Page 38 of The Atlas Maneuver
“There’s another one right behind us,” the driver said.
She turned. Through the rain-smeared rear window she saw a second vehicle keeping pace with them, way too close considering the conditions.
The car in the rear tapped their bumper.
Which startled her.
Her driver’s foot smashed the brake and the Mercedes swerved, skidding and swaying on the soaked surface. The rear wheels shrieked, trying to grab the pavement, and the entire car veered right onto the shoulder, dangerously near the guardrail at the road’s edge. At the last moment her driver succeeded in regaining control and bringing the tires back into the lane.
The car ahead sped away.
The one behind passed, then accelerated away too. She could see nothing but blurs out the rain-soaked windows.
What was that?
Her nerves were rattled.
But she quickly grabbed hold of herself and said, “You did good.”
One of the prerequisites for all the bank’s drivers was attending a special course on executive protection, which included defensive driving lessons. She’d once thought the precaution overkill, but that schooling had just paid off.
She took a moment and gathered herself.
Her reputation was one of calm and cool. Rarely did she raise her voice and never had she lost her temper while at work. Not even today. If she was bothered, or angered, she dealt with those emotions in private. Which did not mean she was weak. No. Only careful.
Always.
She was about to close her laptop when a soft ding signaled that a new email had arrived. Nothing unusual. She received a hundred or more each day. But the subject line was not usual.
DID YOU RECEIVE OUR MESSAGE?
She tapped the keyboard and called up the information.
No message or name anywhere.
Only a symbol.
One she knew.
Used in Chinese, Korean, and, most relevant, Japanese.
For gold.
She shook her head.
A bad day just got worse.
CHAPTER 23
COTTON CAME ALERT AT THE SIGHT OF THE DOWNED MAN, REACHINGbeneath his jacket and finding his Beretta. Magellan Billet issue. From his old boss, Stephanie Nelle. Who made sure he always had one on hand.
Okay. Be ready.
He stepped from the kitchen.
The consulate filled what had surely once been an opulent Swiss villa. The numerous rooms on the ground floor had been converted to staff offices with desks, computers, and filing cabinets. Everything neat and orderly, the décor decisively Japanese. Consulates were like branches of a bank, stationed throughout a country to offer services to their respective nationals and monitor things at a local level, each reporting back to the main embassy. He was seasoned enough to know that their staff usually included people from the intelligence branches of their respective governments. For Japan that meant the PSIA, which he’d dealt with before in his other life as an active Magellan Billet agent. What concerned him here was the lack of people. Consulates never closed. Yet this place seemed deserted.
The kitchen corridor ended at a double-leafed door, the right half open. To the left was a dining room.
