get along as well as I used to,” he said, patting his right knee. “But I can be another set of eyes. And I do know who she is, son. She’s the daughter of that general ISIS wants taken out. They had his face and his daughter’s plastered all over Facebook faster than Homeland and the FBI could take down the pages.”
Wiley almost smiled at how in tune the old guy was. “Nothing much gets past you, does it?”
Joe lifted his chin toward two older gentlemen seated across the aisle from them.
Wiley glanced over to find both old codgers staring back.
“We were in the same division, the 3rd, during Vietnam. We’re all that’s left of our company. Try to take a trip every couple of years. Went to Nam five years back. There were eight of us then.”
Wiley nodded his understanding.
“That’s Morty,” he said, pointing at the thin one with a round belly. “The other one’s Sly.”
Sly gave him a grin that displayed unnaturally white teeth.
Wiley gave both men a nod then turned his attention back to the front of the bus.
“She know you’re tailing her?”
How had the old guys figured out he was there for Poppy? He remembered how the old men had jostled him, cutting him from the rest of the group when they’d boarded the bus. He’d thought it unintentional, but now knew they’d meant to be seated beside him. Admiring their cunning, he shook his head. “She doesn’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
“Need a better cover,” Joe said, eyeing his boots and the scruff on his chin. “Could tell folks you’re my grandson.”
Wiley chuckled. Sounded like a better plan than the one he’d started with. “Just don’t get in the way. If things go down…”
“You could use another set of eyes—between the three of us, we might just make one good pair.” Joe tilted his head toward his buddies.
This time, Wiley laughed.
Joe grinned and gave a slow nod to his companions, who settled back in their seats and now directed their attention to the job at hand—and the woman wearing the pretty blue dress at the front of the bus.
Suddenly, the bus shuddered and slowed. Cries arose from those seated near the front.
“Fat’s in the fire now,” Morty said, pointing forward.
Wiley cussed. A pickup was parked sideways in the middle of the road. He began to rise, but then he noted the four men standing in front of the truck. All dark, but with features that were clearly Mestizo. So, bandits rather than terrorists. He settled back in his seat. He’d let this play out a bit before he gave himself away. As long as no one was hurt, he’d keep his cover.
Joe pulled out his wallet and quickly removed his credit cards, leaving the bills inside. The cards he stuffed into the tops of his socks. He glanced at Wiley. “You got anything in that pack you don’t want them to find?”
He did, but he was also keeping an eye on his target.
The guy with the clipboard pulled Poppy down into a seat.
When the bus came to a halt, the driver opened the door and quickly raised his hands.
Two men with bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces, one with a handgun and the other with a rifle held in front of him, boarded the bus. Their gazes swept the passengers then one man bent toward the driver. His Spanish spilled out too fast for Wiley to catch every word, but he got the gist. They were forcing the passengers onto the road to rob them.
As quietly as he could, Wiley glanced toward Poppy to check her position then unzipped his bag and drew out a long cylinder.
Joe glanced down and grimaced. “Think that peashooter’s gonna help?”
“Guess you’ll never know, so long as everyone plays nice.”
The driver stood and keyed his microphone. “These gentlemen request that you all disembark in an orderly fashion, front rows first. As long as you cooperate, no one will be hurt, and we’ll soon be back on our way.”
Knowing the bus driver was probably well-versed in these sorts of operations, Wiley stayed in his seat,
Wiley almost smiled at how in tune the old guy was. “Nothing much gets past you, does it?”
Joe lifted his chin toward two older gentlemen seated across the aisle from them.
Wiley glanced over to find both old codgers staring back.
“We were in the same division, the 3rd, during Vietnam. We’re all that’s left of our company. Try to take a trip every couple of years. Went to Nam five years back. There were eight of us then.”
Wiley nodded his understanding.
“That’s Morty,” he said, pointing at the thin one with a round belly. “The other one’s Sly.”
Sly gave him a grin that displayed unnaturally white teeth.
Wiley gave both men a nod then turned his attention back to the front of the bus.
“She know you’re tailing her?”
How had the old guys figured out he was there for Poppy? He remembered how the old men had jostled him, cutting him from the rest of the group when they’d boarded the bus. He’d thought it unintentional, but now knew they’d meant to be seated beside him. Admiring their cunning, he shook his head. “She doesn’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
“Need a better cover,” Joe said, eyeing his boots and the scruff on his chin. “Could tell folks you’re my grandson.”
Wiley chuckled. Sounded like a better plan than the one he’d started with. “Just don’t get in the way. If things go down…”
“You could use another set of eyes—between the three of us, we might just make one good pair.” Joe tilted his head toward his buddies.
This time, Wiley laughed.
Joe grinned and gave a slow nod to his companions, who settled back in their seats and now directed their attention to the job at hand—and the woman wearing the pretty blue dress at the front of the bus.
Suddenly, the bus shuddered and slowed. Cries arose from those seated near the front.
“Fat’s in the fire now,” Morty said, pointing forward.
Wiley cussed. A pickup was parked sideways in the middle of the road. He began to rise, but then he noted the four men standing in front of the truck. All dark, but with features that were clearly Mestizo. So, bandits rather than terrorists. He settled back in his seat. He’d let this play out a bit before he gave himself away. As long as no one was hurt, he’d keep his cover.
Joe pulled out his wallet and quickly removed his credit cards, leaving the bills inside. The cards he stuffed into the tops of his socks. He glanced at Wiley. “You got anything in that pack you don’t want them to find?”
He did, but he was also keeping an eye on his target.
The guy with the clipboard pulled Poppy down into a seat.
When the bus came to a halt, the driver opened the door and quickly raised his hands.
Two men with bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces, one with a handgun and the other with a rifle held in front of him, boarded the bus. Their gazes swept the passengers then one man bent toward the driver. His Spanish spilled out too fast for Wiley to catch every word, but he got the gist. They were forcing the passengers onto the road to rob them.
As quietly as he could, Wiley glanced toward Poppy to check her position then unzipped his bag and drew out a long cylinder.
Joe glanced down and grimaced. “Think that peashooter’s gonna help?”
“Guess you’ll never know, so long as everyone plays nice.”
The driver stood and keyed his microphone. “These gentlemen request that you all disembark in an orderly fashion, front rows first. As long as you cooperate, no one will be hurt, and we’ll soon be back on our way.”
Knowing the bus driver was probably well-versed in these sorts of operations, Wiley stayed in his seat,
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