audacity of the OUTCAST leader’s plan and set about concocting his bogus antidote.
ELEVEN
Charleston, South Carolina
Tanner Wilson adjusted his tie in front of a mirror in his room at the Hilton near the airport. He disliked wearing a suit, but in this case it was good tradecraft. He was a biotechnology executive with a product to sell. He heard a coded knock at the door (two-one-three), checked the peephole anyway, then opened it.
Danielle Sunderland. She’d booked into the adjoining room as though they were traveling business partners, which in a way they were. Both of them were checked in under assumed names and using a business credit card obtained under the shell name, Helix Biotechnologies, L.L.C. Tanner carried fancy business cards which included a small circuit and flexible screen containing a simple but playable video game. A great gimmick, lots of wow factor, the salesman had said. But also a practical one, in Tanner’s case. Besides the game, the card also concealed a miniature GPS transponder. He was banking on the fact that they wouldn’t scan it for invasive tech while still in his presence.
If they did, he was prepared to fight.
“Do I look happy to see you?” he asked after Danielle had entered and he closed the door.
Her eyes roved up and down the contours of his suit and despite the role play, he found himself blushing a little.. “I don’t see a pistol in your pants, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, I’d say you look good, Mr. Kohler!”
He checked the mirror on the door to be sure the outline of his Kahr PM9 didn’t show through his suit. Satisfied it was all but undetectable even to scrutinizing glances, he appraised his fellow operator. Danielle looked the part in a pressed pantsuit, hair in a tight bun and carrying a slim leather briefcase.
“You don’t look half bad yourself Ms. Halifax.” And he meant it. Somehow she’d managed to hide the dressed down computer geek that she truly was in the makeup and hairstyle of a corporate saleswoman. He liked it, but hoped he wasn’t too obvious about that fact.
“Ready for our big date?”
“You bet.”
“And our chaperone?”
“Liam is set up in the bar already.” It comforted him a great deal — and Danielle, too, he was sure — to know that ex-SEAL Liam Reilly had their back down there should things get too dicey.
Tanner picked up a larger metal attaché case on the floor, carefully hefting its weight to make sure he had a good grip on it. Per pre-arrangements with Hofstad’s contact made entirely through mobile text messages, all negotiations would take place in the hotel lobby bar. No private rooms or off-premises locales.
He glanced at his watch, now a Cartier more befitting a business executive than the waterproof G-Shock he normally favored. Twenty minutes until the arranged meeting time. He wanted to be there early but not too early, lest they appear suspicious. He decided fifteen minutes, while ordering a drink and appetizer, would be in accordance with a businessman wishing to be well settled in and prepared for an important meeting.
When they got to the lobby Tanner could see that Hofstad’s man was already there. Green shirt, tan slacks, black hat, as stated in the texts. His was a dark skinned, swarthy complexion. He sat alone, also as stated, at one of the lobby bar’s outer cocktail tables. Tanner knew he wouldn’t really be alone, though. He’d have backup. The lobby was crowded with the evening rush. Perhaps it was the group of three men loudly watching sports three tables away. Or maybe it was the African American woman reading a newspaper on a lobby couch, facing the bar. Could even be the bartender, busy as he was. There was no time to stand here and try to pick them out. One person he knew it wasn’t, though, was the young man wearing a sombrero style beach hat, shorts, T-shirt, and sandy flip flops occupying a cocktail table in the middle of the bar, because that was Liam. A backpack
ELEVEN
Charleston, South Carolina
Tanner Wilson adjusted his tie in front of a mirror in his room at the Hilton near the airport. He disliked wearing a suit, but in this case it was good tradecraft. He was a biotechnology executive with a product to sell. He heard a coded knock at the door (two-one-three), checked the peephole anyway, then opened it.
Danielle Sunderland. She’d booked into the adjoining room as though they were traveling business partners, which in a way they were. Both of them were checked in under assumed names and using a business credit card obtained under the shell name, Helix Biotechnologies, L.L.C. Tanner carried fancy business cards which included a small circuit and flexible screen containing a simple but playable video game. A great gimmick, lots of wow factor, the salesman had said. But also a practical one, in Tanner’s case. Besides the game, the card also concealed a miniature GPS transponder. He was banking on the fact that they wouldn’t scan it for invasive tech while still in his presence.
If they did, he was prepared to fight.
“Do I look happy to see you?” he asked after Danielle had entered and he closed the door.
Her eyes roved up and down the contours of his suit and despite the role play, he found himself blushing a little.. “I don’t see a pistol in your pants, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, I’d say you look good, Mr. Kohler!”
He checked the mirror on the door to be sure the outline of his Kahr PM9 didn’t show through his suit. Satisfied it was all but undetectable even to scrutinizing glances, he appraised his fellow operator. Danielle looked the part in a pressed pantsuit, hair in a tight bun and carrying a slim leather briefcase.
“You don’t look half bad yourself Ms. Halifax.” And he meant it. Somehow she’d managed to hide the dressed down computer geek that she truly was in the makeup and hairstyle of a corporate saleswoman. He liked it, but hoped he wasn’t too obvious about that fact.
“Ready for our big date?”
“You bet.”
“And our chaperone?”
“Liam is set up in the bar already.” It comforted him a great deal — and Danielle, too, he was sure — to know that ex-SEAL Liam Reilly had their back down there should things get too dicey.
Tanner picked up a larger metal attaché case on the floor, carefully hefting its weight to make sure he had a good grip on it. Per pre-arrangements with Hofstad’s contact made entirely through mobile text messages, all negotiations would take place in the hotel lobby bar. No private rooms or off-premises locales.
He glanced at his watch, now a Cartier more befitting a business executive than the waterproof G-Shock he normally favored. Twenty minutes until the arranged meeting time. He wanted to be there early but not too early, lest they appear suspicious. He decided fifteen minutes, while ordering a drink and appetizer, would be in accordance with a businessman wishing to be well settled in and prepared for an important meeting.
When they got to the lobby Tanner could see that Hofstad’s man was already there. Green shirt, tan slacks, black hat, as stated in the texts. His was a dark skinned, swarthy complexion. He sat alone, also as stated, at one of the lobby bar’s outer cocktail tables. Tanner knew he wouldn’t really be alone, though. He’d have backup. The lobby was crowded with the evening rush. Perhaps it was the group of three men loudly watching sports three tables away. Or maybe it was the African American woman reading a newspaper on a lobby couch, facing the bar. Could even be the bartender, busy as he was. There was no time to stand here and try to pick them out. One person he knew it wasn’t, though, was the young man wearing a sombrero style beach hat, shorts, T-shirt, and sandy flip flops occupying a cocktail table in the middle of the bar, because that was Liam. A backpack
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