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“That’s right.”
“The people running Lancer must have known Genrich was down here trying to recruit an asset to save the engineer. They saw you, maybe they saw me, and they sent a team in to stop us before we became a problem.”
Zoya nodded, obviously relieved she wasn’t going to have to continue trying to convince her partner. “Which means we’re being watched down here in the middle of nowhere, and somebody’s going to incredible lengths to silence this engineer.”
Court looked to the sky, to the rough water around him. “We’d have spotted a foot follow. They must be using ISR, and there’s no way they’re running ISR in this weather. We’re clear…for now.”
Court saw a small beachside villa up ahead, lights on the shoreline and twinkling up a jungled hill.
Zoya said, “Santa Catarina Palopó. It’s a little nothing town, but they’ll have transpo out of here.”
He turned the wheel and cut his power a little. “We’ll land, find a chicken bus going anywhere, then make our way back to Guatemala City.”
As they neared the shore, Zoya squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry I put us in danger.”
But Court shook his head, his eyes still looking out beyond the bow. “We’ve talked about this before. Who we are…what we’ve done. By being together, we both put each other in danger, and we agreed to accept the risks.”
He added, “Just promise me next time you will tell me what’s going on, whatever the fallout.”
She nodded adamantly. “I promise. Again…I’m sorry.”
“And I promise not to be such an ass.” The adrenaline was leaving Court’s body, as was his half-day-long tension with Zoya.
He turned back to her. With an incredulous look on his face, he said, “You pointed an empty gun to draw fire away from me.”
She looked into his eyes but said nothing.
“I just want you to know…and I mean this from the bottom of my heart. That was stupid as shit.”
Zoya laughed now, the tension finally cut.
Court smiled, too. “You can officially stop apologizing and start gloating on what a badass you are.”
She smiled wider, but the stress remained evident on her face.
She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and then he focused his attention on beaching the boat while Zoya went to the rear deck to put her backpack on.
TWELVE
The Victorian gothic façade of the Randolph Hotel in the city of Oxford, England, loomed large over Beaumont Street and reflected against the crystal black surface of the massive Mercedes Sprinter van as it pulled up to the portico in front of the door. The vehicle came to rest and a driver in a gray flannel suit climbed out and stepped around the van to the sliding door, which had already begun opening on its own with a gentle hiss. A side step extended out from just below the body of the vehicle, reaching out to the sidewalk, and the driver glanced inside to make sure everything was ready for the VIP and his entourage.
This Sprinter model was called Jet on Road, and it was no mystery as to why. Four leather cabin chairs in the front, a three-seat leather sofa in the rear, flat-screen TVs, tray tables, even champagne flutes hanging in a small wet bar area.
The driver’s and front passenger seats were shielded from the cabin by a partition with a window, its plastic shade drawn. The entire ceiling of the Sprinter was a grid of LCD panels, now giving off a soft blue light, and alpha wave music swept softly through the cabin like a breeze.
Everything appeared to be in order, so the driver turned back towards the portico and spoke into his cuff mic.
“We’re clear.”
Seconds later a small crowd emerged on the red-carpeted steps under the portico, and they moved with purpose towards the van, less than ten meters away.
There were nine in the entourage in all—one woman, eight men—and one of the men walked in the center of the cluster, while two men in black suits holding what appeared to be briefcases flanked him at his shoulders.
Another individual in black walked just ahead of him, and two more just behind, and it was clear to all that these five members of the entourage were the detail protecting a principal.
Two other men walked ahead of this scrum, one in a dapper gray suit and the second in a rumpled brown suit.
The lone woman in the group, an Asian in her thirties, lagged behind the rest, pulling a rolling duffel and slinging both a purse and a leather folio. She seemed all but forgotten by the men, and she appeared somewhat flustered and rushed.
