“Yup, you know, pages,” Saxon muttered. “Ya flip them over, read the words on them.”
“A book?” Who the hell was this guy? Seriously? “A story? Why not the freaking paper?”
“No,” Saxon moved into the right-hand lane, and took the ramp. “Papers always have bad news, and you finish them too fast. It’s better if you get a book, they last longer, and we have a couple of hours still to go.”
“This would be so much fucking easier if we had taken a helo or if you just let me put on the radio or something.”
“Bah,” Saxon found a parking spot near the entrance to the services station and stopped the truck. He scanned the parking lot, the gear bag in the trunk should be safe enough here. There were plenty of people around; at almost midday in this part of Italy, everything stayed open. Not like in the north where stores and gas stations shut from midday to three pm. “You have no culture. Get a book.”
“Fine.” If Saxon was getting so bent out of shape about him getting a damn book, then he would get a book. “I’ll find a fucking book, if I get carsick from reading while you drive it’s your own damn fault.”
“Noted.” Saxon locked the truck as soon as they both were out of it. He needed coffee, and he needed it stat, this was going to be a bitch of a long freaking trip. Who’s smartassed idea had it been to drive again? Oh, yeah, his. His plan had been to talk about them. But gah, talking… not his strong point. And now he was making stupid-assed comments about buying books to cover the fact that his brain was scrambling for how to start the conversation.
Saxon scanned the parking lot, keeping his eyes peeled for threats and tangos. His internal warning system, the instincts he had honed over a decade of living in war torn countries, was telling him something was off. Shit, maybe stopping here was a bad idea. “Stay close to me.”
“I thought I was supposed to buy a book.” Rick’s response might be flippant, but his instincts were riding him hard. He too scanned the parking lot, looking for anything out of place. Anything that didn’t seem right. But nothing and nobody stood out as a threat. Recon was a fuck lot easier in Afghanistan or Iraq, where almost everyone you looked at in certain areas had the potential to be a tango. Here in Italy? Yeah, that was a hell of a lot more difficult.
“Nope, I changed my mind.” Saxon guided them toward the barista station. “Tell me they have tall coffees here and not dinky espresso.”
“Sure, they have.” Rick nodded to the stacked travel mugs next to the coffee machine. “Want me to order?”
“Thanks.” He would rather they not stand out more than they had to. His Italian was shit; if his appearance didn’t give him away, his accent would tell anyone listening that he wasn’t local. At least from what he remembered, Rick’s Italian was pretty good. Probably from working with a first-generation Italian-American as a boss.
In the mirror behind the coffee machine, Saxon kept his eye on the other customers strolling between the various outlets. He scanned each and every one, looking for the reason the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and goosebumps rose along his skin. “Something is wrong.”
“Yeah, I feel it too.” Rick kept his eyes on the mirror too. Watching and waiting for someone to make their move sucked. “We should go.”
“Agreed, there are too many civilians here if someone wants to cause an issue.” He kept scanning the area.There!Saxon’s focus zeroed in on a figure facing away from him, something about the man’s reflection in the glass window he faced was off. He strained his eyes, and sidestepped a female waiting to order coffee. Finally, he got a good view of what had tripped his radar.
The asshole had a rifle. He supposed it could be a fake one and something to do with the Halloween scream mask the man wore, but his guts told him the weapon was real. “Gun.”
“Copy.” Rick immediately stepped out of the line of people waiting for coffee.
Saxon spun around and grabbed Rick by the arm, tugging him with him toward the door. “Move fast, stay low.” Shielding him with his own body, Saxon raced them toward the exit.
Pfft… glass shattered over their heads. Fuck, there was the confirmation that either he or Rick were the targets.
The stunned silence lasted all of a couple of seconds before screams and cries of terror filled the air. No doubt the onsite police would be blocking the exits fast. They needed to leave, stat.
“Move. Go.” Covering Rick as much as possible, Saxon kept them moving, zig-zagging across the floor, trying to make them a more difficult target.
“Shit,” Rick followed Saxon’s lead as bullets from a suppressed weapon dogged their heels out the door. Saxon hit the coms unit in his ear. “Bravo One, tell me my damn truck is clear.”
“Who…?”
“Shh,” Saxon cut off Rick’s question, he needed to hear what Roman had to say.
“Bravo One here, truck is clear.”
“Thank fuck.” Saxon hit the button on the lock. Ten seconds later, tires squealed as they sped off from the gas station, barely avoiding the police vehicle that attempted to block the exit.
“I guess we now know they don’t want me to make this meeting.” It made no sense though. Why insist he be exchanged for Joe, then try to kill him when he was on route to the handover?
“Yup,” Saxon hit the button on his ear. “TOC, Bravo Three, we got a problem.”
“TOC here, I’m on it.”Max replied.“Bravo One filled me in.”
“He is clear?”
