Your plan is approved. Proceed to Valencia.
She had expected to hear back from Operations sooner. She’d submitted her idea almost twenty-four hours ago. Now, to make it in time for her concert in Budapest, she’d have to hurry. But that was fine. She had an idea how to expedite the mission. She’d put Verena to good use.
The small studio apartment she’d rented for two nights through a house-exchange app was located above a ceramic shop in Santa Eulària, a small town on the southeastern coast of Ibiza. There was no air-conditioning in the unit, only a ceiling fan that was stuck on the lowest setting. A table and two chairs were by the kitchenette, and a drying rack leaned against the wall by the balcony door. For the last two nights, Mia had slept in the folding cot that was wedged in one corner of the room. The cot had barely been wide enough for a child, but Mia didn’t care. She had slept like a baby.
Verena stirred under the thin linen sheet. Mia studied her. She thought the other woman looked younger in her sleep, almost innocent. It was hardto believe she’d killed a cop and helped Mia sabotage a multimillion-euro yacht. Mia had seen Verena as deadweight when she’d first boarded theVeloce. But, contrary to that useless skipper Justin Burton, Verena had fought back. Mia had seen the shift in her. Verena hadn’t just accepted the danger, she’d embraced it. Maybe she’d understood the stakes, or maybe she had simply nothing left to lose. Either way, Mia could work with that.
She stood from the bed and padded across the tile floor, opening drawers in the dresser by the small bathroom. They had spent the previous day shopping around town, and while Mia’s primary objective had been to acquire a pistol, they’d also bought several pieces of high-end designer clothes that would fit today’s mission. Mia tossed a few pieces onto the bed. She headed for the kitchenette, started the coffee machine, and rummaged through the cabinets. She found a tin of oatmeal that was still sealed. They had eaten out the day before, but today’s tight schedule wouldn’t allow them to repeat the experience. The oatmeal would have to be good enough. She boiled water and poured it over the oats in two bowls. As steam rose from them, she crossed the room.
“Time to get up,” Mia said, placing a hand on Verena’s shoulder.
Verena flinched awake, blinking at her. There was a second—just one, though—where Mia saw Verena’s fear and confusion. Then Verena relaxed, her gaze steadying on Mia’s face. Wordlessly, she pushed herself upright.
Five minutes later, they sat at the dining table, their knees almost touching. Mia took a spoonful of oatmeal and said, “Eat fast. We’re going to Valencia.”
They ate in silence for a minute. Then Verena set her spoon down.
“How will we get to Valencia?” she asked.
“By helicopter,” Mia replied, checking the time on her watch. “And we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Is that a problem? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying?”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Then get ready,” Mia said, getting up. “Expensive yachts like theVelocejust don’t vanish off the face of the earth. So, sometime today, or tomorrow at the latest, someone will start panicking. And I want to deal with the broker before anyone figures out what happened to the yacht.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Istanbul, Turkey
Caspian knew the safe house was bugged. It belonged to the CIA, after all. But at the moment, he didn’t care. He was grateful for the shelter. The apartment was on the third floor of a four-story, white-colored building along Günesli Sok, a secondary street in the Cihangir neighborhood of the Beyoglu district of Istanbul.
They’d ditched the motorcycle about half a mile away, locking the steering but leaving the keys in the ignition. Caspian had no doubt it had already been stolen and, if they were lucky, was either stripped down for parts or already parked in some underground lot waiting to be sold on the black market.
The news had covered the airport incident briefly, thirty seconds at most. Caspian had tried multiple channels, but nothing else had come up. Online, there were no headlines and, even better, no images. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t have to be careful. Istanbul’s surveillance network was dense, with thousands of CCTV cameras located across the city. From where they had left the bike, Ranger had directed them on a route that avoided known cameras, and she’d even sent them a marked-up map of blind zones, but it wouldn’t help if they had to leave the safe house in a hurry.
He and Liesel had taken turns sleeping. While one got some shut-eye time, the other kept watch on the grainy video feed streaming fromthe two miniature cameras mounted discreetly across the street. The interior of the safe house was sparse, but it was functional. The fridge was stocked with sodas and bottled water, and the shower had decent water pressure. In one of the cabinets of the tiny galley-style kitchen, Caspian had found cereal boxes and canned beans. Even better, Liesel had discovered travel-size toothbrushes and toothpaste under the sink and had declared it a minor miracle.
He was about to open the last can of beans when his phone vibrated. It was a message from Ranger.
Call me. I’ve worked out an egress route for you and Liesel.
He turned toward Liesel, who was sitting cross-legged near the window, sorting through the map on her phone. He held up his phone and gestured for her to follow him to the bathroom. Caspian closed the door and turned on the shower and the faucet.
He dialed Ranger.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“You ever tried cereal and beans in the same bowl?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. What’ve you got?”
“Sending you a location now. It’s an underground parking garage beneath the Grand Hyatt. It’s not too far from where you are, but it’s still a thirty-minute walk or so.”
