The first moment of concern came when they reached the intersection with Highway 2, also known as Mordechai Namir Road. Instead of turning south on the highway, Richards turned north. That made no sense because Ben Gurion was in the opposite direction. Noah knew the city well, and there was no alternate route that started by going north. Perhaps the agent was purposely taking a circuitous route to avoid detection. It was also possible he wasn’t familiar with Tel Aviv.
Leaning forward, Noah tapped the glass. The agent didn’t react. Can he not hear the sound, or is he just ignoring it? Noah rapped again, this time more loudly. Even if the glass was soundproof, there was no way Richards couldn’t hear it.
A chill ran down Noah’s spine. Nothing about the last fifteen minutes matched the CIA’s plan. Not only had the agent arrived two hours early, but he had also come alone. Then there was Richards’s insistence that Noah give up his phone.
His heart pounding, Noah balled his fists and pounded on the glass.
A few seconds later, the agent turned and met Noah’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
Smiling, he lifted a finger to his lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ZANE LED THE three-man team up the forested slope at just after four in the afternoon. Ideally, he would have preferred to move in under the cover of darkness, which would allow them to use night vision and thermal-imaging equipment. That setup always gave them an advantage over private security teams. Unfortunately, waiting wasn’t an option, and that was because Carmen was in a precarious position. She had not confirmed an acceptance of the offer for giving Noah Lind’s location, nor had any money been wired into the fake checking account. Something had gone wrong, and that required an immediate response.
Walking to Zane’s right was his second-in-command, James “Bull” Pratt, a tall, lanky former US Army Ranger who was born and raised in Valdosta, Georgia. Pratt was known for his thick Georgia accent, his outgoing personality, and his seemingly endless supply of Southern colloquialisms. The nickname Bull came from Pratt’s aggressive style in the field. He had a penchant for charging into danger with little regard for consequences. Many were critical of his bull-like style, but Zane always defended the former US Army Ranger by pointing to his success rate in the field, something that was the result of the man’s keen instincts. But even though he defended Pratt, there were also times where Zane had to rein him in.
The other Delphi operative was Doug Mortensen. An unlit White Owl cigar with a plastic tip dangled from his mouth. It was his trademark, and his fellow operatives often joked that there were only three times it came out of his mouth: when he was eating, drinking, or kissing his girlfriend. An American of Danish descent, Mortensen was the opposite of Pratt — he was quiet and cerebral with a dry sense of humor. He stood just over six feet tall, and his body looked like it had been chiseled out of rock. After a short stint in the US Army, Mortensen had obtained a four-year degree in chemistry. But firearms were always his first love, and instead of finding a job in private industry, he had gone on the professional shooters’ tour. Zane could count on one hand the number of people who could fire a pistol or rifle as well or better than himself — Mortensen was one of them.
Their ascent was slow and methodical. They had already run into several trip wires, which needed to be negotiated carefully. While he was pleased that they had managed to detect all of the security mechanisms thus far, Zane was still concerned about the possibility of trail cameras. Those were almost impossible to spot if they were hidden properly.
Brehmer’s compound was located on a mountaintop plateau, one that was well suited to keep out those who might want to approach without permission. Based on their brief research the night before, Zane had determined that there was only one route in, and that was from the south. The north, east, and west were virtually impossible to navigate without climbing equipment.
Once they reached the rim overlooking the plateau, the team would perform a detailed analysis of all the buildings and the grounds. They would go in at dusk to bring Carmen out. The only thing that would cause them to back off would be a message from Carmen telling them to stand down. Even then, Zane wasn’t sure he would hold back.
An elbow poking into his arm pulled Zane out of his thoughts.
“Look.” Mortensen pointed ahead.
Zane saw Pratt standing about fifty yards up the slope. As they neared the mountaintop, the tall Southerner had gone ahead to scout. As Zane watched, Pratt held a finger to his lips, indicating they should approach in silence.
When they arrived at the top, Pratt whispered, “Follow me.”
After the two fell in behind him, Pratt led them along a narrow animal trail. A half minute later, the trees thinned out to reveal a large rock ledge. Before stepping out onto the ledge, Pratt dropped onto his belly and gestured for them to do the same. Once they were prone, Pratt led them across the rocky surface to the edge. After wiggling into place, Zane looked down the slope. In the distance was the plateau they had noted on satellite maps. Brehmer’s estate occupied a large clear-cut area at the center of the plateau. It was only about a half mile away, which meant they could approach with ease once darkness fell.
Zane studied the layout. A massive mansion was surrounded by several other buildings.
Pratt made a little noise to get their attention then pointed at a spot about midway down the slope. There was a small clearing in the trees, but Zane couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“What?” Mortensen asked after removing his unlit cigar.
“In the trees… on the far side of that clearing.”
“I see them now,” Mortensen whispered.
Zane looked again and saw what they were referring to. In the shadows of the trees, he saw the faint red glow of a cigarette. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and trained them on the spot. Two men dressed in black were facing one another. Both leaned back on trunks as they talked and smoked.
“Their crack security team is taking a smoke break,” Pratt whispered.
Mortensen smiled. “At least they’re under the trees.”
Pratt pointed. “Must have been a short one. They’re moving out.”
The two emerged from the trees and crossed the open space. The man on the left carried a matte black semi-automatic rifle. From this distance, it looked like an AR-15 or HK 416. A pistol was tucked into his side holster.
“They may not be professionals, but they are well armed,” Zane said as the men disappeared into the trees on the other side of the clearing.
“Let’s just hope there aren’t any others out there watching us,” Mortensen said.
“We’re on higher ground,” Pratt answered. “As long as we keep a low profile, I think we’re fine. Something tells me they don’t come up here.”
Mortensen looked at Zane. “Any word from CP?” he asked, using Carmen’s initials.
Zane pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. The only message was from Ross, letting them know that a deposit still hadn’t been made to the checking account.
“Nothing.” Zane slid the phone into his pocket.
“Not good,” Pratt said.
Although Zane didn’t like to think about it, he knew Pratt was right. It was obvious something had gone horribly wrong. The money hadn’t been deposited into the account, nor had Carmen been in touch. Zane supposed she might still be negotiating, but his gut told him that was wishful thinking. Somehow, she had been exposed.
Mortensen looked at Zane. “What now?”
“We wait until dusk, then we go in just as we planned.”