The Operator
Page 99
“You’re talking semantics, sir.”
“Semantics? Someone learn a new word today?” Bill said snidely, then hung up.
“Margo!” he shouted, then remembered Margo was eight hundred miles away. “Sean!” he shouted instead, and the man poked his head in.
“Another coffee, sir?”
Bill eyed the man’s lavender polo shirt and Dockers, imaging the impression the clean-cut man would make if he was in a suit. Sean had been with him for years, able to put five shots in a silver dollar, but not everyone was comfortable with the uglier side of Opti. “No,” he said, looking at the untouched sugar bomb he’d found on his desk this morning. “Get me the handyman you recommended on the phone. I should have listened to you in the first place.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t mind the smugness in Sean’s voice, seeing as he deserved it. “And double what he’s asking if he can be in and out in twenty-four hours!” he added as the door closed.
“Yes, sir” came through the intercom, and then, “Sir, Michael is here to see you.”
Michael? Bill’s gaze shot to the drawer where his Glock was. “Send him in,” he said, unlocking it even as Michael pushed open the door.
“Hello, Bill.”
Bill’s expression froze. Irritation melted into a wary alertness at the self-satisfied tone and insufferable cockiness as Michael rocked to a halt in the center of the room. Wanting to keep the upper hand, Bill checked his motion to rise, pointing to a chair instead. “Just who I wanted to see,” he said, his entire attitude realigning. Something had changed. The little snot thought he had something on him.
Michael grinned to show his teeth. “Liar.” Eyebrows high, he passed the chairs to look out the window at the city’s quaint “skyline” instead. His back was to Bill—another not-so-subtle show of dominance.
Little boy wants to play? he thought, remembering the feel of Michael’s knife slitting his throat. Silent, he waited. It was an old tactic, but effective nonetheless.
“Have you set up a meeting with Helen yet?” Michael asked, his nail rubbing a nonexistent spot on the window.
Bill’s eyes narrowed when their gazes met through their reflections. “She abhors me calling her. She knows we’re here. If she doesn’t call by noon, I’ll leave a message.” He leaned back and laced his hands across his middle. “Why?”
Michael turned. “Harmony is ten minutes from here at a drive-up motel.”
“What?” He checked his motion to rise, cursing himself when Michael’s grin widened. Son of a bitch, there was a hole in his intel. How had Michael found out first?
“Helen.” Michael said the word as if it were a piece of chocolate to be savored.
Bill’s anger shifted to a slow burn, and he settled back. The contriving bitch had gone around him. If he complained, she’d say it was to endear Michael to her, but the reality was she was probably testing the viability of cutting out the middle man and dealing directly with Michael. Too soon. Too fast.
Full of himself, Michael went to the wet bar and decanted a shot of scotch. “You want to come with me to get her?” Michael said as he downed it, hesitating as it burned. “I should have an anchor to back me up. Bus leaves in thirty minutes.”
He had to slow this down. Bill stood and tucked his phone in his pocket. “Listen to me, you little pissant—”
“Or what?” Michael set the shot glass on the bar with an aggressive thump.
Motions holding a deliberate slowness, Bill came around the desk, shoving Michael back to reach the scotch and cap it. “I’m leaving in ten minutes,” he said, running through his to-do list as the adrenaline spilled into him. “Or do you need more time to put your big-boy panties on?”
Chuckling, Michael walked out the door. “Ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder, leaving the door open. “Nice shirt,” he said to Sean, his dress shoes clicking on the imported tile.
Bill’s thick hands clenched, and then he forced himself to relax. He had only a short staff, but they were all available. Ten minutes was just enough, and it might bring Michael down a notch.
Returning to his desk, he tucked his Glock into his ankle holster. “Sean!” he called, and the man was there, phone at the ready. “Walk with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He liked that this facility was all on one level, and he headed for the armory. It was right off the motor pool. “David is on call, is he not?”
“Ah, yes. Do you want him on-site? I have the address already.”
Nice. Bill cleared the armory lock, then yanked open the door so hard it swung into the wall. “No. Traffic. Distraction. Make it a bridge at least seven minutes from the take site. Nothing fatal, but heavy on involvement. Harmony might be messy, and we’ll need a few extra minutes to clean things up.” He reached for a vest. Sean took his suit coat’s jacket as he checked the size and slipped it on.
“Who do you want there, sir?”
He put his jacket back on, deciding it was a little tight with the Kevlar underneath, but not bad. “Smith is in a car. Put her on distant surveillance until we arrive. If Harmony moves, she follows. Tell her we’ll be there in ten.”
“Got it. Driver?”
“Anyone who doesn’t know Michael,” he said sourly as he kicked off his desk shoes and reached for a pair of boots, checking the size before slipping them on. “Same for the rest. I want one for front, one for back, and you as my gofer.”
“Me!”
Bill grinned as he stomped into his boots and tugged his cuffs free. “Relax, Sean. You’re the wild card. Go where you want, even if you never leave the van. Follow your instincts.
Shoot at someone if you want. Have some fun. You’d make a hell of a field agent if you’d learn to trust yourself. Get a vest. And some boots.”
“Yes, sir!”
Bill grabbed an energy bar from the bin next to the clips and turned away. Leaving Sean to gather the team and find a vest and a pair of boots, he stiff-armed the door and headed into the garage. The cold air smelled like gas, metal, and a low tidal pool, and he breathed it in, feeling it all the way to his toes. God! He missed this. Maybe he should send Helen a thank-you bouquet for getting him out from behind a desk.
The no-window panel van was obvious, and he smiled as a woman in overalls ran from a distant door, keys jingling. She slid behind the wheel, making her their driver. He closed the gap between them, holding up a hand for the extra fob.
“Semantics? Someone learn a new word today?” Bill said snidely, then hung up.
“Margo!” he shouted, then remembered Margo was eight hundred miles away. “Sean!” he shouted instead, and the man poked his head in.
“Another coffee, sir?”
Bill eyed the man’s lavender polo shirt and Dockers, imaging the impression the clean-cut man would make if he was in a suit. Sean had been with him for years, able to put five shots in a silver dollar, but not everyone was comfortable with the uglier side of Opti. “No,” he said, looking at the untouched sugar bomb he’d found on his desk this morning. “Get me the handyman you recommended on the phone. I should have listened to you in the first place.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t mind the smugness in Sean’s voice, seeing as he deserved it. “And double what he’s asking if he can be in and out in twenty-four hours!” he added as the door closed.
“Yes, sir” came through the intercom, and then, “Sir, Michael is here to see you.”
Michael? Bill’s gaze shot to the drawer where his Glock was. “Send him in,” he said, unlocking it even as Michael pushed open the door.
“Hello, Bill.”
Bill’s expression froze. Irritation melted into a wary alertness at the self-satisfied tone and insufferable cockiness as Michael rocked to a halt in the center of the room. Wanting to keep the upper hand, Bill checked his motion to rise, pointing to a chair instead. “Just who I wanted to see,” he said, his entire attitude realigning. Something had changed. The little snot thought he had something on him.
Michael grinned to show his teeth. “Liar.” Eyebrows high, he passed the chairs to look out the window at the city’s quaint “skyline” instead. His back was to Bill—another not-so-subtle show of dominance.
Little boy wants to play? he thought, remembering the feel of Michael’s knife slitting his throat. Silent, he waited. It was an old tactic, but effective nonetheless.
“Have you set up a meeting with Helen yet?” Michael asked, his nail rubbing a nonexistent spot on the window.
Bill’s eyes narrowed when their gazes met through their reflections. “She abhors me calling her. She knows we’re here. If she doesn’t call by noon, I’ll leave a message.” He leaned back and laced his hands across his middle. “Why?”
Michael turned. “Harmony is ten minutes from here at a drive-up motel.”
“What?” He checked his motion to rise, cursing himself when Michael’s grin widened. Son of a bitch, there was a hole in his intel. How had Michael found out first?
“Helen.” Michael said the word as if it were a piece of chocolate to be savored.
Bill’s anger shifted to a slow burn, and he settled back. The contriving bitch had gone around him. If he complained, she’d say it was to endear Michael to her, but the reality was she was probably testing the viability of cutting out the middle man and dealing directly with Michael. Too soon. Too fast.
Full of himself, Michael went to the wet bar and decanted a shot of scotch. “You want to come with me to get her?” Michael said as he downed it, hesitating as it burned. “I should have an anchor to back me up. Bus leaves in thirty minutes.”
He had to slow this down. Bill stood and tucked his phone in his pocket. “Listen to me, you little pissant—”
“Or what?” Michael set the shot glass on the bar with an aggressive thump.
Motions holding a deliberate slowness, Bill came around the desk, shoving Michael back to reach the scotch and cap it. “I’m leaving in ten minutes,” he said, running through his to-do list as the adrenaline spilled into him. “Or do you need more time to put your big-boy panties on?”
Chuckling, Michael walked out the door. “Ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder, leaving the door open. “Nice shirt,” he said to Sean, his dress shoes clicking on the imported tile.
Bill’s thick hands clenched, and then he forced himself to relax. He had only a short staff, but they were all available. Ten minutes was just enough, and it might bring Michael down a notch.
Returning to his desk, he tucked his Glock into his ankle holster. “Sean!” he called, and the man was there, phone at the ready. “Walk with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He liked that this facility was all on one level, and he headed for the armory. It was right off the motor pool. “David is on call, is he not?”
“Ah, yes. Do you want him on-site? I have the address already.”
Nice. Bill cleared the armory lock, then yanked open the door so hard it swung into the wall. “No. Traffic. Distraction. Make it a bridge at least seven minutes from the take site. Nothing fatal, but heavy on involvement. Harmony might be messy, and we’ll need a few extra minutes to clean things up.” He reached for a vest. Sean took his suit coat’s jacket as he checked the size and slipped it on.
“Who do you want there, sir?”
He put his jacket back on, deciding it was a little tight with the Kevlar underneath, but not bad. “Smith is in a car. Put her on distant surveillance until we arrive. If Harmony moves, she follows. Tell her we’ll be there in ten.”
“Got it. Driver?”
“Anyone who doesn’t know Michael,” he said sourly as he kicked off his desk shoes and reached for a pair of boots, checking the size before slipping them on. “Same for the rest. I want one for front, one for back, and you as my gofer.”
“Me!”
Bill grinned as he stomped into his boots and tugged his cuffs free. “Relax, Sean. You’re the wild card. Go where you want, even if you never leave the van. Follow your instincts.
Shoot at someone if you want. Have some fun. You’d make a hell of a field agent if you’d learn to trust yourself. Get a vest. And some boots.”
“Yes, sir!”
Bill grabbed an energy bar from the bin next to the clips and turned away. Leaving Sean to gather the team and find a vest and a pair of boots, he stiff-armed the door and headed into the garage. The cold air smelled like gas, metal, and a low tidal pool, and he breathed it in, feeling it all the way to his toes. God! He missed this. Maybe he should send Helen a thank-you bouquet for getting him out from behind a desk.
The no-window panel van was obvious, and he smiled as a woman in overalls ran from a distant door, keys jingling. She slid behind the wheel, making her their driver. He closed the gap between them, holding up a hand for the extra fob.
