the left.

Lyle headed straight for the van, trailing his cases, and Wolfgang hurried to follow him. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to offend the tech wizard, but he didn’t want to leave the issue unresolved. If Lyle had all the gadgets and ran all the communications, he wanted to be friends.

Lyle opened the rear door of the van and started to lift the case. Wolfgang grabbed it first and slid it inside, and Lyle squinted up at him from behind his dirty glasses.

“Hey,” Wolfgang said. “About last night . . . I just want to say, I meant nothing by it. Bad joke. I appreciate the work you’re doing.” He offered his hand.

Lyle’s gaze switched from Wolfgang’s face to his hand, then back again. He chewed his lip a moment, then accepted the offered hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “Come here. I’ve got something for you,” Lyle said. He ducked into the van, and Wolfgang followed. Lyle flipped a hard plastic case open and produced a tiny earpiece, flicking a switch on before passing it to Wolfgang. “This is your com. Signal is great, and the mic is sensitive. No need to speak in louder than a conversational tone. Only thing is, the battery life isn’t great. Remember to charge it between use.”

Wolfgang fit the little device into his right ear canal. It slid in without resistance and was almost comfortable.

Lyle dug into the case and produced another box, sliding the lid off with obvious care and exposing a smartwatch nested inside.

“And this . . .” Lyle indulged in a brief smile, the first Wolfgang had seen. “This is truly special. I’ve only got one of them. You can try it out.”

“Apple Watch?” Wolfgang asked.

Lyle’s head snapped up.

Wolfgang held up a hand and laughed. “Easy. Another joke.”

“Oh.” Lyle lifted the watch from the case and passed it to Wolfgang. “It’s not an Apple Watch. It’s a fully purposed spy gadget. Took me months to perfect it. There’s a camera built into the outside of the case, and anything you direct that camera at, I can see. So if you need intel on something, you just show it to me, and I can look it up for you.”

“Sweet, man.” Wolfgang lifted the watch and wrapped it around his left wrist. It felt great. A little heavy, but not unbearable.

“The true benefit, though,” Lyle said, “is in its detection ability. I call it a sniffer. The watch can detect all kinds of poisonous gasses and chemical agents, and it’ll give you an alert if there’s anything you should be worried about. It even has a built-in Geiger counter.”

“Like, for nuclear?” Wolfgang raised one eyebrow, and Lyle nodded eagerly.

“Absolutely. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty reliable. Let me know how it works in the field.”

Edric’s voice boomed from someplace in the hangar. “Hey, Wolf. Get out here!”

Wolfgang slapped Lyle on the shoulder, then piled out of the van. The others were gathered around the bikes, Megan already astride hers. She sat with the easy confidence of a woman who was familiar with fast motorcycles, and Wolfgang couldn’t help but stare again.

“Get your com?” Edric asked.

He scratched his cast again, and Wolfgang realized Edric was probably nervous. This was his first mission since breaking his arm and his first mission with a new operator . . . and without an old one.

Wolfgang tapped his ear. “Right here.”

“Very good. We only use radio tags, for extra security. I’m Charlie Lead. Lyle is Charlie Eye, Megan is Charlie One, Kevin is Charlie Two.”

Edric paused a moment, and his tone softened. “You’re Charlie Three.”

Wolfgang saw Megan glance down, and for just a moment, he thought she winced. It was such a small reaction he couldn’t be sure, but he thought it corresponded with Edric’s mention of Charlie Three.

That was his call sign . . . The guy who died on the last mission.

Wolfgang didn’t know what to