Читать книгу One Last Kiss - Mary Wilbon - Страница 14

One block over, on the top floor of a deserted home, two agents were observing Bodine through telescopes. It was the sixteenth consecutive day of watching him. They had lived in the home without leaving for a minute. They were paid to notice patterns, learn routines. The room was littered with stained, empty coffee cups and old pizza boxes.

The morning started out like every other day.

The target got up went into the bathroom

“Time?” the first agent asked.

“Seven forty-eight.”

“The target is in the bathroom.”

The second agent wrote it down. They were the same notes he had taken every day for over two weeks.

“The target is exiting the bathroom and going into the kitchen.”

“Breakfast,” the second agent said, and yawned. “I’ll bet he has the same thing for breakfast he always has.”

The agent with the telescope didn’t take the bet. Bodine did the same thing every morning. He drank a Budweiser and smoked a cigarette. That was breakfast.

But then he did something different. He went into his work area. When he started working on the briefcase, the men snapped to attention and rapidly started taking notes and pictures. They captured every detail of the briefcase and its contents.

They watched and recorded as he turned on his radio. The first agent adjusted his headphones and checked the input levels on the recording system. All systems were go. The microphones were functioning flawlessly, and the audio feed was crystal clear.

When Bodine picked up the knife and cut himself, the first agent took out his cell phone and dialed.

The phone at the other end rang three times before it was picked up.

No one on the other end spoke.

“Get me Aster,” the agent said urgently.

“He’s in a meeting.”

“This is Team Leader One. Goddammit, put me through.”

The agent heard the anonymous voice at the other end say, “I think you better take this call.”

Seconds later, “This is Aster.”

“Commander, the target is getting ready to make his move.”