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They also had detailed information about the planned event that would link the interests of Amjad and Cyrus. Most of the data came from the Qarami Freedom Fighters. Their leaders had been advisors to Annie’s father; their rank and file had been loyal to him. They were eager to see their false king stand trial on a public stage so they could then implement the democracy Annie’s father had intended.
From them, they learned that Annie’s suite was on the second floor. So was her uncle’s. A long corridor and a couple of turns separated one set of rooms from the other.
Both suites were protected by members of Cyrus’s private guard. STUD One would deal with them. The Freedom Fighters would take care of the guards not on duty.
Amjad would have the so-called Imperial Suite on the same floor, guarded by his own men. STUD One would take them out too. The Freedom Fighters would deal with the others.
The best news was a drawing that showed an underground tunnel leading from an ancient fort to a door in what looked like an unused part of the basement. The service stairs were maybe fifty feet away.
“Not gonna be too many people going up and down to the basement that hour of the night,” Alex said.
“The tunnel’s probably an old escape route,” Dec said. He stabbed his finger at the sketch. “That’s how we’ll get in and out.”
“Assuming the entrance is still there and accessible,” Aidan said.
Dec picked up the phone and called Black. Black listened, then picked up his own phone. Two hours later they had an eyes-on confirmation that the entrance, though all but buried behind overgrowth, was there. Could it be accessed?
They’d just have to wait and find out.
Other data came from social media.
“Amazing,” Romano said, “the stuff people put online.”
For instance, Amjad had posted a snapshot of himself grinning and cradling an automatic rifle under the caption Happy Surprises Coming.
“What an asshole,” Maguire said.
“He’s right, though,” Dec said with grim certainty. “He sure as hell has surprises coming.”
Not all of what they needed was out there, but there was enough so that you could play connect-the-dots and come up with valid information.
The plan was to get in fast, neutralize Cyrus and hand him over to the Freedom Fighters, grab Amjad, truss him up like a chicken ready for the barbecue, then get Annie. They’d go out the way they came in—through the tunnel—and once they were back on the Black Hawk, the Freedom Fighters would get the signal that they could move ahead with their own plans for Cyrus, for his thugs, and for Amjad’s crew of killers.
STUD One worked around the clock, taking breaks only to work out in the training room or run on the beach. That kept them in shape, mentally as well as physically. They grabbed sleep in short doses and ate seated around a conference table in a room that adjoined Black’s office, surrounded by computers, printers, piles of paper, and empty fast food containers.
Finally, they sat back, yawned, stretched, and agreed they had everything they could get.
Sullivan nodded. “We’ve gone in with less.”
Yes. They sure as hell had.
The last thing to nail down was how to make sure Cyrus was still in his rooms when STUD One came through the tunnel.
After some back and forth, it was agreed that Cyrus—Uncle Shit, as STUD One had dubbed him—would discover a button missing from his tuxedo jacket right before it was time to leave his suite and meet with Amjad.
It turned out that Uncle Shit wasn’t only a villainous bastard; he was a stickler for sartorial perfection.
His valet would have to make a repair.
The valet, of course, was a member of the opposition and the guy who would rip off the button in the first place.
“Nice,” Romano said.
The embassy was alerted that something was going down, but they weren’t given details. It was the old Navy adage in play: Loose lips sink ships. Security had been beefed up, and the ambassador and his wife were back home in Indiana, still recovering from their ordeal.
So there was agreement all around.
Operation Renegade was a go.
