He mixed in with some of the other people and made his way back out into the hot sunlight, sure to slip his sunglasses on to help keep from being too identifiable or memorable.
As hotel concierges ushered people through the exits and to the front of the building, Sean picked up his pace, slipping through the mass of bodies and trying not to bump anyone with the rucksack that held his weapons. People gawked at the flaming car that was now being tended to by firemen from the local department. Two police cars zoomed by with sirens screaming, which caused more than one person to cover their ears.
The people were herded toward the north, down the sidewalk away from the building. It was an international standard protocol in case of a fire evacuation, and one that Sean was happy to take advantage of.
A man in a white jacket with a hotel name tag attached to the left breast held up a sign that told everyone where to rally for the evacuation. Sean allowed some of the patrons to start collecting in a huddle around the man and then kept walking down the strip.
He never glanced back. He didn't need to. No one would recognize him or even remember that they'd seen an American in sunglasses with a backpack and a second bag. Why would they? They were too enthralled by the roiling black smoke pouring from the car.
Somehow, Dufort had got wind of his presence, something that now nagged at Sean's mind. The Frenchman had got away from him twice. Maybe the time away from the agency had made Sean rusty. To him, that only meant he would have to train harder.
As he strolled down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for the next taxi, he heard the phone ringing in his pocket. Odd timing for a phone call.
He pulled it out and glanced at the name. It was Emily. He hit the talk button and put the device to his ear, hoping she wasn't calling about Dufort. She had connections everywhere, but no way had she already heard about his mark getting away.
"Hello, Em," he said, turning his head toward the ocean, squinting into the bright sunlight. A group of Asian tourists was on the other side of the road pointing at the hotel where smoke continued to pour into the clear blue sky.
"I'm sorry to bother you on your vacation, Zero, but I need you to come in."
He laughed at her insinuation. "I wish I was on vacation."
Another fire engine whined in the distance. "What's that noise?" she asked. "Do I even want to know?"
"Dufort got away. Pretty sure he tried to blow me up. All he managed to do was make a wreck of my very nice rental."
"He got away?"
"I'm fine, though. Thanks for asking."
"I figured you would have dispatched him two days ago."
"These things take time, Em," he said coolly and stole a quick glance back at the chaos as he turned down a side street, effectively disappearing from view.
"Well, you'll have to pursue him later."
"I plan on it. What's so pressing that you would have pulled me off him?"
"Order from the president. Get to Frankfurt. Let me know when you arrive. I'll pick you up and brief you there."
The phone went dead, and he looked down at the screen. She'd ended the call without much fanfare. Her directness was one of the things Sean liked best about Emily.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It seemed like every part of his body was hurting. Now he was heading to Germany and had no idea why.
An old, beat up Toyota rounded the corner. The words in Arabic on the side indicated it was a cab. Sean held up his hand and waved to the driver.
Back in the game, he thought, pushing away a twinge of regret. He got in the car and told the driver where to go. The man nodded and sped away, leaving the chaos behind to the voyeurs.
3
Adm. Corbett McClain stared across the Resolute desk with tired eyes. The president had called him in earlier that morning while the admiral was still brewing his coffee.
"Less than twenty hours ago, a terrorist group known as the Black Ring broke into a research facility in Lucerne, Switzerland, and abducted a scientist by the name of Franziska Ott. She's local to the city of Lucerne. According to that report," he pointed at the paper in the president's hands, "she was working on a high-security project that deals with quantum gravity and magnetism."
His sagging eyes, set amid age lines, a high wrinkled forehead, and a broad jaw, told the tale of a man who'd been around the block a few times. The various medals on his uniform gave many of the details to that story. While he didn't know much about the science featured in the report he'd given the commander in chief, he knew enough to realize when something was grave.
President John Dawkins scanned the sheet of paper in his hand. His light-brown hair had streaks of gray in it. The skin on his face had grown looser over the years, but he still had the rugged good looks that endeared him to so many people. It was nearing the end of his first term, though few people believed he would lose a bid for a second. The other party was scrambling to find a sacrificial lamb to throw out into the ring, but it seemed no one was willing to be humiliated by what was sure to be a landslide election. There were, of course, nominations of candidates, but they would see less than forty percent of the votes.
He'd helped bring about a peace between the legislative and executive branches of the United States government, and together they had accomplished more than he'd anticipated. His casual yet stern, no BS way of leading was something others couldn't deny.
For the most part, Dawkins preferred not to get involved with military matters. Men like the admiral were the ones with more experience in those sorts of things. He scrutinized each member of the Joint Chiefs, as well as the rest of his advisers, with a heavy magnifying glass. Having trustworthy people around was one of the things Dawkins valued most.
Admiral McClain had brought in a report that was troubling. A physicist had gone missing in Switzerland. Initially, that might not have been something the United States should have been concerned about. However, the scientist's projects were believed to be high security. Either that meant she was working on something that could be weaponized by enemies, or it represented a significant danger to America or its allies.
The president finished reading the report and laid it on the desk. "You're certain about this?"
"Yes, Mr. President. Our scientists believe that she could have been very close to a breakthrough in that field, as crazy as that may sound." The admiral answered with no emotion, only looking to relay the facts as he saw them.
Dawkins leaned back in his chair. "It's like something out of a science fiction movie, if that information is correct."
"I'm aware of that, sir. But we don't want to mess with these terrorists. The Black Ring is known for upping the ante when it comes to brutality. I fear for what they've already done to Dr. Ott, much less what they will do."
The Black Ring was a European-based terrorist cell. They were hard to track and even more difficult to study because they didn't act like other terrorist groups. While most Islamic militants used various forms of aggression to further their religious war, the Black Ring performed acts for a variety of reasons, some of which were curiously capitalist, despite their clearly communicated disdain for Western economic philosophy.
"What would a bunch of terrorists want with technology like that?" the president asked, staring through the admiral's calculating eyes.
"We're not completely sure. If what that report says is true, some of the theories include cloaking of entire vessels, planes, tanks, pretty much any kind of vehicle. On the furthest end of the spectrum, well, you read the details. The implications are potentially very dangerous."