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Cohen had been in Spain for a week, and Winthrop gave me a list of places to check out. I was supposed to assess him to see if he would be a good fit for GEM Securities.
I found him at the third spot on the list, sat at the Café, and began my assessment.
To be honest, I wasn’t prepared to see the man in person. His situation hit a bit too close to home, and I wasn’t ready for the anger it brought forth. I had to stomp on it to keep my shit together and successfully complete this mission.
Angel Cohen was what I would have become if Asheron Aslanov hadn’t saved my sister. A hard, dangerously obsessed animal.
I could see it in the calm and collected way he went about his day, how he drank his coffee automatically, and stared at no one.
There was an absence of life in his movements, like he was completely detached from his surroundings and didn’t care about anything. Even the people around him felt the strange vibe he was sending off and giving him a wide berth.
I watch as he politely thanked the waitress and got up. Two seconds later, I put a couple of euros on the table and did the same.
I followed him from a safe distance as he left the café and meandered into the street. When a passerby cut into my path, I cursed when I lost sight of him, and quickly backtracked toward the corner where I saw him last.
The attack was quick and fast. I protected my stomach when he rammed into me, and we pushed and pulled to gain control.
By some random twist of faith, the man made a mistake when he went at me and leaned a bit too far to the right. This gave me just enough leeway to slip under him and lock his upper body to avoid his attacks.
Thankfully, I have the strength of two men, because the fucker fought back, and something told me I’d find out why he was called the Angel of Death the minute he slipped out of my hold.
“Easy, friend. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just wanna talk to you, all right?”
“You could have fooled me. Why are you following me, motherfucker?”
“My name is Eric Winslow. I’m a United States Navy SEAL Officer.”
“And why should this matter to me?”
“I have an offer for you, Mr.Cohen.”
“Not interested.”
“I think it will, but to show it to you, I need my phone.”
The man stayed silent and went for his gun the minute I released him.
“Easy, don’t do anything stupid now,” I told him with my hands up.
“If I see anything that remotely looks like a weapon, you’re a dead man, understood?”
I nodded and slowly pulled out my phone.
“See? I’m just going to make a call,” I told him as I dialed Gabe’s number.
“Winthrop.”
“Are you by yourself?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Turn on your camera. I have Angel Cohen with me.”
“And I’m gathering things are going well?”
“Just dandy.” A blond man appeared on the other line, and I turned my phone toward the Israeli.
“Hello Mr.Cohen. My name is Gabriel Winthrop.”
