21 January—12:46 a.m.
The Stafford London
A mini command center was established at The Stafford London, a nice hotel not far from the National Crime Agency, so Dahlia and Charity could shower and work in a more relaxed atmosphere. The close proximity to Hamilton’s office afforded her the option of zipping back and forth if the need arose.
Hardy had rented a modest room, the Main House Junior Suite, mainly because of the separate living room and the optional twin beds. Two people could sleep, while others worked. The other reason was the price. The last time he stayed here a friend had gotten him a deal on the Penthouse Suite; however, since U.S. taxpayers were footing the bill on this occasion, he wanted to keep the cost down.
Curled up on the couch and wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush white robes, coffee cup in hand, Charity stared at Cruz’s laptop, occasionally working the touchpad.
Across from Charity, Hardy and Hamilton had pushed together two comfortable chairs in front of a small table. They, too, were staring at a computer, trying to gather information on Rijal Al Salam.
Dahlia was sleeping. She had slept a few hours on the plane from Washington, D.C. to Munich; however, a car chase, two gunfights and a gunshot wound had used up that reserve. Even though she was running on fumes, she had fought to convince her teammates she was fine. Hardy was forced to pull rank. With a tired half grin, half sneer on her face, she had retreated to the bedroom, dragging her feet.
The electronic lock hummed and clicked before the door to the suite opened. Cruz strolled in with a garment bag slung over her shoulder. She set the bag next to Charity. “I grabbed your clothes on the way up.” The hotel had a laundering service. “And, there’s a bag of intimates and personal grooming items,” Cruz pointed, “in the bedroom.”
The seated woman raised an eyebrow.
“Hardy told me what happened in Munich,” —Charity using her bra as a tourniquet, and her and Dahlia having to leave their overnight bags in the wrecked BMW— “If you need something else, feel free to go through my bag.”
“Thanks.”
Cruz spun around. “What can I do to help?”
Hardy scribbled on a pad of paper, tore off a sheet, “Here,” and pointed at an available laptop. “You can run these down.”
She read the scrap. “What’s this?”
Studying his watch, Hardy stood. “Recent terror attacks that this Salami group…”
Hamilton grinned and shook her head.
“…has claimed responsibility for. See what you can dig up on them.” He tapped the wristwatch. “I’m overdue for checking in with Jameson.” He squinted at the ceiling. “At least I think I am. What time is it back in D.C.?” He shrugged. “Either way, I need to let him know,” he patted Charity’s leg on his way to the door and smiled at her, “we’ve got the band back together.”
Snickering, Charity watched him leave. “And to think, he didn’t really like me when we first met.”
Cruz sunk into the chair beside Hamilton, and both women said, “He doesn’t like anybody,” before Cruz finished with, “at first,” and Hamilton ended with, “in the beginning.” The women shared a laugh and went back to work.
...
After sliding a key card into the slot and opening the door, Hardy glimpsed his cell—1:28. That took longer than I’d planned.
“No, no, no,” said Dahlia, sitting on the couch to Charity’s left. Both in white fluffy robes, they sat close enough to resemble two giant cotton balls. “You’ll never locate him that way. You need to run a separate algorithm. Is this computer capable of running concurrent algorithms?”
“Of course it is,” replied Charity, removing her eyeglasses and pinching the bridge of her nose, “but I don’t see how that’s going to help.”
“You’ve got one that’ll run facial rec,” —facial recognition— “and the other will look for matches in gait.”
Arching his eyebrows, Hardy showed Cruz his palms.
She shrugged. “They’ve been at it like this for the last fifteen minutes.”
Hardy eavesdropped on the technical conversation a little longer. Arms crossed over her chest, Charity stared at the laptop, her lips puckering as if she had sucked on a lemon. For Dahlia’s part, she scowled and threw daggers, while continuing the sales pitch. Although he understood little of the computer jargon, he knew enough to try whatever Dahlia was selling.
Charity’s arms shot up. “I just don’t see how—”
“Cherry,” said Hardy, striking a serious tone and lifting a finger toward Dahlia, “let’s try her way.” He swung the finger to include everyone. “Just like more eyeballs on the problem are good,” his head dipped toward Dahlia, “maybe what she wants to try might help us.”
There were a few moments when everyone stopped working.
Charity’s face flushed. Her jaw muscles flexed. She shot glances at Cruz and Hamilton before coming back to Hardy. “Okay…fine,” she plopped the computer onto Dahlia’s lap, stood, grabbed the garment bag, “I’ll be getting dressed…if…I’m needed anymore,” and strode into the bedroom.
Dahlia’s head fell back against the couch. “Aw crap. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
Walking past her, Hardy pointed. “You run your program, or algorithm, or…” he waved a hand, “whatever it’s called. I’ll find out what’s up with her.”
...
Hardy rapped a knuckle on the door. “Cherry, are you decent? I’m coming in.”
“Give me a minute…okay.”
He entered the bedroom, and closed and leaned against the door.
Facing him, Charity made a knot in her robe’s belt.
“What was that all about?” Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Hardy folded his arms. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to you storming off like that.”
“I didn’t realize I stormed off.” Silence consumed the space, while Charity fiddled with the end of the belt.
“I’m not a dummy, Cherry. What happened out there was something more than just two coworkers having a disagreement.” Pushing away from the door, he cut in half the distance between them. “Did something happen in Germany?”
“Yeah,” she snapped, “a hell of a lot happened.”
He shook and dipped his head. “I meant between you and Dahlia. Do you two have problems?”
She looked up. “What? No…she was great out there.” Charity let out a quick breath. “She was awesome in fact. I wouldn’t be standing here now if it weren’t for her.”
Hardy took a step closer. “So, what’s the problem then?” More silence filled the room. “I need to know what’s going on, Cherry. I need to know my team is running on all eight cylinders.” He softened his tone. “Talk to me.”
And, talk she did. For the next two minutes, she spoke nonstop, barely taking time to breathe before finishing with her strongest point.
“I’m supposed to be the one with all the computer answers.” She jabbed a thumb at her torso. “Me…that’s my thing. I don’t have the skills,” she flung an arm toward the door, “the rest of you have. You won’t find me running and gunning, or knocking out a bad guy’s teeth with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. That’s not my strength.” She wiggled fingers. “You put me in front of a keyboard, though, and I can get you the information you need.” She took a breath. “So, the rest of you can kick the shi—” she grabbed oxygen, “kick the crap out of terrorists.” Charity held out her hands, palms up. “If I don’t have that, then what do I bring to the team?” Turning around, she threw up her arms. “Why am I even here?”
Hands on hips, Hardy stared at the back of her head. Wow. I didn’t see that coming. He turned his head and gaped at her clothes lying on the bed—jeans, blouse and blazer. The hotel could not get all of the dirt and stains out of the pants and jacket. Dark patches littered the fabric—Dahlia’s and Parker’s blood. He spied a white bra Cruz had bought, the price tag still attached. His mind replayed the conversation he had overheard, the one between Dahlia and Charity—‘No, I mean a really personal favor…I need you to take off your bra.’ Hardy stifled a chuckle. I’m not sure I would’ve given up my underwear.
Drawing close to her, Hardy spun Charity around and clutched her shoulders. “Listen to me, Cherry. When Jameson told me you were joining the team, I didn’t like the idea.” Hardy rolled his head. “I hated it, in fact. I thought for sure you were going to get me killed.”
Charity scrunched her eyebrows. “If this is supposed to be a motivational speech, then you suck at it.”
Laughing to himself, Hardy pumped an open hand. “Just hear me out.”
“As they say, don’t quit your day job.”
Tamping down another snicker, he put the hand back on her shoulder. “Long story short…I’ve come to trust you with my life. There’s no other person I want feeding me intel.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Dahlia may be good with computers, but,” he pointed, “you’re the best. And, no one is going to take your place.”
Charity smiled and glanced at his chest. “Thanks.” She bobbed her head. “That makes me feel better.”
“As for those other things you mentioned…the running and gunning? From what Dahlia has told me,” Hardy glimpsed the bed, “and seeing the blood stains on your clothes, you’re not that far away from being a kick-butt covert operative yourself.”
She let out a puff of air. “Well, I’m not so sure about that, but thank you anyway.”
“Now, get dressed. We need you out there.” Hardy went to the door and put a hand on the knob. Half turning around, he stared at the floor. “As I said, I never wanted you on my team. Now, however, I’d fight tooth and nail to keep you.” He flashed a smile and left.