So, where were they going to stay? And where were they going to set up this listening station?
He told this to Twitch, who was immediately on his laptop, banging the keyboard. It took less than a minute for him to confirm their worst fear: There were no rooms available within fifty miles of Monte Carlo. They’d all been sold out months ago.
And unlike Shin-1, Shin-2 was just a taxi. The pilots were dropping off Beta Squad and then going home. Staying aboard the plane was not an option.
“Son of a bitch,” Twitch said as all this was sinking in. “There really is no room at the inn.”
* * *
BEFORE LEAVING THE Immaculate Perception, Batman and Twitch had borrowed civilian clothes from the crew. They might have been the best threads either had ever worn: Omani silk shirts, Versace slacks, Italian suede loafers. And these were items that belonged to the yacht’s kitchen crew.
But aside from these clothes, a single debit card, Twitch’s laptop, their side arms and a small backpack each, they had nothing else with them. For this last-minute mission, they were traveling very light.
The Shin finally reached the pier and a gangplank was put in place. Batman and Twitch momentarily considered just going back with the flying boat to somehow devise a Plan B. But go back where? To The Immaculate Perception? What would be the point of that? Besides Batman never wanted to see that particular mega-yacht again. They could return to their headquarters in Aden, but then what? There was nothing they could do there to help the situation here.
So they finally just thanked the pilots and disembarked. They watched the Shin turn around and make its way out to the harbor. Within two minutes, it was airborne again, winging its way back east, leaving them alone on the pier with no place to go.
“Do you think they have any homeless shelters here?” Twitch asked.
Batman took a look around and replied, “Maybe for people with bank accounts under a million bucks.”
But at that moment, a black Mercedes SUV suddenly roared up the pier and stopped in front of them. The doors flew open and two men in trench coats jumped out. It was a balmy eighty degrees and sunny. Hardly trench coat weather.
Twitch whispered to Batman: “Gestapo?”
One man stayed with the vehicle. The other walked over to the Whiskey members.
“You are Major Robert Graves?” he asked Batman, noting his missing left hand. Oddly, the man’s accent was mid-American.
“I used to be,” Batman replied.
“And this is Mister Kapula?” he asked, turning toward Twitch.
Twitch lifted his pant leg to show he had a prosthetic leg.
“Proof enough,” the stranger responded snidely.
“Who are you?” Batman asked him.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend of a friend,” he replied.
“But we don’t have any friends here,” Twitch said.
The man’s facial expression did not change.
“A friend in high places, shall we say?” he replied.
Batman and Twitch looked at each other and mouthed the same thing: Emma Simms?
Is that who he meant?
The man indicated the SUV; its rear doors were open.
He said, “Gentlemen? If you please…”
* * *
SECONDS LATER, THE SUV was speeding through the streets of Monte Carlo, its driver apparently auditioning for a spot in the upcoming Formula One race. Batman and Twitch were in the back; the two trench coat men were up front. The Whiskey members were pressed against the seats, the g-forces keeping them glued there.
“Reminds me of a ride I took in Shanghai recently,” Twitch said under his breath.
Though they were going by in a blur, the streets of Monte Carlo looked surreal nevertheless. Preparations for the big road race were going on everywhere. Signs, banners, flags, advertisements, race cars, support vehicles and hundreds of media-types were all over the place. So too were flocks of the Beautiful People. Every woman they could see flashing by looked like a model. And every man looked like a billionaire.
But many of these people were walking around wearing earmuffs, even though the weather was warm and the sky was cloudless. Why? Because it was so noisy in the city, people needed ear protection.
Very strange …
Five minutes into the journey, Batman became convinced they were actually being brought to a police station for questioning; the guys up front just seemed like cops.
But questioning for what?
Were the Monte Carlo authorities on to them? Did they know who they were, or why they were here? Would they even care?
Batman’s visions of being hit with rubber hoses faded, though, when they passed first one, then