Snowden reached for his third hot dog. “I’m going back to the conference room, and you are going to join the others and tell them everything we found out. I’ll continue with the team and check in every three or four hours. Take some advice, kid. It’s late. Take a shower and hit the sheets for a few hours. You need to be fresh as a daisy when you talk to the gang in the morning. You’re dead on your feet and you know it, so don’t deny it.”

Abner wasn’t about to deny anything, because he was as mentally exhausted as he was physically tired. He’d been operating on pure adrenaline for the past few hours. He didn’t know how the old spy sitting across from him could still be alert, eating, and able to carry on a coherent conversation.

“Go along now, Abner. I’ll take care of the check and send off a text to Sir Charles saying we’ll meet up for breakfast at eight in the penthouse. It’s three o’clock now, so that will give you a nice little nap. Skedaddle.”

Skedaddle! Abner grinned. He supposed the strange word meant split or something similar to get the hell out of here. These Brits. They were so weird. He felt the urge to say something, to apologize for his shortcomings, but the words wouldn’t come, so he simply got up and left. He realized just how bone tired he was as he wobbled his way to the elevators that would take him to his room. If he hadn’t been so tired and had had his wits about him, he would have seen Jack Emery and Dennis West racing through the lobby.

Outside, in the hot humid night, Dennis West pulled up short and grabbed Jack’s arm. “I am not going one step farther until you tell me what’s going on and why we’re outside this fine casino at three o’clock in the morning and getting ready to go God knows where. You call me up and yell at me to get dressed and meet me here in the lobby. I listened. I did it. Here I am. Now talk, damn it!”