Power and Empire

This was bound to be a long day, and a long day of surveillance required clothing that was comfortable. Equally important, it required clothing that did not stand out. If his clothes could be changed or altered through the day, so much the better. Ryan decided on a pair of light chinos and a pale blue button-down oxford shirt with long sleeves. The slacks were loose enough to hide his Thunderwear holster and the shirt thick enough to conceal the neck loop and mic of his communication gear. He and the other members of the team customarily carried a folding clip knife. Ryan chose a Benchmade called Big Summit Lake. It wasn’t as tacti-cool as a black knife but was razor sharp and large enough to do the job. Wooden scales made it look more like a tool than a weapon. In addition to their “people-killing” knives, they’d all opted for what Midas called “granddad blades,” smaller folders that could be used to assist with the chores normal people used knives for — bypassing locks and cutting cordage. Ryan had learned the hard way that he’d rather be attacked by just about anything besides a knife. Conversely, he’d rather launch an attack of his own with just about anything else.

He dropped the radio the size of a pack of playing cards into the pocket of his slacks and slipped into a pair of lace-up Rockport Boat Builder high-tops before shrugging on a navy blue blazer. Last, he opened a flat plastic pill case and removed one of two beige earpieces about the size of the nail on his little finger. He replaced the small hearing-aid battery that was nearly as large as the device, not wanting to risk comms failure at an inopportune moment. Batteries never died after they finished an op, failing instead at the most critical moments. Ryan chuckled to himself as he dropped a spare battery into the inside pocket of his sport coat. James Bond and Jason Bourne made it look easy, but there was sure a lot of technical shit to worry about in this business.

Removing the chair he habitually propped against any hotel door, he did one final “testicles, spectacles, wallet, and comb” check to make certain he had everything he needed — and then headed into the hallway, leaving the POR FAVOR, NO MOLESTAR sign hanging on the handle.

He made it to the lobby at two twenty-five a.m., teaming up with Midas in the blue Peugeot 408—which, to Jack’s surprise, was turbo-charged.

The streets were far from empty at three in the morning, but the traffic was light enough that Jack had no trouble keeping Chavez and Adara and their Renault in sight as they headed northwest on Avenida del Libertador. The two-car caravan worked its way through Barrio Chino and then drove west to do a quick drive-by of the Chinese embassy.

The Peugeot was far from quick off the line, especially compared to his Beemer back home, but Jack found it zippy enough to get him into trouble at intersections. Buenos Aires seemed completely devoid of four-way stops. According to the guidebook, the vehicle with the most momentum carried the right-of-way, and for a damn-the-torpedoes hard charger like Jack, that came in pretty handy.

Adara’s voice came over the net as they passed the high walls of the embassy. “Here be dragons.”

“No doubt,” Ryan said. “But just what kind of dragons remains to be seen…”

They continued west, eventually hitting Avenida General Paz and taking it south until it joined the autopista back to Ministro Pistarini International.

Chavez went into the terminal while the others posted outside. The rain had stopped, but the early-morning air was still cool enough to be bracing.

Ding came over Ryan’s earpiece less than an hour later.

“Heads up, guys,” he said. “A blond female just met our guy and one other Asian male when they cleared customs.”

“A blonde, you say?” Adara said. “Interesting.”

“That’s affirm,” Chavez said. “I have one more Asian male in the middle of the pack behind Chen and his buddy. So far they haven’t had any interaction, but that doesn’t surprise me. Chen’s wearing gray slacks and a black three-button. His buddy’s in jeans and a white long-sleeve. Female is in dark slacks and a fawn blouse.”

Midas chuckled. “Fawn?”

“Yes, fawn,” Chavez said. “Like tan.”

“I see her through the window,” Midas said. “Pretty sure that color is wheat.”

“Dumbass,” Chavez said. “The blonde is pulling the bags. I’m right behind them. The lone Asian male is in jeans and a light blue jacket. Jack, you and Midas mark him, see what he does when we get back on the autopista.”

“Copy that,” Jack said. “We’ll be…”

Ryan paused, watching Chen and his small entourage exit the double doors from the airport. He focused on the blonde who brought up the rear.

“Does the female look familiar to anybody?”

She didn’t, so Jack kept working on the connection, whatever it was, in the back of his mind. There was something about her that struck a nerve.