Inside his room, Hardy started the shower and stripped, laying his clothes on the bed. He waited until the steam began to rise over the top of the shower curtain before he climbed into the stall. The hot water hit him like tiny pellets, but it felt good. He had been stuck on a plane for nine hours. After another hour in a small car, this was like a therapeutic massage. Standing with his back to the showerhead, he let the water loosen his tight muscles. He took a few extra minutes to enjoy the moist heat, before lathering and rinsing his body and hair. He rotated the shower handle to the right. Stepping out of the shower, he picked up the towel he had left on the toilet seat and wiped the remaining beads of water from his body. He tossed the towel onto the floor and left the bathroom.
Naked and standing by the bed, Hardy put on a pair of boxer shorts and blue jeans before adding a light brown t-shirt, white socks and brown hiking boot-type tennis shoes. Unzipping the duffle bag MacPherson had given him, he retrieved a Glock 19 handgun, holster, magazine pouch and two magazines. He tucked the small holster inside his waistband before attaching the clip over his belt to secure the rig. He picked up the Glock 19, retracted the slide to verify that the pistol was loaded and slid it into the holster. He put the magazine pouch on the other side of his belt and stuffed two fifteen-round magazines into it before draping his t-shirt over the gun and the magazine pouch. Slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, he exited the hotel room.
Entering the lobby, Hardy spied MacPherson, sitting in a chair and thumbing through a magazine. Noticing Hardy, MacPherson tossed the magazine onto the table next to him and rose to his feet. The two men left and got into the sedan. Hardy put the duffle bag in the back seat.
MacPherson eased the sedan into traffic.
Hardy twirled a finger in the air. “I want to make a slow trip around the café before we park the car. Go slow, but don’t make it conspicuous.”
MacPherson acknowledged him.
Less than ten minutes later, the sedan turned right down a narrow side street. MacPherson pointed. “The café is up ahead on the right.”
Hardy’s eyes scanned the street and buildings for anything, or anyone, that seemed out of place. He did not have reason to suspect anything was going to go wrong. Being acutely aware of his surroundings was something that came natural to him; furthermore, this skill automatically kicked in whenever he was in unfamiliar territory. The street was mostly deserted. A few people mingled on the sidewalk, talking as they walked. Cars were parallel-parked on the right.
After passing the entrance to the café, MacPherson gestured. “This street dead ends up ahead. I’ll have to turn around if you want to make a second pass.”
“No, park up there, the last one,” Hardy said, referring to the row of parallel parking spots on the right. He did not want to risk another drive past the café, in case there was someone watching.
MacPherson parked the sedan and shut off the engine. “How do you want to play this?” He removed his handgun from its holster. Pinching the slide near the muzzle between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled back the slide only enough to see a round in the chamber.
Hardy shook his head and held out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
MacPherson flicked his eyes toward the outstretched hand. “Why?”
“I’m going in alone. I want you to text me if you see anything on the street.”
MacPherson relinquished his mobile.
Hardy punched in the number to his sat phone and returned the man’s phone to him. After verifying his gun was loaded, he gave the street one more check before getting out of the sedan. He maintained a brisk pace toward the café, his eyes taking in every detail around him. Approaching the café, he swung open the door and stepped inside.