Chapter Fourteen

Thorn

Brussels, Belgium

Saturday, Sixteen Twenty-six Hours

Find Juliette – or your country will suffer. We all will.

T horn stared at the message written on the mirror. His reflex was to think that Brigitte was trying to split their forces or pull him off the right trail.

That was surely possible.

Thorn had to assume that the conversation he'd had with Brigitte was compromised. He didn't think that the DGSE had time to wire the room, but who knew? His guess was that she'd have comms open on her phone and that she heard directives from her own set of listening devices in her ear canals. That being true, and he had no doubts about it, she had to find another way to communicate with him. Something that wouldn't be seen or heard by her support team.

If she was trying to pull his mission sideways, she'd just say it. Whisper it in his ear at some point. Support would pick it up and high five her on her subterfuge when she got back to her base. But she'd printed it on the mirror in soap. She'd steamed up the bathroom.

Brigitte would have assumed he'd go in and wash up after having sex.

If this was a ploy, she was a master of her craft.

Thorn jumped under the shower, toweled off, and pulled his clothes back on.

Dressed, Thorn went downstairs and found an empty conference room. He snuck in and sat at the table to pull up an encrypted connection with Panther Force war room.

Nutsbe okayed the connection. "You look like a man who's had some stress relief. You were off line for a long time. She must be a happy woman."

"Did my best. I'm about to send you pictures."

"Seriously, Dude? I'd rather not see you getting your rocks off."

"Dream on." Thorn clicked a couple of keys. "What do you think that is?" He sent the images of the bathroom mirror, opaque with fog except for the message.

"Looks like she soaped you a love note on the bathroom mirror. That's very old-school. You wash it off?"

"Yes, Mom. Here's the question. Why go old-school? We were talking fairly freely. Why didn't she just write it down, or tell me?" He paused. "When she got in my car, you heard her, she knew my name, my affiliation, my hotel, and the driving instructions. That room has got to be under surveillance."

"I have support directed your way," Nutsbe said. "I was just waiting for you to check in with us, so he didn't come a knockin' while you had things a rockin.' They'll sweep the room. And I'm adding it to my to-do list to run a computer search of the amateur porn sites, see if someone tries to make some extra cash on the intel they collected. I hope you were giving it your best effort. I'd hate for you to have embarrassed yourself."

"The quality will depend on the camera angle," Thorn said. "Now, to answer my own question, why would she pass it that way? Answer ? surveillance. Another answer would be that she wanted me to think she was giving me a gift, and she was routing me somewhere she wanted me to go – some kind of smoke and mirrors trick. Well, steam and mirrors, in this case."

"I'll research it and get back to you. You need to go back upstairs. You're about to get a knock on your door. Change into the new clothes support is bringing you. Take the new equipment. I've programmed your route into the texts. I'm taking you off line, and there will be no connection until Honey announces you've arrived at the safe house."

"Affirmative. I'm on it. But can you grab hold of Margot?" Thorn ran through Brigitte's connection with Margot ? all the details that Brigitte had shared.

"This is getting interesting," Nutsbe said. "I'll get on that. You need to move."

***

Upstairs, the sweep team was waiting for Thorn. As they checked the room, Thorn heard their equipment pinging success. He turned to look at the gizmo in the sweeper's fingers. So all that had ended up on a video tape somewhere, hopefully Nutsbe would find it if it hit the web – and hopefully Nutsbe wouldn't use it against him at some future stag party.

Thorn wasn't shy as he stood in the middle of the room ? out of the sweepers' way ? pulling on his new clothes. He hefted the new duffle onto his shoulder. He took his passport and ID and stuck it in the new wallet with the new cash and credit cards and secured them into the pocket of his new jacket. The fit wasn't perfect, but it would do. He pulled up the first text directive: Exit east door.

They had him following a circuitous route through malls and metros, in cabs, and buses. Now, finally, he was hoofing it up a hill where he saw the car Gage had driven when he'd separated from his fellow Panther Force teammates. It was parked on a corner, ready to jump in and go.

The house number he was looking for was half a block down. He jogged up the stairs to the front door, and Gage let him in. Thorn's head turned as he took in the layout of the small townhouse: living room, dining room, kitchen, a set of stairs to the left. Two doors to the right. He opened the first one, coat closet. He turned the knob on the second, it was locked. "Where's Dr. DuBois?" Thorn asked. A flush of the toilet behind the door answered that for him. "How's that going?"

Gage rolled his eyes.

Ah, so the good doctor was non-cooperative and untrustworthy. They'd need to keep a hand on his shoulder. "He been in their long?"

"International flights can do that to you," Gage said wryly.

Thorn made his way into the kitchen where Honey was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. Thorn still hadn't eaten. Was still famished from earlier. He was clapping Honey on the shoulder, when glass breaking in the front of the house had him spinning on his heels.

A brick skittered across the wooden floor in a veil of shards. A black canister flew the same path. "Flashbang!" he yelled as the smoke filled the room. He covered his ears, squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and hunkered down against the wall as the explosive went BOOM !

Even with a second to get himself in position, Thorn was off balance from the assault on his senses. His hand on the wall, he moved past where Gage was throwing a shoulder against the bathroom door, trying to break in and grab hold of DuBois.

Thorn was deaf except for the high pitch shrill of his eardrums. Coughing on the smoke that filled his lungs and made his eyes water, at the end of the hall, Thorn dropped to a knee and reflexively reached for his non-existent gun. Damn it.

Someone was banging a breecher's ram into the front door. But it was reinforced, giving them the time they needed. Every second counted.

Thorn turned to give Gage a hand as he wrangled Dr. DuBois down the hall toward the kitchen. The two of them forced DuBois out the back door.

DuBois was fighting like a madman, wind-milling his arms and refusing to walk. Gage clocked him in the jaw with his famous right hook, and DuBois crumpled to the ground. Thorn caught the guy around the ankles and pressed forward toward the garden gate with Gage struggling backward, holding the man under the arms.

The sound of sirens, swirling their way from the distance, was no comfort. They were, in fact, kidnapping the scientist. No amount of "By contract…" would help them in court, especially if their contractor refused to step forward and reveal their letters.

They passed out of the gate where Honey was pummeling the Tibor guy. So it was the Omega crew that had found the safe house, not Brigitte and the DGSE.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorn saw Honey's lips moving as he yelled. Thorn still wasn't hearing clearly ? his senses still had him reeling from the explosives. But something heavy left Honey's hand and came tumbling through the air in his direction. Thorn's hand shot out and snagged the Glock that Honey must have wrestled from Tibor. With another blow from Honey's massive fist, Tibor was out for the count.

Thorn covered the team while Gage dragged DuBois. They made it to the alley. An old-fashioned car sat rusted and tiny but unlocked at the house next door. Gage shoved DuBois in the back, while Thorn crouched at the driver's side. There, Thorn quickly hotwired what looked like their only means of escape. Honey piled into the front seat just as the engine caught.

They were crammed in like sardines – no, more like a damned clown car, rolling down the hill. Thorn shoved his foot to the floorboard, almost standing on the pedal but the car had no oomph. Thorn thought if it weren't for gravity, they'd be going nowhere. "We need a different strategy," Thorn called over the coughs and wheezing of the engine and the tinnitus that made communication a challenge.

"You were followed?" Gage yelled from the backseat. He held DuBois's head in an armlock to keep him still.

"Hell no, I wasn't followed. What the fuck was he doing in the can that long? Did you take his phone away from him?" Thorn yelled over his shoulder.

Gage patted DuBois down and came up with a cell phone.

DuBois's fight kicked up again, and Honey reached his massive paw around and stilled him under his grip.

"Son of a bitch," Gage spat out. "They texted him. He was in there telling them how to find us."

"They're one down – the guy in the garden has a broken knee cap," Honey said. "Anyone see Billy Watts or Colburn?"

"I didn't. If they positioned Tibor out back," Thorn said, "the other two were probably coming in from the front. Surprise, guns, and a willing, participating asshole hiding in a known location, and it should have been an easy snatch and go. The car had to be coming down the hill, because I walked up from the bus stop. I didn't see anyone coming."

"So processing the shit show, my guess is they ran through the house, got eyes on our direction of travel, gathered up Tibor and got him to the car and away from the cops, drove down to the next cross street, and around the corner. That takes time."

"Their vehicle probably goes faster than a scooter," Honey pointed out.

Thorn lifted his foot and stomped down again hoping for a burst of energy from the engine. He got a backfire and a wheeze. "We need to ditch this car."

"And do what with this sack of shit?" Gage asked.

"Hand him over to DGSE," Thorn said. He didn't mean it, but he wanted DuBois to know that was indeed an option.

"Here we go," Gage said as a black car roared down the hillside and rammed them from behind, pushing them out into the intersection and spinning them in place. Horns blared, brakes squealed as those around him tried to make way.

Thorn had his eye on the left road and spun his steering wheel in the direction of their rotation, felt the mechanism align with the tires, and brought them around. Only then did Thorn put his foot back on the pedal and push them forward. They drove down the new hill, all of them leaning forward as if that might give the car some small advantage.

Nutsbe was suddenly in his ear. "Right, then next right, then second left."

They kathunked over a pot hole, and Thorn did his best to keep them ahead of the black car that was back in his rearview mirror.

He took the next right-hand turn. Another right. Then wheezed down to the second left, wondering how Nutsbe had devised to save their asses.

Thorn came to a sudden stop, jerking the car into a space directly in front of the police station.

The black car skated by with no stopping room.

"That was Billy Watts driving with his middle finger raised," Honey said.

"Sit tight," Nutsbe said, "we have support almost to you."

"Make it fast." Thorn drummed impatient fingers on the steering wheel as the men in uniform eyed their car from across the street.

"Watts is circling the block," Nutsbe said. "Right behind him, is our van. White van, man with a red bandana tied around his head. When he pulls flush, you dive in."

"Copy," they said in unison.

Billy Watts made his pass and pulled to a stop just ahead of them in a loading zone. The passenger door popped open. Two policemen headed over to flag them away.

Sure enough, here was the van.

"You give me any trouble, and I'm going to punch you in the jaw again," Gage said, gathering a fist full of DuBois's shirt collar. Dubois's jaw was visibly swollen, and he was holding it shut with his hand. Thorn guessed it was probably broken. Either way, he had to be in a world of hurt, because he exited the car meekly and got into the van.

Thorn piled in behind him.

As he left the car, Honey tucked a wad of euros into the car's glove compartment to pay for any repairs and to compensate the owner for the hassle along with the keys.

"In," Honey breathed into his mic as the door slid shut, and they took off driving just as the police hailed them to stop. The driver smiled and waved as if he misunderstood the gesture.

"Where are we heading?" Thorn asked, his words were a breath over his windpipe. The computer would feed the sound to his teammates. They could speak in privacy even within the confines of the van, and the listening ears of that rat DuBois.

"Your driver is going to drop you off at the hotel just ahead," Nutsbe advised. "The guy in a grey hoody and black sweats will hand you a key to room 601. Leave DuBois in the van."

The van pulled flush with the curb.

The man stepped up and handed them the key. The team unloaded. The hoody guy climbed into the back of the van with DuBois and slammed the door shut.