Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) by R.E. McDermott

envision the work split?”
    “His name is Braun, Captain Karl Braun,” Alex said. “He’s director of operations—scheduling, crewing, fuel purchases, payroll, that sort of thing. You’ll be technical director—maintenance, yard repairs, and so on. We’ll play it by ear on overlaps.”
    “Sounds fine,” Dugan said. “I’m eager to start.”
    Alex hesitated. “There’s really no rush, Thomas. Why don’t you work half days a few weeks to settle in, hunt for a flat, and get your feet on the ground?”
    “I want to earn my keep.”
    “Of course, of course,” Alex said, “but it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
    “OK … I guess,” Dugan said. “Easy does it” was not Alex Kairouz’s style at all.
    “It’s settled then,” Alex said, rising. “Join me for a nightcap?”
    Dugan yawned. “No thanks. I’m jet-lagged as hell. See you in the morning.”
    ***
    Two hours later, Dugan lay awake in the dark, mulling Alex’s strange behavior. From what he knew, Alex failing to involve Mrs. Farnsworth in any matter related to Cassie was unthinkable. However, even if he had, Dugan didn’t think Mrs. Farnsworth would nurse a grudge when Cassie’s safety was concerned. Something was definitely not right.
    Penthouse, Plaza on the Thames
London
28 Maybe
    “How is it you’re livin’ like a fuckin’ Saudi prince, and I’m in a bloody closet over a garage?” Ian Farley asked, glaring from the sofa. At six foot and two hundred pounds, he looked like a muscle-bound skinhead, full of quiet menace. If he would only stay quiet.
    Braun took a sip of brandy, then held the snifter to his nose, savoring the aroma as the liquid slid down his throat. He looked from the dancing fire to the glass wall of the huge living room with its view of Parliament across the Thames. Rain on the glass refracted the lights to dazzling effect. Cuban weather was better, but he couldn’t enjoy the finer things in the worker’s paradise, and Braun was making the most of London. At Kairouz’s expense, of course. He looked at Farley and sighed. No more than his due, given the fools he had to endure.
    “Because, Farley, your cover is a servant. You live in servant quarters.”
    Farley started to speak, but Braun’s look chilled him.
    “And don’t leave the girl’s proximity again, unless she’s at school or elsewhere your presence would be suspicious. Understand?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
    Braun sipped again and studied Farley over the rim of his glass. For all his faults, Farley had the necessary skills—and he was expendable. The rest of the operation was equally lean, his only other operative a techno-geek eager to keep past work for foreign governments secret. Blackmail wasn’t Joel Sutton’s only incentive. Braun had dismissed the IT staff and contracted Sutton at a huge fee, again with Kairouz’s money.
    Sutton had bugged Kairouz’s office and phones—office, home, and mobile—and now controlled the company computers. Braun monitored the work phones in real time and other phones via recording. He’d avoided bugging Kairouz’s home; the daily chatter would be tedious to sort through and reveal little. Dugan’s presence might change that.
    “With Dugan around, spend time in the house,” Braun said. “Keep your ears open.”
    “For what?” Farley asked.
    “Signs Dugan is suspicious, of course.” Idiot.
    “Not so easy, guv. That bloody Irish bitch hates me. She’d poison me tea given the chance, and that snooty cunt Farnsworth stares holes in me. I ain’t exactly Mr. Invisible.”
    Braun sighed. “All right. Do the best you can.”
    “OK.” Farley rose to go. “When do I get a go at the retard? Remember our deal.”
    “Keep it in your pants, Farley. I’ll tell you when. And you can’t damage the goods. She’ll bring a fortune in the Middle East. The wogs love blonds.”
    Farley leered. “I’ll be a regular bleedin’ Sir Galahad. She’ll be cryin’ when she has to leave me, she will.”

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