AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Still no security? Still no cops or soldiers?”
“I don’t see anyone other than the target.”
“Roger. Notify me of any change.”
•••
Court and Zoya continued scanning the area outside Pace’s overwatch carefully, so when a man appeared in front of them on the opposite side of north-south San Ignacio Street, both of them instantly locked on to him.
He appeared Cuban; he wore a yellow guayabera and khakis, and he had a bald head. But to both Court and Zoya he appeared to have an especially hard edge. He also looked like he knew where he was going. He could have been plainclothes security services, totally normal here in the center of Havana, but he was definitely someone who needed closer scrutiny.
Zoya spoke softly. “That guy’s a player.”
“Yep,” Court said, his face masked by his hand as he took a sip of bottled water.
The man turned to his right; the church was across the traffic circle on his left shoulder, and he began heading south, in the direction of Jim Pace’s overwatch on the top floor of the artisans’ market.
Court was about to let Jim know that a suspicious-looking unsub was a couple hundred yards from him when Zoya kicked his ankle below the table. He followed her eyes across the street, and there, in front of the church and heading in the same direction as the unsub, were two other men. The man in back was shielded from view by the man in front, but the man closest to where Court and Zoya were sitting wore a brown long-sleeved shirt and distressed jeans, and he looked like he was cut from the same cloth as the man who had come from another street.
Court noticed the imprint of a pistol under the closer man’s shirt, even from sixty or seventy feet away.
The pair began crossing the busy traffic circle, negotiating their way through cars and scooters, and finally they separated in the middle of the street enough for Court to get a look at the subject who was farther away.
The identification took a moment, but only a moment. Court rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses, and Zoya knew this gesture from him. It was an expression of utter frustration, like he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth right now.
“What is it?” she asked, focused on him and not on the men on the street.
“It’s gonna be one of those days. That’s Lancer.”
Zoya craned her head back to see. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. He and his buddy are also working with that guy on this side of the street.”
“What are they doing here?”
“Getting ready to kill the guy we’re here to protect, would be my guess.” Court rose from his chair. “You stay here.”
“No. I’m coming with—”
“We’ll stay in contact over the AirPods.”
“You need me to—”
“I need you to be my overwatch now. Go mobile, get a look around the neighborhood, try to find out where those men came from. They could have surveillance with them.”
Zoya rose now herself, because she understood. Softly, she said, “A van, work truck, something like that.”
She leaned close and kissed him, then spoke into his ear. “Be careful.”
“You, too.”
Court went south, and Zoya began walking up the small road to the east in the direction the first man had come from, away from the harbor.
As Court moved he tapped his earpiece. “Overwatch, you’re not going to like this.”
“Well, at least that will be consistent with everything else happening right now. What you got?”
“I have eyes on Lancer. He’s with two other fighting-aged males, possibly local, definitely armed, and they are moving with purpose towards your poz at this time.”
