Oath of Office

Ding and Midas had a back-and-forth while still in Portugal on the risk versus benefits of placing a small GPS tracking device on the target vehicle. The device would transmit location information to Campus operatives over a GSM cell signal, allowing them to run a looser tail. The Russians made the decision for them when they came out at the end of the first day and ran a handheld cell-phone tracker over both cars. They weren’t especially thorough, but they had a directional antenna, so they didn’t really have to be.

They’d have to keep at least one of the cars in sight.

The three Campus vehicles bounded, trading places over the course of the journey, all the way to the EME Catedral Hotel, tucked into the pedestrian district in the shadow of the Giralda bell tower. It was a few blocks from the bullfighting arena along the canal off the Guadalquivir River in Seville.

Clark booked a double at the same hotel, down the hall from the Russians. The others set up at small hotels in the area, none close enough to offer a direct view of their target, but that couldn’t be helped. Dom and Adara generally stayed out of sight, since the Russians who’d been working overwatch in Portugal would likely recognize them from the restaurant.

“You with us, kid?” Clark asked, dragging Jack back to the present.

“…Yes?” Jack gave a wan smile. He hoped there wasn’t going to be a quiz on whatever it was that Clark had been saying.

“Outstanding,” Clark said, seeing right through him. “Hugo Gaspard was our main objective on this op. But we’re already here, so it’s worth keeping an eye on the Russians in the near term. Ding, how about you bring everyone up to speed on what Gavin found.”

The camera on the Snipe Nano mini-drone didn’t have the visual clarity that a cheaper, off-the-shelf model might have, but night vision and the ability to zoom more than made up for it. Midas got several good screen grabs of the female assassin from the footage. Adara’s numerous selfies contained some grainy photos of the Russians and the guy who’d dropped in on them at Casa Ibérica. Gavin and his team had been busy enhancing the photos and running them through some facial recognition programs and databases.

Ding Chavez flipped back a page in his notebook.

“The woman who killed Gaspard is named Lucile Fournier. She’s French, originally from a little burg outside Avignon. Father was a pharmacist until she literally gave him some of his own medicine and then dumped his body in the Rhone River. She spent two years in what the French call a ‘closed education center’ for the murder, apparently learning some pretty nasty stuff from a couple of cellmates. She eventually graduated to big-girl prison and, later, a couple of terrorist watch lists. Gavin did some link analysis and found one of her former cellmates was a half-sister to the guy you saw meeting with the Russians — a small-time Portuguese arms dealer named Urbano da Rocha. He’s been arrested a couple of times by gendarmerie in various countries, but never convicted. The Cuerpo Nacional suspects he had ties with the Ochoa crime family in Galicia, but, again, nothing that stuck. Other than that, very little information on the guy, except that he seems to be expanding his business. Gavin got nothing back on the Russians.”

Midas spoke up, his voice streaming in over the radio. “So we have international arms dealer and fat man of intrigue Hugo Gaspard about to do an unknown deal with some Russians, assassinated by the female associate of another arms dealer, who happened to sit down with those same Russians.”

“You’re trackin’.” Chavez nodded, though Midas was in a hotel room blocks away.

“All right.” Clark got to his feet, hands up and together in front of his chest. It was what law enforcement called a “field interview” or “ready” stance, and he looked very much like he was about to draw a weapon or smack somebody. A lifetime of smacking had ingrained the habit.

“One more thing,” he said. “This needs to be said, but I’m only going to say it once. We’re a small unit. Trust is imperative or none of this works. I know some of you… all of you… wonder exactly what went on in Texas with the Magdalena Rojas op. It’s no secret that I went a little ‘off the reservation,’ so to speak.”

Caruso waved a hand. “I told everyone there was nothing to hear.”

“I know you did,” Clark said. “And I appreciate it. But you and I both know that’s not true. I’m not going to address specifics. You all know as much as you probably should about my past—”

“It’s legendary, Mr. C.,” Ding said.

Clark scoffed. “I’m being serious.”

“So is he,” Midas chimed in.