“Hey. Gustav? Who you talking to?”
The man rolled down his window now. “Look, brother. We’re government security contractors, and we’re on the job right now. We’ve got credentials. Green badges. Just get back in your van there and drive off before you blow our op.”
In the intelligence world, blue badges signified direct federal employees, while green badges meant contract employees.
“What’s your operation?”
“I’m not telling you that, but it’s sure as hell not some low-level ICE bullshit.”
The man holding the flashlight said, “I need both of you to step out, stand next to your buddy here. If it turns out you’re U.S. citizens, then you can go on about your evening.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the blond-haired, blue-eyed passenger said.
“Less talking, ese. Get out of the truck. Manos arribe.”Hands up,the big man claiming to be an ICE agent said, shining his bright light in the man’s eyes.
—
In the building across the street, Spiral did not know what the hell was going on down below, but he wasn’t about to bail on his mission because his support crew had been stopped by police. He began hurrying up theback stairs of the Carriage House. He’d need to find a new extraction after the fact, but he wasn’t worried about that. In Europe he’d been on his own almost all the time, and frankly, his support team here in America had done little more than get in his way.
He passed the seventh floor, heading for the eighth, taking the steps two at a time.
—
Court Gentry ran up the fire stairs of the Ritz-Carlton Residences, passing the fifth floor, taking the steps two at a time. He could hear the activity happening at ground level through his earpiece, both Travers and Hightower making police-like stops on the men down there, and although it was a risky move, Court liked Hightower’s thinking. He was trying to impede the support team, giving them something to worry about, and he was sure that the assassin moving towards Irene in the building next to this one would be aware that the two vehicles below were in danger of being exposed.
Court himself had been a contract killer, however, and he doubted the man the CIA called Deep Space would just call off his mission this close to his target. There had already been at least three other killings of intelligence community employees in the past hour, and Deep Space would know that breaking off from his objective now would just make it that much harder to pick her back up again in the future.
Ortega would go to ground, Ortega would get protection, Ortega would disappear.
It was now or never for Deep Space, which meant Court had to haul ass.
Ortega was on the eighth floor of the Carriage House, but Court’s plan now was to head to the ninth floor of the Ritz-Carlton Residences, so he still had a lot of climbing to do.
He shot up the stairs, praying the assassin next door had been distracted enough by the commotion below to give Court’s plan half a chance.
—
Jill Mori had been holding her phone to her ear, but she tapped it on speaker now and continued looking at the screens showing her IreneOrtega just standing there in her living room, wearing socks, yoga tights, and a sweater.
Jill had called her name multiple times, but she had not reacted. Now the young Asian American woman shouted. “Move your butt, lady!” Jill pleaded. “He’s going to kill you!”
Irene finally responded. “Gauntlet? Someone from Gauntlet?”
Before she could answer, Jill saw movement on the laptop screen on the far right-hand side of the dining room table. It showed several camera views from inside the building, and one of them displayed a real-time image of a man coming out of the stairwell on the eighth floor, wearing a high-quality latex mask. He looked left and right, then began heading up the well-lit hall, walking purposefully in the direction of Ortega’s condominium.
Jill said into the phone, panic welling in her voice. “It’s too late, he’s in the hallway.”
Hanley spoke into the speakerphone now. “Irene. Get into the bathroom off the bedroom. Lock the door. Help will be there soon, but you have to barricade yourself.”
Irene began moving. Jill threw her hands in the air in frustration; it had taken the woman nearly half a minute to respond, after all.
Over the network, Hanley said, “Six, she’s heading into the bathroom off the bedroom. Be advised, that bedroom is the closest window to the balcony of the Ritz, only about six feet away. If you can figure out a way to get to that window, you can breach at the bathroom.”
Jill spoke with incredulity now. “Onlysix feet? It’s eight stories up. How’s he going to—”
Hanley spoke over her, calling to Arnold Reyes, who was watching Irene’s apartment through the bedroom window. “Bricklayer, we’re going to collapse this position. Gumdrop and I are going to stay at our stations until we’re clear here; the rest is up to you.”
“Understood.” Arnold began rushing around the suite, cramming binoculars and tripods into cases.
