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He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he ate most of his dinner over the course of the hour just to pass the time while he sat there, deep in thought.
He had not been entirely honest with Wren and Hinton. Yes, he was here in order to glean information from Pace about what the Agency had on Hinton Labs, but he wasn’t doing it solely to give the intel to Hinton and Wren. No, he wanted to know for himself what the CIA had done today and why, because he knew from experience there was no way in hell Ground Branch would get the go-ahead for a raid in Havana fucking Harbor unless the president of the United States signed off on it, and there was no way that would happen without the Agency making one hell of a case for the raid.
Hinton was dirty, Zack didn’t know to what extent, but something was definitely amiss at the labs that warranted the action today. This also meant that Wren was likely involved, as well, and Zack found this difficult to accept.
More importantly, however, Zack had managed to land himself right in the middle of all this bullshit, and now he had to figure out how to extract himself.
Except the CIA was nowhere in sight. He wondered if Pace was in hiding, and if the Ground Branch team that had hit the terminal was now down in Guantanamo or back in the States.
If that was the case, he told himself, then he’d have to somehow figure this shit out on his own.
And figuring shit out was not his speciality. Zack had always considered himself labor, not management. He wasn’t the guy you sent in to investigate a situation; he was the guy you sent in after you’d already investigated and decided somebody needed to die or something needed to blow up.
At eight thirty p.m. he finished his third beer and paid his tab, left a hefty tip for the portly old bartender, and headed back out into the night.
His Land Rover was parked in a monitored lot just two blocks away, and Zack shifted out of his own mind, returned his consciousness to the here and now, because walking up a darkened street alone in a foreign city required a level of vigilance.
A scooter passed with two young men on it; Zack had a plan to kill them if he had to.
An old Chevy rolled by, half hot-pink paint and half Bondo, a heavyset man behind the wheel with his meaty elbow jutting out the open window of the driver’s-side door, and Zack formulated a plan to kill him, as well.
But there was no killing; he made it closer to his car, and then, as he passed a small family-run pharmacy that was closed for the night, he looked over at it and noticed that its roll-down metal security gate was up. Every business around here used a roll-down gate, and no one would leave their glass façade unprotected all evening, especially a pharmacy, as that would be an invitation for a break-in.
Just as he began evaluating the situation, the glass door opened, ten feet away from where he moved along the sidewalk.
Zack shot his hand under his shirt to put his hand on the grip of his Staccato.
Chris Travers stepped out in a black T-shirt and jeans. His hands were empty and open, and he just looked at Hightower.
Finally, Zack thought. He took his hand off his pistol, stopped there in the darkness, and faced off against the other American for several seconds without speaking.
“Was that you today? In the harbor?” Zack asked.
Travers just waved him forward.
“Not out here. Come inside.”
Zack looked around, then stepped into the pharmacy.
Travers shut and locked the door behind him, then together they walked through a dark empty space, soon ending up at the back of the little store.
He was expecting to find Pace, of course, so when he instead found Court Gentry and Zoya Zakharova sitting next to each other on the counter, he pulled up short.
He locked eyes with Court for a long moment, then glanced to Zoya. Recovering as quickly as possible, he said, “Violator. Marina.”
“Who?” Zoya asked, confused.
Court leaned to her. “He calls you Marina Oswald. He thinks it’s funny.”
Zoya rolled her eyes. “Grow up.”
Zack looked around at the pharmacy. “You two diversifying? Learning a new trade?”
Travers said, “Havana station had access to this building. We’ve got agents outside keeping an eye out.”
Zack nodded. He was on guard, but in truth he felt elated to see Court and Chris here. He was in deep, into what, he wasn’t sure, and there was no one else on Earth he’d rather have nearby when he was in trouble.
The hot Russkie had proved her worth once or twice, as well, he told himself, but he still didn’t fully trust her.
