Page 16 of Tango
I closed my eyes again and wondered who the hell GG was. The only GG I could come up with was Grim Gates, and I’d bet good money it sure as shit wasn’t Grim talking to a damn FBI agent.
A short time later, we were at The Hilton Embassy Suites. I caught a glimpse of the four of us as we walked by a full-length mirror in the lobby. Three men who screamed government with their suits, shoes, and sunglasses, and me looking like I stepped out of a Gap photoshoot. I hoped I didn’t look like I just got picked up at a local bar and was looking for a good time with these guys. Or maybe people would think I was the star of a boy band, and these were my bodyguards. That almost brought a smile to my face. Oh, God. I figured I must be losing it. Thank hell no one knew me here anymore.
“Here’s your key.” The guy behind the desk eyed me up and down, and I gave him a smirk. “Would you like an extra cot?”
“One is fine.” My smile widened.
“Sure.” He grinned. “Everything has been handled, Mr. Johnson. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Embassy Suites.”
“Thanks.” I snagged the key from him as my humor evaporated. I was suddenly exhausted. I only hoped the suitcase Frank had arranged for me had some aspirin in it. Collins hung up from his phone call.
“This is where we part ways.”
“Again,” I shook his hand, “thanks for your help.”
“If you ever need any help in the future, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed me his card.
When I flipped it over there was a number scribbled on the back. I nodded my thanks again then turned away. I wanted nothing more than a shower and to be left alone to think.
“Oh, by the way,” Agent Collins called, and I looked back, “be sure to say hello to John Black for me.” I squinted at him, unsure why he’d single out John. “Take care, Mr. Johnson,” he called as the elevator doors closed. I was more than happy to shed the FBI from my six, especially when I wasn’t even sure they’d really had my six.
I opened the door to my hotel room, locked it behind me, tossed the suitcase on the bed, and opened it. A cell phone was on top with a note stuck to it.
Call me – Frank.
“You good?” he offered as a greeting.
“Ask me again when I’m farther away from the border.”
“Fair enough.”
“Lexi?”’
“Her body’s on its way to the North Dakota morgue. Look,” I heard a door close, “the phone’s untraceable, but make all your calls then ditch it before you board the plane. Debrief, get your head on straight, and let’s finish what we need to do.”
“Roger that.”
“And Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“Glad you’re coming home. It’s time.” He hung up, and I was left with mixed feelings on the word home.
My shower felt good, but my military clothes felt better. It had been over a decade since I’d worn fatigues, boots, and a black t-shirt. After I’d shaved and shortened my hair, I checked out the rest of what Frank had sent. I pulled out a Shadows duffle bag. He’d known I’d want to travel with that instead of a suitcase. I silently allowed myself a moment as I shook it out and held it up.
I sat down on the side of the bed, closed my eyes, and slipped away, remembering that time.
“Eric! Eric!” My shoulder was smacked from behind, and I turned with a raised fist. “If we’re going to do this, you need to know your fucking name!” Ángel was annoyed at me again. “It’s been three days since you got here, amigo. If you don’t know your name, how can you do your job? One slip, and you’re dead.” He rubbed his forehead. “Now, say it again.”
“I’m Eric Noah from Austin, Texas. I’m forty-two and have been working in Mexico for the past fifteen years.”
“And?”
“Look, I don’t care if I’m supposed to be his fucking cousin. You can’t pay me enough to wear that cowboy hat or those ridiculous cobra boots. They looked stupid on Denton, and they’ll look even worse on me.” I pushed the hat away again when he shoved it at me. “No. Eric Noah is his own person. He’s not gonna dress like a freakin’ billboard for both countries.”
“Fine.” He tossed the white hat. “Tell me about your family.”
“I’ve got none.”
