oversized sunglasses, and a local college backpack - Sarah Ellis looked like a demure, eighteen-year-old student, not the half-naked operative he had parted ways with in New York.
On the beach, she had been a fearless woman.
Here, she resembled a lost teenager.
The difference was truly remarkable.
Sarah nodded subtly toward the parking garage, then strolled in that direction. At no point did she turn around to see if Cobb was coming.
She knew he would be close behind.
After all, she was the one carrying the merchandise.
11
There was a saying among covert ops:
Who watches the watchers?
The idea was to always assume that while you were observing an activity, your own tactics and techniques were under observation. Cobb had arrived several hours early in order to learn more about his new employer. Unfortunately, since he had spotted no one in the field, Cobb had to assume that
he
had been the one under the microscope.
In some ways, it made him feel foolish.
In other ways, it made him feel at ease.
It was safer to work with professionals.
Cobb’s suspicion grew when he reached the parking garage and ran squarely into a white stretch limo that was just pulling up to the curb. Sarah was standing ten feet away, pretending to wait for a taxi while bopping her head to an imaginary tune. He knew there was no way she was listening to music at a time like this. Her sense of hearing was far too important to sacrifice in an employer meet-and-greet.
Or whatever the hell this was.
A muscle-bound chauffeur hustled around the back of the limo, and then opened the rear door for his boss. A few seconds later, a man in an expensive, custom-tailored suit stepped out. Made of light gray silk, the suit was accompanied by a light-yellow, open-necked shirt and handsome loafers. An expensive watch glistened in the harsh fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So did his pinkie ring.
The man smiled while sauntering forward. He had exquisitely styled gray hair and a perfectly landscaped mustache. He smelled of expensive cologne. Not the kind that peasants buy in stores, but the kind the uber-wealthy have personally designed.
Cobb sensed the man was friendly, but he wasn’t about to let down his defenses. The last week had left him with a lot of questions and a city full of enemies. He also knew the mission in New York was only the beginning.
‘Mr Cobb,’ said the man with the mustache. His French-accented voice was almost as smooth as the suit. ‘I am Jean-Marc Papineau. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you had a pleasant early-morning flight from Las Vegas.’
Cobb nodded, but said nothing.
Papineau continued. ‘At this point of our relationship, I am quite confident that personal safety is still your number one concern. However, due to the private nature of our business and the smoldering temperatures in this garage, may I recommend the air-conditioned comfort of my limousine?’
Cobb shook his head. ‘Not until I frisk the guy inside.’
‘Go frisk yourself!’ said a gruff voice from the limo.
Cobb could only see the guy’s legs, but he recognized the voice at once. He crouched and peeked into the car, fully expecting to see the beach bum he had left in Brooklyn. He was shocked to see a clean-cut McNutt. Although his shoulder-length hair could still use a trim, McNutt was actually a good-looking guy - with stubble, high cheekbones, narrow blue eyes, a longer than usual nose, cleft chin, and a curving mouth.
Cobb nodded his approval. ‘Glad to see you took a shower.’
McNutt smiled. ‘Glad to see you’re wearing pants.’
Papineau nodded. ‘Yes, thank goodness for both.’
‘You guys are idiots,’ Sarah grumbled as she pushed past Papineau and climbed into the limo. ‘In case you didn’t know, the goal was to
not
be seen together in public. So quit chatting and get in the damn car before they charge us for an extra day of parking.’
Cobb and Papineau quickly joined her inside.
The limousine
On the beach, she had been a fearless woman.
Here, she resembled a lost teenager.
The difference was truly remarkable.
Sarah nodded subtly toward the parking garage, then strolled in that direction. At no point did she turn around to see if Cobb was coming.
She knew he would be close behind.
After all, she was the one carrying the merchandise.
11
There was a saying among covert ops:
Who watches the watchers?
The idea was to always assume that while you were observing an activity, your own tactics and techniques were under observation. Cobb had arrived several hours early in order to learn more about his new employer. Unfortunately, since he had spotted no one in the field, Cobb had to assume that
he
had been the one under the microscope.
In some ways, it made him feel foolish.
In other ways, it made him feel at ease.
It was safer to work with professionals.
Cobb’s suspicion grew when he reached the parking garage and ran squarely into a white stretch limo that was just pulling up to the curb. Sarah was standing ten feet away, pretending to wait for a taxi while bopping her head to an imaginary tune. He knew there was no way she was listening to music at a time like this. Her sense of hearing was far too important to sacrifice in an employer meet-and-greet.
Or whatever the hell this was.
A muscle-bound chauffeur hustled around the back of the limo, and then opened the rear door for his boss. A few seconds later, a man in an expensive, custom-tailored suit stepped out. Made of light gray silk, the suit was accompanied by a light-yellow, open-necked shirt and handsome loafers. An expensive watch glistened in the harsh fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So did his pinkie ring.
The man smiled while sauntering forward. He had exquisitely styled gray hair and a perfectly landscaped mustache. He smelled of expensive cologne. Not the kind that peasants buy in stores, but the kind the uber-wealthy have personally designed.
Cobb sensed the man was friendly, but he wasn’t about to let down his defenses. The last week had left him with a lot of questions and a city full of enemies. He also knew the mission in New York was only the beginning.
‘Mr Cobb,’ said the man with the mustache. His French-accented voice was almost as smooth as the suit. ‘I am Jean-Marc Papineau. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you had a pleasant early-morning flight from Las Vegas.’
Cobb nodded, but said nothing.
Papineau continued. ‘At this point of our relationship, I am quite confident that personal safety is still your number one concern. However, due to the private nature of our business and the smoldering temperatures in this garage, may I recommend the air-conditioned comfort of my limousine?’
Cobb shook his head. ‘Not until I frisk the guy inside.’
‘Go frisk yourself!’ said a gruff voice from the limo.
Cobb could only see the guy’s legs, but he recognized the voice at once. He crouched and peeked into the car, fully expecting to see the beach bum he had left in Brooklyn. He was shocked to see a clean-cut McNutt. Although his shoulder-length hair could still use a trim, McNutt was actually a good-looking guy - with stubble, high cheekbones, narrow blue eyes, a longer than usual nose, cleft chin, and a curving mouth.
Cobb nodded his approval. ‘Glad to see you took a shower.’
McNutt smiled. ‘Glad to see you’re wearing pants.’
Papineau nodded. ‘Yes, thank goodness for both.’
‘You guys are idiots,’ Sarah grumbled as she pushed past Papineau and climbed into the limo. ‘In case you didn’t know, the goal was to
not
be seen together in public. So quit chatting and get in the damn car before they charge us for an extra day of parking.’
Cobb and Papineau quickly joined her inside.
The limousine
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