Page 23 of Black and Brown

Grace eased back against the curved booth, exchanging a knowing look with Mirage.

His partner opened the menu.

There was no food listed.

Today was not a day of rest—it was the start of a harrowing test of their skills, nerves, and ability to conform.

It was confirmation that the Ravens’ personnel extended further than the confines of their headquarters. This was all staged. No wonder no one had blinked at their hoods. But Grace didn’t waste time wondering how many others in the restaurant were working for the director.

Mirage removed the two earpieces taped inside the faux menu and handed one to Grace while he scrutinized the candid photo of a Caucasian man with a messy shoulder-length ponytail, wearing a black suit jacket and a canary-yellow dress shirt with no tie.

He was seated with two other men and surrounded by an entourage of stone-faced bodyguards who all exuded criminality.

He and Mirage put their earpieces in. “Looks like it’s time to impress, gentlemen.”

Spectre’s calm, confident voice echoed through his earpiece.

Grace could hear the swift clacking of keys on a keyboard and papers rattling.

Had their handler also been fooled into thinking he had the day off, only to be thrown in the hot seat?

“I’ve located your positions,” Spectre confirmed. “Your target is David Berkowitz, leader of a drug organization, who’s here one night to receive a shipment of ketamine and cocaine.”

Mirage was scanning the few details listed for them to execute the mission as Grace seared the face of their target into his mind.

“I’m scanning facial recognition software within a twenty-mile radius of your location.”

Before Spectre finished the last word of his sentence, he confirmed, “Got him. He’s at the Blue Lagoon Lounge on the roof of the Prosperity Bank skyscraper thirteen blocks west.”

More papers rustled in Grace’s ear a few seconds before Spectre notified, “Your hardware is on the roof. You’ve got fifteen minutes to climb thirty-three floors and execute the target.”

Mirage set the menu down, and the man with dreads appeared out of nowhere and snatched it off the table.

Grace gave Mirage a hard glare and got out of the booth with Mirage close on his heels as they made their way toward the emergency exit in the back of the restaurant.

He recognized the snick of Mirage flicking a blade from his wrist. Mirage reached around him, his forearm grazing Grace’s waist to cut the wire to disable the alarm a second before Grace threw open the door.

Mirage

Mirage was at Grace’s back where he belonged, watching their six as they sprinted up the stairwell, taking the steps four at a time.

They weren’t even winded when they reached the twenty-ninth floor, keeping the same pace as when they started for the last few floors.

Grace exploded through the rooftop door with both arms extended, holding a Beretta handgun in each hand.

He and Mirage connected their backs and executed a full circle, searching for unwanted company.

Given how the Ravens had set them up, they expected the unexpected.

“You’re clear,” Spectre confirmed as he and Grace hurried and made their way to the west edge of the roof.

Grace squatted and snapped open the case to find a basic-ass M24 rifle.

What the…?

It was a gross downgrade from the accuracy and sophistication of the MK13s or the SAKO 22s he’d been training with for months.

Grace’s stoic demeanor was unchanged, his face a carved mask of stone as he quickly assembled the weapon with the ease one would use to set up a beach chair. He adjusted the low-quality scope and got in position.