12 MAY—8:13 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
LILLEHAMMER, NORWAY
All of them holding their downhill skis vertical, Devlin, Randall, and Faith stood at the gate to the ski lift. Wearing a black winter jacket, black ski pants, and dark blue ski boots, goggles resting on his head, Randall turned away from the women on his three o’clock to face a thirty-something man on his left. “First run of the day is always exciting, isn’t it?”
Ten hours ago, back in Virginia, after having contacted several former CIA colleagues, Randall had placed his next call and struck intelligence pay dirt with a teammate from his days with the CIA’s SAC/SOG—Special Activities Center/Special Operations Group. A clandestine meet had then been arranged.
An hour later, Devlin, Randall, and Faith were aboard a Gulfstream G550 heading to Oslo, Norway. Following the seven-hour flight and a ninety-minute drive, the trio had arrived at a ski resort in Lillehammer where they proceeded to buy day passes and rent ski equipment.
As tall as Randall and dressed the same, but a couple years younger, the thirty-something man agreed, “It sure is,” before facing an empty gondola inching its way around a bend.
When the car hit a straightaway, the foursome advanced. Devlin deposited her skis into one of four baskets on the outside of the carrier, stepped into the enclosure, and sat down. Faith, Randall, and Thirty-Something followed Devlin’s lead.
Its door closing, the gondola clamped on to the main cable seconds later and picked up speed as it climbed the mountain.
Wearing more stylish and more colorful ski clothing than the men, both women removed their gloves and unzipped their heavy jackets. The weather outside the transport was in the mid-thirties and breezy. Inside, shielded from the wind, and with the sun shining through windows, the atmosphere was stuffy.
On Randall’s right, seated across from her sister, Devlin looked to her eleven o’clock and eyed Thirty-Something. His hair was buzzed down to a quarter inch and a shade darker than his brown eyes. Thin eyebrows and thin lips sandwiched a narrow nose with naturally flaring nostrils that gave him a menacing appearance. “So I’m—”
Thirty-Something quickly raised an index finger in the space between the two couples.
She flicked her eyes toward Randall who seemed unfazed by the other man’s abrupt gesture.
The gondola hit the halfway point in the journey.
“I apologize for my rudeness, but extreme caution comes with the territory. You never know when someone might be listening in, so I prefer to,” Thirty-Something twirled a finger at the openness around them, “put some distance between me and any prying ears.” Inclining toward the women, he smiled and extended his hand. “My name’s Chase.”
Devlin noticed the man’s stern features soften into a warm, preacher-like countenance. “I’m Devlin.” She dipped her forehead toward the other woman. “This is Faith.”
Handshakes were doled out.
“It’s very nice to meet the both of you.” His stoicism returning, Chase faced Randall.
Randall half closed an eye at him.
Both men sported slowly broadening smiles.
The women exchanged glances before regarding the silent standoff.
Simultaneously, Randall and Chase leaned forward and slapped palms together. Looking like arm wrestlers locked up, they gripped and squeezed each other’s right hand.
Chase smacked Randall’s right deltoid muscle. “King. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”
Randall’s smile grew bigger. “I can’t complain.”
“Ha! If I remember correctly, you were always complaining about something.”
“How would you know? Your brain was never really your best asset.”
“True.” Chase nodded. “That’s true. All the ladies know what my best asset is.” He glimpsed the women, and his smiled faded. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to...to...I was just,” he motioned toward Randall, “busting his—”
“We’re,” Devlin dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “all adults here. We’ve heard worse.”
“And,” Faith grinned at the boasting male, “without any visible evidence, we ladies rarely put much stock in a man’s wild claims.”
Chase beamed back at her for several seconds before bursting into laughter while facing the man across from him. “You never told me your companions were going to be such fun. I like them,” he came back to the woman on his left, “a lot.”
His expression doing an about-face, Randall clenched his teeth.
Devlin observed her partner’s jaw muscles bulging while his eyes flitted from Faith to Chase to Faith again. What’s eating him?
Faith spotted Randall’s piercing stare.
His gaze dropped to the floor.
A beat later, she wiped the smile from her face and glanced down. “So,” she squirmed on the metal bench, “what’s the story behind this King name, anyway? Is that a nickname?”
Chase turned toward Randall. “It was his call sign from when we were in SOG together.” He glanced at the women. “Sorry...Special Operations Group.” He eyed his friend again. “His call sign was actually King Solomon, but we had to shorten it...took too long to say over the airwaves.”
Faith’s eyebrows inched closer together. “Why King Solomon?”
“Because,” Chase smirked, “he’s such a wise, wise man.”
Randall half grinned while shaking his head at the man.
“He was always giving out bits of wisdom, reciting ancient proverbs, telling us stories from his childhood—things his Pops had told him.”
“You’re kidding.” Devlin spied her partner. “He was telling stories about his Pops way back then, too?”
“Oh yeah.”
Faith chimed in. “I’ve even heard a couple of those already.”
“The famous Pops tales.” Chase interlaced forearms over his chest and cocked his head at Randall. “After a while, the guys in the unit began wondering if Noah had run out of material and was simply pulling stuff out of his butt.”
The women smiled.
His cheeks flushing a bit, Randall glimpsed Faith and Devlin. “Don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth. I would never say anything that wasn’t true.” He spied his former teammate. “And I seem to recall my advice saving you from getting involved with that woman who turned out to be married.”
Chase huffed. “Yes, but,” he glanced away, his mind taking him somewhere else, “I wish you hadn’t given me that advice until after I had,” his gaze zipped toward the women before settling on his friend, “had been with her.”
“Please.” Randall peered out his window. “Her husband was a cop. He’d have made your life miserable had you...been with her.” In the next instant, he poked his chin at Chase. “Now that we’ve revisited the past, how about we get down to the business of why we’re here? What does the CIA have on our target, Michael Crane?”
“Just so you know,” Chase showed the other man his palms, “I’m not here in any official capacity. I’m just doing a buddy a favor.”
Randall nodded once. “Understood. And I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“So, like I told you on the phone, I’ve heard rumors about someone fleeing the States and hiding out in Norway. Pushing my assets for information, I think I’ve come up with a possible location on your mark. It’s not a hundred percent, but my contact has yet to fail me.”
Randall shrugged. “At this point, we have nothing else to go on, so,” he paused, “where does your contact think Crane is?”
Chase hooked a thumb toward the mountain behind him. “Up there.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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