Chapter Nine

THORN

Brussels, Belgium

Saturday, Fourteen Thirty-eight Hours

T horn took a circuitous trip back to the airport in the now battered BMW rental.

With Nutsbe in his ear feeding him directions, Thorn crossed over every bridge, around every traffic circle he could find. He drove through a couple of parking garages for good measure on his way back to the other rental car.

"From the satellite images, you look clean. I'd go ahead and pull in," Nutsbe said.

Thorn tapped on his blinker. "Were you watching the garage?"

"I had the software keep an eye on your car. The computer tagged each person whose been down there. All I can say is none of the known players were picked up by the camera. But remember most of those cameras are off line. I have a camera feed that has the second rental car in the far corner of the screen and our software was able to enhance it."

Thorn pulled into the empty space next to the second rental and got out, his head on a swivel. "So if I pop this trunk," he walked to the BMW, his thumb rubbing over the trunk button on the fob, "I'm not going to blow up?"

"Shouldn't," Nutsbe said.

Thorn thrust a middle finger in the air, and Nutsbe chuckled.

He stood to the side of a column, reached his hand around and popped the trunk.

With a beep beep the trunk opened, and Nutsbe yelled, "Boom!" into Thorn's comms.

"Hysterical," Thorn muttered under his breath as he peeked into the trunk space and assured himself his bag was still safely stowed. "It's been a weird day." He slammed the lid down and strode over to the driver's door. "What are they saying happened earlier with shots fired in the stairwell? I didn't see police activity on the way in."

"The story is that someone threw fireworks down the stairs. The scene must have been staged by the perps. The shooters probably picked up their casings and threw down the right kind of debris to make that scenario work, then they headed out. That means a lot of pre-planning."

"Team number three, the one run by the gray-lady?" Thorn tossed the fob into the cup holder and reached out to press the button and make the engine purr.

"Looked that way, but as you well know, looks?"

"Can be deceiving. Right." Thorn shifted into park to slide the seat back to make room for his long legs and adjusted his mirrors. "What we do know, or can surmise, is that these were professionals."

"Either that or someone in security was feeling damned complacent because literally nothing came of it other than a few security guards pushing through the stairwell door. After the terrorist bombs, I would have expected a bigger show of force."

Thorn swiveled his head and backed out of the parking place. "Makes you think there was some kind of collusion with security?"

"My guess is there were no bodies, no blood, no video footage. If they raised too much of a rumpus, they'd have panic on their hands and a shit ton of flight delays as they shut everything down. All that costs money and puts them on the front page of the newspaper. The security team didn't see anything worth that kind of havoc."

"Okay, where am I going?" Thorn put the car in gear and started toward the exit.

"I made a hotel reservation. Lucky for you, there's a soccer match at the stadium. I had to go upscale to get you anything nearby. You'll be sleeping in the lap of luxury."

"As long as room service can deliver a decent steak."

"I programmed directions into your phone's GPS."

Thorn swiped his cell phone and memorized his route. "Got it. I'm heading for the exit."

"Copy that."

"Shit." Just as Thorn cleared the garage through the battered security arm that Gage had broken off earlier, the woman who had signaled the janitor in the airport ? the grey-lady, as Nutsbe labeled her ? walked into his path, turned, and stood wide legged in front of him, blocking the egress.

Her hair was down and flowed about her shoulders in the wind.

She'd changed her clothes, too. Gone were the loose non-descript clothes and combat boots. Now, she was wearing skin-tight jeans, heels, and a soft looking sweater that was light enough for the wind to plaster it around her figure. Big breasts. Tiny waist. She had makeup on now. It enhanced her features rather than painting over and hiding them. Yeah, she'd had to dim her light in the airport earlier or everyone would have been looking her way. She was both remarkable and memorable. And neither were good for business in the clandestine world.

It was definitely her.

"Yup, got her," Nutsbe said. "She appears to be alone. I can't see any nearby vehicles. No hidden figures that I can make out."

Thorn rolled to a stop, wishing he had a side arm handy. Thorn watched her hands to make sure she wasn't pulling a gun from somewhere and popping him off. He was ready to stomp on the gas and plow her down if need be. In his experience, the survival part of the brain engaged before impact, and people would jump out of the way. "Nutsbe, we still clear?"

"Brother, that looks like fire you're about to play with. But, I still only see her in the picture. She must have been lying in wait."

"Like the spider and the fly." Curious, Thorn tapped the button to release the locks. They made an audible snap.

The grey-lady walked over to the passenger side of the car and climbed in. It seemed like she meant to stay, because she locked her door and pulled her seat belt across her lap. She looked straight forward out the front window.

"Okay. Bold move." Nutsbe chuckled. "I'll watch you on satellite to see if anyone's following. But I'm going to use your phone to buzz the car. That'll scramble any radio signals and any tracking devices while you figure out what she wants. I won't be able to hear you while I do that. Clear your throat if that's how you want me to proceed."

Thorn cleared his throat.

"Okay then. As long as you're in your car, you're off line. Swallow hard to confirm."

Thorn gathered spit in his mouth and swallowed, making the saliva snake down his throat past the mic. He knew Nutsbe would here the wallump on his end.

Adjusting his mirrors, he was able to catch a glimpse of the mystery woman sitting placidly by his side. "Anywhere in particular I should go?" He wasn't even sure she knew English.

"Your hotel will be fine." She turned to him. "You're staying at Le Grand Palais." She quirked a brow . "Very luxe . Your company takes very good care of you." She turned her head back to look out the front window. "Next exit, you get off." She gestured with a graceful hand.

Yup. That was where Nutsbe had booked him, and that was the route the map had shown. She was connected to an organization with excellent access. She was also checking the side mirrors like a pro.

"Are you expecting someone to be following us?"

"Habit," she said nonchalantly.

"Where'd you develop this habit?" Thorn slid his focus toward her, trying to read her for any information. Just who was he dealing with?

"I developed the habit in the DGSE just as you Lars Iversen ? AKA Thorn, Navy SEAL, retired, now working for Iniquus in Washington DC, under Titus Kane, Panther Force ? developed your skill sets through your work."

She had some damned good connections to get all that when he had nada on her.

DGSE – French intelligence. Did he believe her?

She touched a hand to her chest. "Brigitte," she said.

Her accent was not quite the same French accent as Thorn had heard around him during his security detail with the US diplomats. But this was Brussels and Thorn had learned his French in Africa.

"And when Iniquus is done scrambling the radio waves around your car, you can ask Titus all about me," she was saying.

If she was bluffing, she would be the poker champion of the world. How the hell would she get that information if she wasn't who she said she was? Okay, Thorn was rattled. He much preferred being one step ahead, instead of scrambling to keep up, and Brigitte understood that was the case. He'd bet good money that's why she was smiling that secretive-cat smile.

The rest of the drive was in silence.