Henry Wood Perception by Brian D. Meeks Page B

look of the city at night and watched a couple making-out down the street. The notebook on the desk caught Jack's eye and he flipped through it. He was careful to put it back in the exact same spot. Detectives have a way of noticing things that are out of place.
    ***
    Henry woke up for no reason. There was dreaming going on, but he couldn't remember what it was about. He was shaken, though, and decided he might as well get up. A quick shower and shave later, and he was out the door.
    It was an easy drive into the city. Henry wanted to stop at his favorite diner for a cup of coffee but decided he wouldn’t feel at ease until he got his notebook back in his pocket where it belonged.
    Henry started to make a mental list of what he needed to do for the day. It annoyed him that he couldn't just write it down. When he found a parking spot only two blocks from his office, things began to look up. The cold air made him question why he wasn't back in bed, but the detective in him pushed on. He looked at his watch. It was almost ten 'til 4:00 am. The wind came up and he turned his back to light a cigarette. Henry didn't smoke much, but it calmed his nerves. The death of Cynthia bothered him more than it should.
    ***
    Jack was about to close the door and lock it, when he noticed his holster was too light. He retrieved the gun from the floor and gave the place a once over. Everything was back where it should be. He checked his bag. The tools and bugs were there, except for the four he left behind. He decided not to bug the phone, as he knew Henry was already worried about them being tapped. Confident that there weren’t any traces, he locked the door and crept back down the hall. He reached the street and crossed, passing the couple who were kissing by the lamppost. He turned at the alley and was gone into the shadows.
    ***
    Henry walked past the couple kissing and crossed the street. A cold wind almost took his hat. When he got inside, the warmth was appreciated. A few minutes later, he was sitting at his desk, flipping through his notebook while a pot of coffee gurgled in the background. He took his pencil from his desk and started to make his list. Today was already starting to feel like a good one.

 
     
    CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
     
     
    The plan had been straightforward. Oleg and Pytor, after an enjoyable dinner, would leave the Kremlin and be taken to a small airport outside of town. They would pass through a hangar, where two unsuspecting men of similar age and weight would exit in their place and board the Illyushin II-14. The men were told they were a diversion and would be home the next day. The men would make it home, though, in caskets and with their identities changed. Their families would be told they died in an accident while classified documents would list them as Oleg Kiselev and Pytor Chistyakov, deceased. Four families would mourn their deaths.
    Neither Oleg nor Pytor gave their commrades' sacrifice much thought. The two men first traveled by car, mostly in silence, to Warsaw. In a small, gray flat, an old Polish woman had two cots prepared. She made them breakfast and they slept until late afternoon. Around 4:00 p.m., the men crawled into the back of a truck that would take them to Prague. They boarded a Bristol Type 170 Series 32 Superfreighter, which was owned by a sympathetic British businessman. The flight plan was straight forward and was made several times per week for business. Nobody would question its arrival in London.
    Time and distance traveled softened the animosity they held towards one another. Oleg went first, “It is nice to have a chair.”
    Pytor was thinking the same thing and nodded, “It would be nicer to have a bottle.”
    The copilot stuck his head out, pointed, and said, “Check the compartment to your left. We will be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes.”
    Oleg leaned over, and sure enough, a bottle of vodka was packed among some books. He almost smiled. “To our mission.” He held