surface: the intonation of his voice, his laughter during dinners at the lodge, and his mischievous smile when a talkative brother was getting ready to speak.
What word had they shared, the two of them? What sesame, what Proustian Madeleine would open the door?
Lou. The name of the little girl Paul had always dreamed of having but never would. He had shared that regret during a rare night spent drinking together. It had resonated with Marcas, because he was in the middle of his divorce. The house was empty, and he missed his son so badly, if felt as though his heart had been torn out of his chest. Their sense of loss would forever bon d the men.
Lou.
Marcas typed the thre e letters.
The white rectangle vanished, and a text appeared, as if by magic.
38
Near Kuwait City
Present day
W inthrop and his companion passed the northern guard post and headed toward Kuwait City. Five kilometers north, he spotted an SUV in flames and slowed down. It was surrounded by two police cars and an ambulance. What looked like four bodies, covered by a black tarp, were lined up on t he ground.
The two men glanced at each other. Samirâs men had thwarted the ambush. Winthrop shrugged. He felt no compassion. The victims in this kind of work were usually smugglers who didnât suffer any angst when they were called on to kill. In five years, he had pulled the trigger for the organization just twice. His instructions were clear: use violence as a last resort. At first he thought he would be a garden-variety bodyguard, but actually his job was to ensure the safety of the gold more than the person with the gold.
He was a gold mercenary.
He had no regrets. He earned five times more money than he would in any other security job. He had two assignments a month on average, with varying durations, and he had time to spend with his wife and kids, who were living in Pensacola, Florida. As far as his wife and the IRS knew, he was a security consultant for a company based i n El Paso.
He shifted into third gear. The SUV was slower with the gold bars weighing down the back. It took them a half hour to reach their destination: a newly constructed five-story hotel with Moorish architecture. The garage door to the left of the building opened, and he drove into th e complex.
An hour later, Jack Winthrop was lounging under an umbrella at the hotel swimming pool, his hair still wet from a dip in the cool water. He was writing up a detailed report. Aurora protocol required that he file a report daily by encrypted e-mail. He hit âsendâ and put his phone down. He had a whole day before his flight, and he wondered how he would spend it. Kuwait City was not exactly the kingdom of a thousand and one nights: no alcohol, no nightclubs, and forget about sex. The bars in the major hotels offered the only opportunities for encounters, and the competition was formidable: ten men for ev ery woman.
A tall, athletic brunette in a yellow bikini sauntered by, a towel thrown over her shoulder. She sat down two umbrellas away and glanced at him. He smiled. She was a pro, but he had the means. Just as he was imagining her wrapped around him in his hotel room, a broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut walked up to her. A military man turned consultant, no doubt. He was already rubbing sunscreen on her back.
Out of luck. Winthrop wished he was in Dubai. At least there pleasures, vices, and human weaknesses were tolerated. His phone vibrated.
Aurora Source to Auror a Security
Report received. Congratulations on your success. Human losses are regrettable. No other operations in view before the end of the month. The sum of $18,600 has been transferred to your account at the Bermuda Vernet Bank in Nassau. Saf e travels.
Winthrop grinned. A nice dayâs pay for a little drive through the desert. He sometimes wondered how many other agents like him traveled around the world to âfacilitateâ the gold market. Three times he had been sent two men and a
What word had they shared, the two of them? What sesame, what Proustian Madeleine would open the door?
Lou. The name of the little girl Paul had always dreamed of having but never would. He had shared that regret during a rare night spent drinking together. It had resonated with Marcas, because he was in the middle of his divorce. The house was empty, and he missed his son so badly, if felt as though his heart had been torn out of his chest. Their sense of loss would forever bon d the men.
Lou.
Marcas typed the thre e letters.
The white rectangle vanished, and a text appeared, as if by magic.
38
Near Kuwait City
Present day
W inthrop and his companion passed the northern guard post and headed toward Kuwait City. Five kilometers north, he spotted an SUV in flames and slowed down. It was surrounded by two police cars and an ambulance. What looked like four bodies, covered by a black tarp, were lined up on t he ground.
The two men glanced at each other. Samirâs men had thwarted the ambush. Winthrop shrugged. He felt no compassion. The victims in this kind of work were usually smugglers who didnât suffer any angst when they were called on to kill. In five years, he had pulled the trigger for the organization just twice. His instructions were clear: use violence as a last resort. At first he thought he would be a garden-variety bodyguard, but actually his job was to ensure the safety of the gold more than the person with the gold.
He was a gold mercenary.
He had no regrets. He earned five times more money than he would in any other security job. He had two assignments a month on average, with varying durations, and he had time to spend with his wife and kids, who were living in Pensacola, Florida. As far as his wife and the IRS knew, he was a security consultant for a company based i n El Paso.
He shifted into third gear. The SUV was slower with the gold bars weighing down the back. It took them a half hour to reach their destination: a newly constructed five-story hotel with Moorish architecture. The garage door to the left of the building opened, and he drove into th e complex.
An hour later, Jack Winthrop was lounging under an umbrella at the hotel swimming pool, his hair still wet from a dip in the cool water. He was writing up a detailed report. Aurora protocol required that he file a report daily by encrypted e-mail. He hit âsendâ and put his phone down. He had a whole day before his flight, and he wondered how he would spend it. Kuwait City was not exactly the kingdom of a thousand and one nights: no alcohol, no nightclubs, and forget about sex. The bars in the major hotels offered the only opportunities for encounters, and the competition was formidable: ten men for ev ery woman.
A tall, athletic brunette in a yellow bikini sauntered by, a towel thrown over her shoulder. She sat down two umbrellas away and glanced at him. He smiled. She was a pro, but he had the means. Just as he was imagining her wrapped around him in his hotel room, a broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut walked up to her. A military man turned consultant, no doubt. He was already rubbing sunscreen on her back.
Out of luck. Winthrop wished he was in Dubai. At least there pleasures, vices, and human weaknesses were tolerated. His phone vibrated.
Aurora Source to Auror a Security
Report received. Congratulations on your success. Human losses are regrettable. No other operations in view before the end of the month. The sum of $18,600 has been transferred to your account at the Bermuda Vernet Bank in Nassau. Saf e travels.
Winthrop grinned. A nice dayâs pay for a little drive through the desert. He sometimes wondered how many other agents like him traveled around the world to âfacilitateâ the gold market. Three times he had been sent two men and a
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