“Very thorough,” Azarov said.
Claudia’s smile was a little forced. She was still terrified of the man.
“I have to admit,” Donatella said, “the little French girl has come through.”
“Hell, yeah,” Black agreed. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“I’ve had people watching Terry’s and have photos of everyone going in and out,” Claudia said. “There’s a tablet on the bar with the pictures. Grisha, could you take a look and see if you know any of them?”
He sat on one of the stools and slid the device toward him.
“We’ve had one change in the situation since the briefing in Juba,” she continued. Two bodyguards have come in from Saudi Arabia. They’re both former Saudi army and have worked for bin Musaid before. They’re with him at his brother’s house now and I think we can assume they’ll go with him if he leaves the compound.
“How are they getting paid? I thought we got everything.”
“He had them on retainer. There was nothing I could do about that.”
“So are we considering them civilians?” Black asked. “Or can we take them out?”
“Claudia?” Rapp said.
“No terrorist ties. Just former soldiers making a living.”
“There’s your answer,” Rapp said.
“Great,” Black grumbled.
“That could make getting bin Musaid out of the hotel room more complicated,” Rapp said. “If they stay in the car or in the lobby, it’s not an issue; but if they decide to post in the hallway, we’ve got problems.”
“Agreed,” Claudia said, turning on a big-screen TV and connecting her laptop. A picture of a luxurious hotel suite appeared a moment later.
“We’ve rented this room at the Metropole for Donatella to take the prince back to. We also have the one next door.”
“Do we have a shot of the hall outside?”
“Of course.” She switched the view and Rapp took a few steps forward, examining the details.
“I wouldn’t stand next to the door if I were them. I’d go to one on either end of the hall. Access?”
“The emergency stairs are on the left of the passage. On the right is the elevator.”
“Cameras?”
“Yes, but I can disable them.”
Rapp nodded. “Okay. Grisha and I can handle this. We’ll stun gun them and drag them into the room when Donatella gives us the signal.”
“How are we getting the body out?” Black asked.
“I didn’t see any reason not to just stick with the classics,” Rapp responded.
“Laundry cart?” Donatella said.
“Exactly.”
Claudia switched to a shot of a woman in a maid’s uniform pushing a cart large enough to cram bin Musaid into.
“This will be in Donatella’s room and I’m having a uniform made for her.” She glanced in the former model’s direction. “Size eight?”
Donatella’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Is it common for one of those carts to be on that floor?” Rapp asked. He knew the answer but was anxious to break the death stare the women had fixed on each other.
“No,” Claudia responded, turning back toward him. “But all we have to do is get it to the elevator. Then I can send you nonstop to the basement.”
“What about me?” Black said.
“You have a top-floor flat to the west of Terry’s. There’s a good-sized private terrace for you to set your rifle up on. The range is just over five hundred meters, but light winds are forecasted throughout the week.”
“Doesn’t sound like there will be anything to shoot at,” he said, disappointed.
“The hope is that you’ll just be spotting for us,” Rapp said. “But you know what hope’s worth.”
Claudia turned toward the Russian, who was now perusing the bar’s bourbon selection. “Any luck, Grisha?”
“I know two of the men in these pictures. One more I have a passing acquaintance with.”
“Okay,” she said. “Can you show me which ones? I can start getting background on their movements and find out if they have reservations at the club going forward. Why don’t the rest of you go pick out your bedrooms?”
Black grabbed his duffle and disappeared almost immediately. Donatella took her time, pausing next to Rapp as she passed. “It’s a very romantic boat, no? Perhaps we should meet on the upper deck later. Say, midnight?”
“Give it a rest, Donatella.”
“Ah, yes. The little French girl. She’s quite beautiful. Why don’t you ask her to join us?”
*
Rapp leaned against the bow rail and stared out at the city lights. Fifty yards to his left, a yacht even larger than theirs was crawling with noisy kids who looked to be in their early twenties. The champagne was flowing and an increasing number of girls were abandoning their bikini tops. When he was that age, he’d thought a scholarship to Syracuse, a suburban girlfriend, and a six-pack of Busch was a pretty good deal.
He heard footsteps coming up behind him on the deck but didn’t bother to turn. He’d been living with Claudia long enough to know her gait.
“Everyone’s asleep,” she said, slipping her arms around him. “Are you coming to bed? Or are you going to join the party on the other boat?”
“It’s a nice night. I thought I’d enjoy it for a while. Did you talk to Anna? How is she?”
“Good. She’s on her way to see Tommy’s lacrosse match with Irene but asked me to remind you to wear your seat belt.”
They’d told her that the injuries he’d suffered in Pakistan were the result of a car crash. Now she was obsessed with what she perceived to be his unsafe driving habits.
“Have you ironed out all the details?” he asked.
“Almost. The parking garage cameras are the last thing. Oddly, they’re more difficult to access than the ones in the building. It’ll be taken care of by tomorrow afternoon.”
“With a little luck, this could actually go smoothly.”
“Oh, I doubt it.”
He turned toward her. “Are there issues we haven’t talked about?”
“With taking the prince? No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m concerned, Mitch. This isn’t a black op. You’ve got no official standing. Have you considered the possibility that you might spend the rest of your life on the run from your former friends and colleagues?”
“They wouldn’t find me. Most of them wouldn’t want to.”
“Even if that’s true, your life would never be the same. I lived that way for years—the constant moves, the aliases, the lack of anything lasting. And for you, the loss of your country.”
“I can handle it.”
“I wonder.”
“Is that all?”
“No.”
“How did I know that?”
“I’m worried about your team. They’re all very talented—-particularly Grisha—but they’re not reliable or loyal. They’re not Scott.”
“They’ll hold together.”
“Are you sure? You have a Russian assassin who cares only about one thing: the woman he left behind in Costa Rica. If he sees any risk of not being able to return to her, he’ll abandon us. Then you have a sociopathic woman who is doing this for the new life you’ve offered her, but also because she wants you back. And, finally, you have a boy who doesn’t want to work with you—he wants to be you. How long until he decides he’s ready to test the great Mitch Rapp?”