interrupting our exchange. “Coffee cart at the center of the market. He’s at a table with a checkered tablecloth. He seems to be alone. I couldn’t make any tails on him.”
I nodded at Mercy, and we made our way toward the café, the sights and smells of the market washing over us. Food, spices, and perfumed soaps assailed my senses as we made our way through the rows of stalls, and then the scent of roasted coffee mingled with that of a neighboring bratwurst stand as we emerged into a clear space set aside for seating.
Instantly, I identified Gruber at one of the tables, clearly recognizable from the surveillance photo we’d been shown back at MI6 in London.
“That’s the fucker,” Mercy whispered. “What now?”
“We wait for his friend to show,” I murmured back.
Abruptly, Mercy grabbed my hand and pulled me backward to yet another stand covered in jewelry. It was made with silver and gold and adorned with an assortment of raw and polished crystals in all kinds of colors.
“ Oh my god! ” Mercy exclaimed. “Honey, everything is so beautiful .”
Rolling my eyes at her over-the-top portrayal of a British tourist, I lingered by her side as Gruber waited for his associate to arrive.
“Actually,” she went on, “I really like this stuff.”
“Hold your position,” Jackson said in my ear. “You should be in range. Filtering out some of that background noise now…”
While Mercy pawed every single item of jewelry, I scanned the crowd and glanced at my watch—the ever annoyed boyfriend waiting for his overenthusiastic girl to finish ogling pretty jewels.
We didn’t have to wait long for pay dirt. When Gruber’s associate arrived, it was exactly the type of guy I’d been expecting—shaved head with a mean yet rich look about him…
The associate wore a light gray suit with a black shirt, no tie, the top three buttons undone. His black loafers were polished to an obnoxiously high shine, his sunglasses expensive. This man obviously had a lot of money and didn’t mind flashing it around, which wasn’t rare for bad guy assholes like these.
On first glance, it appeared he had come alone to meet Gruber, but I wasn’t a fool to assume there were armed men in the crowd disguised just like Mercy and I.
The man approached our mark, and Gruber stood to greet him.
“Bateman,” Gruber said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m surprised you of all people took on our client’s interests.”
The man smiled and took seat across from him at the table. “Why is that?” His accent was British. Posh. Stank of money, and I assumed most of it was dirty.
Gruber shrugged. “It has a lot to do with his unpredictability, no? Where his true intentions lie.”
“It is not for us to wonder,” Bateman said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “All that matters is the bottom line.” He smiled, and the men began to laugh like they were sharing the punch line of a private joke.
Gruber raised his espresso cup. “And what a line it is.”
“Are we on schedule?”
“The item is complete,” Gruber replied. “Testing has proved fruitful, so I’m sure it will be worth every Euro.”
“Excellent. My employer will be pleased.” Bateman took his phone out of his jacket pocket and tapped on the screen. “Fifty percent as agreed. The remaining will be transferred to you upon delivery.”
Gruber checked his phone, no doubt making sure his money had arrived to the place he’d intended it to. “And when is that?”
“We’ll be in touch.”
Bateman rose to his feet and scanned the square, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. His gaze fell over the place where Mercy and I stood, and I turned away slowly, my expression bored like I was just some guy waiting for his girlfriend to finish fawning over jewelry.
I held her hand as I waited, scanning the crowd to try to pinpoint Bateman’s men. If I was going to follow him back to Moltke, then I’d have to be smart about it. Who knew how many eyes were on
I nodded at Mercy, and we made our way toward the café, the sights and smells of the market washing over us. Food, spices, and perfumed soaps assailed my senses as we made our way through the rows of stalls, and then the scent of roasted coffee mingled with that of a neighboring bratwurst stand as we emerged into a clear space set aside for seating.
Instantly, I identified Gruber at one of the tables, clearly recognizable from the surveillance photo we’d been shown back at MI6 in London.
“That’s the fucker,” Mercy whispered. “What now?”
“We wait for his friend to show,” I murmured back.
Abruptly, Mercy grabbed my hand and pulled me backward to yet another stand covered in jewelry. It was made with silver and gold and adorned with an assortment of raw and polished crystals in all kinds of colors.
“ Oh my god! ” Mercy exclaimed. “Honey, everything is so beautiful .”
Rolling my eyes at her over-the-top portrayal of a British tourist, I lingered by her side as Gruber waited for his associate to arrive.
“Actually,” she went on, “I really like this stuff.”
“Hold your position,” Jackson said in my ear. “You should be in range. Filtering out some of that background noise now…”
While Mercy pawed every single item of jewelry, I scanned the crowd and glanced at my watch—the ever annoyed boyfriend waiting for his overenthusiastic girl to finish ogling pretty jewels.
We didn’t have to wait long for pay dirt. When Gruber’s associate arrived, it was exactly the type of guy I’d been expecting—shaved head with a mean yet rich look about him…
The associate wore a light gray suit with a black shirt, no tie, the top three buttons undone. His black loafers were polished to an obnoxiously high shine, his sunglasses expensive. This man obviously had a lot of money and didn’t mind flashing it around, which wasn’t rare for bad guy assholes like these.
On first glance, it appeared he had come alone to meet Gruber, but I wasn’t a fool to assume there were armed men in the crowd disguised just like Mercy and I.
The man approached our mark, and Gruber stood to greet him.
“Bateman,” Gruber said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m surprised you of all people took on our client’s interests.”
The man smiled and took seat across from him at the table. “Why is that?” His accent was British. Posh. Stank of money, and I assumed most of it was dirty.
Gruber shrugged. “It has a lot to do with his unpredictability, no? Where his true intentions lie.”
“It is not for us to wonder,” Bateman said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “All that matters is the bottom line.” He smiled, and the men began to laugh like they were sharing the punch line of a private joke.
Gruber raised his espresso cup. “And what a line it is.”
“Are we on schedule?”
“The item is complete,” Gruber replied. “Testing has proved fruitful, so I’m sure it will be worth every Euro.”
“Excellent. My employer will be pleased.” Bateman took his phone out of his jacket pocket and tapped on the screen. “Fifty percent as agreed. The remaining will be transferred to you upon delivery.”
Gruber checked his phone, no doubt making sure his money had arrived to the place he’d intended it to. “And when is that?”
“We’ll be in touch.”
Bateman rose to his feet and scanned the square, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. His gaze fell over the place where Mercy and I stood, and I turned away slowly, my expression bored like I was just some guy waiting for his girlfriend to finish fawning over jewelry.
I held her hand as I waited, scanning the crowd to try to pinpoint Bateman’s men. If I was going to follow him back to Moltke, then I’d have to be smart about it. Who knew how many eyes were on
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