Jake glanced at the empty kitchen shelves. “So there’s nothing to eat in the house?”
“Nope, not even running water. We didn’t want to get into our MREs, so I slipped out last night after dark and managed to find a little store,” Stewart said. “Got us some food for dinner and breakfast this morning, but didn’t want to load up with too much and draw attention.”
Jake didn’t insult Stewart by asking if he’d made sure he wasn’t followed back to the house. The house wasn’t safe, though, not with Har-Shaf unaccounted for.
“I’m thinking it’d be a good idea to move,” Jake said.
Stewart nodded. Bayne stayed silent, keeping his eyes on the gun he was cleaning. Bad vibes. Oh, yeah, Jake was having them. He stood and squeezed Tennessee’s shoulder. “I’m gonna call the boss, get us a new safe house. You got any special request? You know, maybe a house where there’s a harem of belly dancers waiting for us?”
The chuckle Tennessee gave was forced, and Jake exchanged a glance with Stewart over Bayne’s head. It was too late in coming, but they both realized their teammate had no business being on this mission. Jake grabbed the bag with the satellite phone and went into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind him.
When the boss answered, Jake got right to the point. “Har-Shaf’s MIA. You hear anything from him?”
“We sent him a message telling him when to pick you up at the airport. No response. You’re telling me he wasn’t there?”
“He didn’t meet me. Had to find my own way to the house. Our man’s not been seen since he dropped Ste . . . Elaine and Tennessee off at the safe house and said he was going for food. We need a new hidey-hole.” He’d almost broken the cardinal rule by saying Stewart’s name over a phone, even an encrypted one.
There was a long pause and then, “I’m on it.”
There was much unsaid in that pause and Jake knew it. The boss wouldn’t have missed his near slip. Did Kincaid blame the disappearance of Har-Shaf on him for not getting on that plane when he was supposed to?
“We might have one other problem,” Jake said.
“What’s that?”
“Tennessee’s on the verge of shutting down.”
“Not what I want to hear. We put him through the psych tests and he aced them.”
Jake walked to the window, lifted a dusty curtain, and peered out. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s one thing sitting in a room answering questions and something entirely different when faced with the real thing. We need to revisit our policy on a situation like Tennessee’s, but that’s a discussion for another time.”
“You want to scratch the mission? It’s your call.”
It was tempting. But they were in Egypt, and their plan was a good one. “No, at least not yet. I’ll keep an eye on our boy. The toys we have to play with aren’t what we’d hoped for, but we’ll make do. Call when you got a place for us to go.”
Disconnecting, Jake set the phone on a nearby table and studied the traffic going by on the street and looking for anyone standing around who seemed out of place. It was almost impossible to know if someone didn’t belong. Unemployment was high in Egypt these days, and too many men spent their time loitering on the streets, alone and in groups. He dropped the curtain, picked up the phone, and rejoined his team.
By the time they finished inspecting and cleaning the firearms, Jake figured a little more than half were usable, better than he’d expected. Most of the weapons were Russian, but the three helmets were American military and he tried not to wonder who they’d once belonged to. While they worked, he and Stewart attempted to raise Bayne’s spirits with jokes, then the talk turned to bragging about the women they’d dated.
“Best tits in the world, hands down, Brenda Johnson,” Stewart said, waggling his fingers as if reaching for said breasts.
Bayne nodded in agreement. “Hell, yeah. Best ass, Cheryl Rollins.”
Uncomfortable with the conversation, Jake pointed one of the guns at the far wall and sighted down the barrel, tuning them out. There’d been a time when he’d enjoyed this kind of talk with his teammates, but now it seemed kind of stupid . . . even disrespectful to the women in question.
More so, it seemed wrong to think of any woman but Maria, and he certainly wasn’t going to share intimate details of her with his men.
When he’d settled onto his seat on the plane, he’d taken out the picture Maria had given him, memorized it, and then tucked it away in his wallet—storing her away in the back of his mind. While waiting to board, he’d almost called her one last time but forced himself not to. It was critical that he keep his attention on the operation and not allow thoughts of her to distract him. Listening to Bayne describe his date with a woman named Erica, it hit Jake hard how much he missed Maria.