diplomatic bona fides. He was clearly unhappy but fully expected Arnie to take this one for the team.
“The president is watching,” he said. “So is the German Chancellor.”
“Understood, sir,” he replied.
The secretary looked at Agent Burns. They didn’t talk—not that anyone could hear—and then he left.
Arnie was surprised when the special agent offered his hand. “Good luck, sir.”
The handshake was brief. He asked, “What happens next?”
“We keep the phone and watch. Sorry, but you know this drill. Agent Pria will return your wallet. Your people are here.” He looked at his watch. “You have ninety minutes to wheels up.”
As the Secret Service detail left, in walked Izzy and the NIGHTWIND tech guy, Milo Crawford.
“Guten tag.” Izzy sniggered. “Or is it was ist los?” She shrugged because Felicity Toy didn’t give a shit.
“Take your shirt off,” she snapped. “They ordered a neo-Nazi shithead, so a neo-Nazi shithead is what they will get.”
She reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a pair of hair clippers. “Get ready for a transformation.”
In the span of forty minutes, Milo embedded a chip in his thigh and ran him through the specs. The location chip included a scrambling feature, so if the group he infiltrated was scanning for electronic signatures, he’d be fine.
Izzy worked her extensive prowess at living disguises to make him over as a right-wing anarchist with a severe buzz cut. She shaved symbols above his right ear and applied a jagged long-wearing tattooed scar on his chest.
Milo handed him a burner phone. “When you land in the UK, one of their guys will give you a replacement. MI 6 does the handoff, and then you’re on your own.”
“Where’s Dorothea?” he asked Izzy.
“She’s gone ahead. You know those UK clowns. Very big on protocols and whatnot.”
Annoyed and stressed out, he started to check the time, then realized they took his watch and snapped at Milo.
“Gimme your watch.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” he growled. Snapping his fingers irritably, he barked, “Let’s go. Hurry up.”
Izzy chuckled and told Milo to chillax. “He’s got a thing about time. Either that or a timepiece is his safety blanket. Just give it to him and shut up.”
As he affixed the watch to his wrist, Arnie sneered, “Timex? Really?” When he got back, he was going to make it a priority to introduce young, geeky Milo to the gentlemanly custom of watch collecting.
It was a mad dash to the airport where he boarded a private plane waiting to whisk him to the East Coast. He said goodbye to Izzy as Arnie. A few hours from now when he appeared on the ground in full disguise with an elaborate alias, he’d ping the surveillance radar of several friendly and not-so-friendly countries. Infiltration work was a different animal from tradecraft surveillance or military extraction. Observing wasn’t enough. He had to become one of them and drink the Kool-Aid, so to speak. Only when he understood the conditions in play could a way forward be found.
As the plane ascended, he realized there hadn’t been a chance to speak with Summer. He looked at his watch, wondered what she was doing, and knew she’d call him as soon as she could.
Then he remembered they’d taken his phone.
After crossing the continent and sitting through a trans-Atlantic flight, he reluctantly accepted the situation. He’d fucked up big time, and all he could do now was hope this goddamn assignment didn’t take long so he could throw himself at her feet and beg for a chance to explain.
Her feet hurt, and if she couldn’t change out of her work clothes and take off her bra soon, things might get ugly.
Summer lifted her phone off the bar to look at the time and check one more time to see if Arnie had called.
The afternoon was a memory, and all around her, the first wave of the dinner crowd filled the restaurant. After her second shift ended, she’d taken the stool at the farthest end of the bar where no one ever sat and immediately called Arnie. To her surprise, the call went straight to voicemail. Assuming he was still tied up with his business schedule, she settled in with a cocktail.
That was an hour ago. Now, she was on her second very dirty martini, made the way Arnie preferred, and actively worried.
He wasn’t answering his phone.
She made two calls and was contemplating a third when Summer caught the bartender looking at her with a pitying expression. There was nothing quite like being publicly stood up at her workplace.