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She groaned—more real than fake—as she turned on the pavement and pressed a hand to the hip that would have taken the brunt of impact had it been real.
Albrecht jumped from the driver’s seat and played his role of shocked driver. “The light was green! She jumped in front of me!”
She’d played it close enough for about half the witnesses to agree with him. The other half would believe he was at fault.
None of it would matter in the long run. All that mattered now was the public spectacle.
As planned, Chris was on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Ostensibly the man she was on her way to meet. He came running, dropped to his knees before her. “Diana! Oh my god. Diana. Someone call an ambulance!”
He played his part perfectly.
Academy Award material.
Really, he should have joined Delta Force. Or the CIA.
He knelt beside her, checking her pulse and respiration and even performing rescue breathing as necessary.
First responders came, but the medics who checked her out worked for Raptor. She was loaded in an ambulance and whisked to the nearest hospital, leaving a devastated Chris behind while he and Albrecht were questioned by cops.
The smell of alcohol on Albrecht’s breath and shirt would be enough for him to be arrested, and he’d be safely behind bars until this was over.
Inside the ambulance, Freya pulled off the thick scarf and smiled at Tricia Rooks, a Black Raptor operative who’d played medic in this charade. “My chiropractor is going to be pissed when he hears about this.”
She and Albrecht had practiced the stunt on Raptor’s training track, so she’d landed on that hip a half dozen times today, but during the practice rounds she’d had a foam mat to pad her landing.
“I can’t believe you let that traitor hit you with a car,” Tricia said.
Freya had only met the woman last night, but already she liked her. “Well, I could hardly let Chris do it. Can’t have him getting arrested. And this way, we don’t have to babysit Albrecht anymore.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Diana refreshed her phone. Finally, the vehicle/pedestrian accident one block from the Mayflower was posted as a traffic delay.
Minutes later, Freya texted her that she was in the ambulance.
Albrecht and Chris were arguing on the street now. Albrecht would send the text to his handler to say he’d tapped Diana with a car as she was on her way to meet Chris at the Mayflower. He’d made sure not to hurt her too badly, but she was on her way to the hospital, where they could grab her.
Freya had assured her that she and Albrecht had practiced the maneuver. The guy was a trained SEAL who’d excelled in the driving courses. Freya had been a SAD operator. This was no big deal except for the trusting Albrecht part, but there Albrecht had major incentive to cooperate. The difference between a few years in prison versus a life sentence.
Albrecht had been stone-cold sober while driving, but he’d been doused in whiskey just before getting behind the wheel to ensure he’d be taken into police custody. He’d agreed to that because he’d known he’d be safer in custody until Rafiq was caught.
When he faced prosecution for treason, Chris and Rand would provide sworn statements detailing how he’d assisted in capturing Rafiq in the end along with statements that they believed he’d been ignorant of Jamal’s identity and that it was the young man who’d planted the bomb.
Albrecht had served his purpose. Now, they just needed to capture Rafiq.
Diana watched the entrance to the Mayflower from a coffee shop across the street. She wore a scarf over her head and kept her face averted from the other customers, but no one paid attention to her as she appeared engrossed with her phone.
The car she was waiting to see pulled up to the valet stand, and Diana took a deep breath, tucking her head down even though there was no way Mason could see her as he handed the keys to his vintage car to the valet.
After he was inside the hotel, she rose from her seat and left the coffee shop. She crossed to the valet garage on the side street and entered. The garage next door was the cheaper, non-valet option, and, if needed, she’d claim to be looking for her car and say she lost her ticket.
But there was no one in the entrance area as everyone must be off parking cars on the lower level. She tucked herself into an alcove when she heard an engine and again when she heard the footsteps of the returning valet. He stopped in the office kiosk and deposited the key, then left the garage to return to the valet stand.
She went to the lower level and gave a quick prayer of thanks that Mason’s car was in one of the darker corners.
She approached Mason’s beloved car with trepidation. They were lucky that it was a classic vehicle that was revered by collectors, because it meant photos of the car—right down to the trunk—could be found all over the internet.
The trunk would be small, but at least vintage cars didn’t have car alarms. It was a trade-off. She’d removed the lockpicks from the ankle stabilizer earlier and had them ready. It took her two minutes to pick the lock of the trunk, and she did it with minimal damage to the exterior.
