“I just wanted to remind you that you’re not alone out there.”
“Appreciated,” he said.
“We need to get this guy, Morgan. He’s the only lead we have for these events. Failure is not an option.”
“Never is. Is the mission go?”
“The mission is go,” she said. “Godspeed, Morgan. And safe return.”
The screen went blank. He heard a long beep of a horn coming from Lubarsky’s car outside.
“Your date’s getting impatient,” Barrett said.
“Screw him,” he said. Then he called out, “Ferenc? Are you ready?”
The tall, blond Hungarian with a youthful rectangular face appeared from a side door. “Are we set to go, Cobra?” he asked, twirling the keys to the truck in his hand.
“We are,” he said.
“Ready to bag us a weapons dealer?” he said, excited as he strapped on his shoulder holster.
“I’m glad you’re so chipper about this,” said Morgan, checking his own Walther. “Is Bishop ready?”
“They’re in position at a safe house a few blocks away,” said Ferenc.
Morgan climbed into the passenger side of the truck while Ferenc got in the driver’s seat. Ferenc turned the key, and after whining the engine rumbled awake. Morgan opened his window.
“You’re all set, Cobes,” said Barrett with a smirk. She then walked to the garage door control. “Try not to get killed.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“All right, Morgan. Break a leg.” She pulled the switch, and the garage door started rolling up. She winced as the cold air rushed in, carrying with it flurries of snow.
“I’m trying to avoid bodily injury, thank you very much.” Morgan squinted at the daylight pouring in.
CHAPTER 5
Budapest, December 27
The truck emerged from the garage. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Morgan saw Lubarsky huddled next to his bodyguards and leaning against his black town car, arms crossed and looking pissed off.
“We’re here,” called Morgan through the truck’s open window.
“Yes, I can see,” said the Georgian snippily. “About goddamn time. I am freezing my nuts off out here.” He typed into his burner cell phone.
“I thought you assholes were supposed to be used to the cold,” said Morgan. “Or at least not whine like a little girl about it.”
“Come here,” said Lubarsky, grabbing his crotch, “and I’ll show you little girl.” Lubarsky’s phone beeped, and he looked at the screen. Moran just stared at Lubarsky and thought to himself, I’d love to rip your throat out, you fat, disgusting pig.
“Okay, I have the location of the meeting. It is a long drive. I take it you want to ride with the merchandise?”
“You take it right,” said Morgan.
“Okay,” said Lubarsky. “Follow us.”
He got into the back of the car, with the bodyguards in front. They set off, and Ferenc followed.
“So how do we do this?” asked Ferenc as he drove.
“You hang back,” said Morgan. “Near the truck—remember, you’re just the driver. Keep a close eye on the situation and your weapon at the ready. If everything goes according to plan, this should be just like a real arms deal. We make the trade, they leave with the gas, and as far as we’re concerned, that’s it for us. So for all intents and purposes, we are real arms dealers.”
“And if it doesn’t go according to plan?”
“Then you come save my ass,” said Morgan.
They drove in silence behind Lubarsky for a few minutes, passing rows and rows of suburban homes.
“Forgive me for the intrusion,” said Ferenc, breaking the silence, “but you strike me as an intelligence type, am I right?”
Morgan didn’t like the question. They weren’t supposed to know much about each other. The more the other man knew about him, the more he could give up under duress. And it went both ways: as far as Morgan knew, Ferenc wasn’t even his real name. All he knew was that Ferenc had local ties to the shadowy organization behind Zeta Division, and that was all Morgan cared to know.
“Suppose I am,” said Morgan.
“So this Novokoff—he’s ex-KGB, right? Cold War dinosaur type who never bowed out?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you know about him?”
Morgan hated talking before an op, but he didn’t want to antagonize the Hungarian. “Killed at least three Agency men back in the day, and then a few more after he retired—one of them a good friend of mine. Likes murder and tortures in cold blood. Made a fortune cashing in on weapon stockpiles after the fall of the Soviet union .”