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“Damn,” Talon muttered, shaking his head.
“Their reach is long,” Gate agreed.
“Scary as fuck,” Tex scoffed. “Remind me not to ever piss you boys off,” he added in the direction of the techno geniuses.
“What are we looking at?” Gate asked.
Stash used a laser pointer to direct attention as he talked. “First of all, we’ve got eyes on the research center. Mostly just watching the comings and goings and putting names with faces. Second, the Judge Hawthorne helped us out with a sweet inside shot of Senator Murray’s office at the capitol. He seems to be the closest tied to Freemont. Third is Freemont’s yacht.”
“Bastard,” Tank interrupted.
“True,” Stash allowed. “He’s off the coast of Virginia right now, headed toward Martha’s Vineyard. And then fourth, in the Porsche is the other reason we called you here so early.”
“Tell us what you know about Freemont before we move on,” Gate said.
Stash nodded, “He’s sending out invitations.”
*************************
Nine
Sliding a thick vellum envelope down the table toward Gate, Nine finally spoke, “We got one.”
Talon caught the envelope, inspected it, and then passed it to Gate.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Ryder said. “An invitation to what?”
“The next level,” Nine answered.
“Another party?” Talon asked.
Nine watched for Gate’s reaction to the thought of his wife going undercover again and was impressed when he didn’t find one. If Gate had a problem with it, he didn’t let it show. “We’ve got a couple of weeks to do recon. This one’s in Atlanta.”
“Freemont’s home turf,” Gate mused.
Stash interrupted, “On the note of Freemont, we’ve had a request.”
“From who?” Gate asked, turning Stash’s way.
“Salvatore Mancini, by way of Judge Hawthorne. Seems Mancini’s granddaughter Isabella took off a few months ago when some shit hit the fan in Boston,” Stash said.
“Mancini can’t find her?” Brick asked.
Stash shook his head, “She’s in the wind.”
“What does he need from us?” Gate questioned.
“He wants us to keep our eyes open in case she travels our direction. And if we find her, he wants us to keep her here. Safe. Until he ties up someloose ends,” Stash said with emphasis.
“Brick, you got this?” Gate asked.
And about that time, the split screen converged on the live stream of the Porsche, the video zooming in on a heart shaped face surrounded by blonde curls.
A face Nine had studied every time he’d seen it in Club Monaco. A face he’d dreamed of every night since he’d watched his woman walk out of a diner.
“No,” Nine growled. “She’s mine.”
Epilogue
