Outside, the two units on motorcycles waited, as did the helicopter unit. Thirty minutes later, one of the agents in the van said, “You think Hughes got spooked?”
“Maybe.”
“You want to make the call?”
“No. Let’s wait a few more minutes.”
They were both dreading the call—and the consequences. Conner McClain would not be happy.
The subject rose and walked to the bathroom. When he didn’t emerge after five minutes, the lead agent said, “Units Five and Seven, take the subject into custody. Repeat, enter the cafe and take the subject into custody. Ground Two, bring the van around for extract.”
The two agents entered the cafe, marched to the bathroom, and burst in, handguns drawn.
The bathroom was empty.
In the van off Pariser Platz, the two agents shared a nervous glance. The lead agent took out his mobile phone and dialed.
Off the Horn of Africa, on board the Kentaro Maru, Conner McClain answered with a single word. “Report.”
“We lost him.”
Conner sighed and leaned back from the long desk. He stared at the screen on the wall. It showed a map, with red spreading out from major cities across the world.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “Desmond Hughes is smarter than you are. He’s smarter than I am. He’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. Our only chance of catching him is to do something he’s not willing to do—something he would never consider. Now tell me how you’re going to find him. Quickly.”
“Stand by.” The agent in the van muted his headset, presumably to converse with his colleague.
He unmuted the line and said, “Okay, we could review cam footage from our field units of the cafe off Reichsstraße and the teahouse, look for any individuals in disguise—”
“Hughes would have thought of that. Remember, he’s smarter than you are. Think outside the box. What’s the one thing you have?”
The team leader muted his mic again. A minute later, he reactivated it and said, “Sorry, we’ve got nothing here.”
“You know the identity of someone meeting with Hughes as we speak.”
“We use our contacts to trace Meyer’s mobile—”
“Hughes would have thought of that too: Meyer won’t have his phone with him. Think about what you know.”
“Uhmm…”
“You know that Meyer is scared. He will have another phone, probably a disposable, and he will have given someone he loves and trusts the number—just in case. You find that person, you get to Garin Meyer. You get to him fast enough, you get Desmond Hughes—and we all live through this. I suggest you hurry, for all of our sakes.”
In the teahouse bathroom, Garin Meyer had expected to see Desmond Hughes waiting in the stall, but it was empty.
Garin entered, latched the door, and waited.
Someone in the next stall slipped a package wrapped in brown paper under the divider. A note on top read: