Carly had begun to have her doubts, too.
Stone had seeded the idea that Felicity was in Key West to Pryce on Saturday afternoon. That should have been more than enough time for whomever Pryce was working for to organize a team to check the Key West house that night. But no one had showed up. Carly was sure it was going to happen on Sunday, but again, the house had remained undisturbed.
It turned out Monday night—or technically, Tuesday morning—was the winner.
She grabbed her phone and called Felicity, who, unlike Carly and Jillian, was staying in Stone’s main house instead of the apartments above the garage.
“Did we catch our fly?” Felicity asked as soon as the call connected.
“Fly?” Carly asked.
“I didn’t mean that literally, dear. Like the saying you catch more flies with honey.”
“Oh, I get it. Yes, we caught our fly.”
“Tell me.”
Carly relayed what had just happened.
“I was starting to worry it wasn’t going to work,” Felicity said.
“You’re not the only one.”
“I’ll call my number two at MI6. I think it’s time we have that chat with Mr. Pryce. And Carly?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Excellent work.”
“Thank you, Dame Felicity.”
“Tell Jillian the same.”
“I will.”
Bronsky was impatiently pacing throughhis Helsinki safe house when his phone finally rang.
He snatched it up, hoping it would be Manny Lloyd telling him that Felicity was dead for real this time.
“Yes?” he answered.
“It’s me,” Manny said. “Sorry to tell you this, but your info was bad.”
“Bad? What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t there. No one was.”
“No one?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Could she just have been out?”
“It was three in the morning. I doubt she would have been hanging out in a bar. Plus, there were no signs of anyone staying there.”
“Shit.”
“Sorry it’s not better news.”
