After dinner, Annabelle had announced she would order an Uber for both of them. Devon had driven them to the restaurant, but Annabelle pointed out that he had consumed far too much alcohol to get behind the wheel. He protested briefly, saying he would be fine, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was too risky, and since he had paid for dinner, she wouldn’t allow him to pay for the ride. It was the least she could do, she said.
Minutes later, the Uber arrived, a black SUV. At the time, it had seemed odd that she had ordered such a large vehicle, but he didn’t argue. It was obvious she wanted them to ride in comfort.
Devon found it hard to recall exactly what happened after they climbed in. He remembered making small talk for a few minutes, and he also remembered having a strange sense that they were traveling in the wrong direction. That was when things went downhill. When Devon leaned forward to question the driver about their route, a bag was pulled over his head. Looking back, Devon realized someone had been hiding in the space behind the back seat. As he struggled to free himself, he felt a sting in his bicep, and his world went dark.
What made his situation even worse was that Devon had almost no friends. It was also a very slow time for his accounting business. He wondered if anyone would even know he was missing.
A hard thump drew Devon out of his thoughts. They had arrived in the basement.
“Go,” the larger guard shouted, shoving him forward.
Devon walked down the corridor until the guard stopped him. Devon heard the tap of buttons on a keypad followed by a beep. There was a loud click as one of the guards opened the door to the cell. Once they guided him inside, his blindfold was removed. Devon blinked in the dim light. The smaller guard stood next to him while the larger guard watched from the door.
“Get over there.” With his rifle, the smaller guard pointed toward the bed.
Devon knew the routine. After sitting on the bed, the larger guard would hold a rifle to his head while the other one removed his cuffs. Both guards would then leave him locked in the room.
After the smaller guard pulled off the restraints, Devon looked at him and said, “Please, tell them I don’t know anything.”
The larger guard stepped forward. “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.”
Devon turned in his direction. “Look, this is all pointless. I have no idea where he—”
The larger guard smashed the stock of his rifle across Devon’s face, knocking him to the floor. Luckily, it was the other side of his head from the one that had been injured in the fall.
The smaller guard stood over him. “Don’t you ever speak unless you’re spoken to.”
“Please,” Devon said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t seen him in—”
A booted foot found his stomach. Devon howled in pain as he drew his knees to his chest, bracing for another blow. It never came. Instead, the guards chuckled as they exited the cell and closed the iron-barred door. The larger guard walked off, while the smaller man stepped over to the keypad to re-engage the lock.
Devon groaned loudly.
“Quit whining, you little pansy,” the smaller guard said.
Writhing on the floor, Devon turned his head and stared through the iron bars. His little ruse had put him in a place where he could see the mirror across the hall. He continued to groan as he used the mirror to watch the man punch in the code. A few seconds later, there was a loud click as the locking mechanism engaged.
Still groaning, Devon closed his eyes and listened to the guard retreat down the hall. Once the two men boarded the elevator, Devon stopped groaning and wiggled over until he could sit up against the bed.
After taking a deep breath, he whispered out the series of digits: “Seven, three, five, seven, four, nine. Seven, three, five, seven, four, nine. Seven, three, five, seven, four, nine.”
An accountant, he had a savant-like ability to remember numbers.
And now, that quirky trait just might save his life.
CHAPTER NINE
THE TEXT CHIMED on Carmen’s burner phone about an hour after the train left the station in Bern. The contact — who went by the name Markovic — said he and his partner had just unloaded their belongings and were ready to meet with her in the restaurant car. Everything in the text was a lie. The group had boarded the train in Paris, and there were at least a half dozen of them. Markovic was the same name that had appeared on the manifest. And since false identities were used, that meant the name was false as well.
But the man’s identity didn’t matter. He was a low-level foot soldier sent to make a deal with Victoria Lind. The real questions related to who was behind it all and why they wanted to speak to an NSA employee.
After putting the phone away, Carmen reentered the cabin’s tiny bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. Over the last few minutes, she had made two changes that had transformed her appearance: she had removed the blond wig, and she had also affixed a large faux mole to her left cheek. She now bore a striking resemblance to the real Victoria Lind.
Carmen’s phone chirped. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was Markovic again. He wanted her to know they were in the restaurant, and he gave her the location of their table. His wording betrayed irritation that she wasn’t already there.
“You’ll get over it,” Carmen muttered.
She was ready to leave, but it wouldn’t hurt to make them wait a bit longer. She had always found that an irritated opponent always gave her an edge.
Before leaving, she used the compact to type a message to Delphi operative Zane Watson, letting him know she was leaving her cabin. Zane was already in Bellinzona, the train’s next stop. He would pick her up when she disembarked, and he was also there to provide support if necessary.
After transmitting the message, Carmen put on her leather jacket and left the cabin. It took her six minutes to reach the restaurant. Upon entering, she looked toward the booths along the right wall. As her gaze moved down the line of seats, a hand lifted in the air, drawing her attention. Markovic. He and another man were sitting next to each other on the far side of the booth.
As she walked in their direction, Carmen surveyed the diners. She didn’t see the blonde from the night before. Carmen had spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out who she was. The woman was clearly conducting surveillance on the men who occupied the suite, the same ones Carmen was meeting with now. It was possible she represented a competing organization that was after the same information. It was also possible she represented a foreign government that was investigating the group.
As Carmen continued to scan the room, she saw three men sitting at a table on the other side. Two of them had been in the bar the night before. The third appeared to be the tall man she had encountered in the suite. She wanted to get a better look at him, but it would have to wait. Staring at him now might arouse suspicion.
Upon arriving at the booth, Carmen noted Markovic’s appearance. She guessed he was in his late thirties. His jet-black hair was combed straight back with gel. He had long sideburns and sharp features, including an aquiline nose. The man sitting next to him was younger. Carmen guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a round face, and his hairstyle was one currently popular among young men: shaved close on both sides and longer on top. Both men were wearing dark turtleneck shirts. Carmen smiled to herself. Their clothing almost looked like uniforms.