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taken on an agitated tone.
Villaume kept his own tone even. “I will not take my team into a situation without more information. If you refuse, we’ll get off this plane when we land in Colorado Springs and take the first plane back to Washington.”
Cameron didn’t like that idea at all. “For Christ sake, Gus, if I thought this thing was going to be messy, I would have called Duser.”
Villaume looked over at his two team members for a brief second. The reference to Jeff Duser had got their attention. Duser was a former U.S. Marine who had been court-martialed and run out of the Corps for a list of offenses too long to recap. A decade later, the sadist was well into his thirties but seemed mentally still stuck in his teens. He and his crew of pumped-up cronies were about as subtle as a sledgehammer. How he had ended up in this line of work Villaume had yet to figure out, but he had a good idea that the man sitting across from him had something to do with it. Duser was not well respected by other freelancers. As a general rule, contracts were to be carried out in as quiet a manner as possible. If possible, a hit should be made to look like a suicide, or, given the right situation, the body should simply disappear.
“Maybe you should call Duser…that way, you can guarantee front-page coverage in Sunday’s Denver Post.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Peter, if you need me to explain that to you”—Villaume shook his head—“you should find a new line of work.”
“Hey, Duser and his boys get results.”
“And headlines.”
“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you, Gus. This job is a cakewalk. Maybe you’re getting too old for this.”
Villaume kept his stare focused on Cameron’s dark pupils. At fifty-two, he had lost very little, and what was gone in terms of physical ability he had more than made up for in increased knowledge and instinct. And at this moment, his instincts were telling him that Cameron was lying. Villaume had learned long ago that in this line of work, you should use great caution before you threaten another business associate. Once that hand was shown, there was no taking it back, and it often forced the other person to make plans of his or her own. It was clear that Cameron was a man who could not be trusted. The Frog did not like it, but it was time to raise the ante.
“I will ask this question one last time. If you don’t give me an answer, our participation in this mission is over. If you spread any false rumors about why we backed out, I will have Mario pay you a visit.” Villaume glanced over at the large man sitting on the other side of the aisle. He had one continuous eyebrow that ran across an incredibly large head attached to a neck and body that weren’t any smaller.
Cameron squirmed in his seat and looked over at Mario Lukas. The man gave him the creeps. Half Frankenstein, half Baby Huey, he followed Villaume as if he were the second coming. Cameron had no doubt he would be dead within seconds of Villaume giving the word. Cameron decided it wasn’t a good idea to fight this particular battle. Villaume and his people could be dealt with later.
As if this was all a giant waste of time, Cameron asked, “What would you like to know?”
Villaume responded with a fake smile. “Are they cops?”
“No.”
“Do they have any military experience?”
Cameron paused. “Yes.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“Which branch?”
There was more hesitation on Cameron’s part. “Army.”
“Any Special Forces training?”
“I can’t get into that.”
Villaume scoffed. “The hell you can’t.”
“I’ve given you all of the information you need.” Cameron held up his sat phone. “If you want out, tell me right now, and I’ll call Duser.”
Villaume studied him. He had little doubt that Cameron was full of it. This whole thing was a rush job. Calling his bluff, he said, “Go ahead. Call him.”
Cameron looked at the phone for a moment and then swore under his breath. “Fine, Gus.” He shifted in his seat, saying, “God, you’re a pain in the ass sometimes.” Throwing his arms up in surrender, he said, “Ask away.”
Cameron’s slithery ways had Villaume’s antenna way up. “Peter, I have been doing this for almost thirty years, and the only thing that has kept me alive is my thoroughness. Jerk my chain one more time, try to bluff me like you just did with that threatened phone call, or God forbid you’re dumb enough to withhold information from me…like the fact that these two have spent time at Fort Bragg.” Villaume shook his head, and the hawk eyes burrowed in on the plump Cameron. Pointing at the Professor, he said, “You might end up in a tragic accident with that brand-new car of yours.”
THE FORD EXPLORER raced across the cement tarmac of the Essex Skypark and pulled up alongside the Learjet. The driver was in a hurry. Kevin Hackett had called to tell him a storm front was moving in, and if they wanted to make it to Denver by sundown, they’d better step on it. Scott Coleman lifted the back hatch of the truck and grabbed two metal cases. He ran them over to the plane and handed them to Dan Stroble, one of his former SEAL Team Six members. Coleman went back for a large duffel bag and then parked the truck over by one of the hangars. Running back across the tarmac, he looked at the water of the Back River just east of Baltimore. Whitecaps were starting to form, and the few boats that were out were getting tossed around. The sky to the north was dark. It looked as if they would just make it.
