9:45 p.m. (Local Time)
Northwest of Berg, Germany
Close to the border between Germany and France
Dahlia sat in the front passenger seat of a black four-door Volkswagen Passat. Franks was behind the wheel. Charity was stretched out in the back, arms crossed, eyes closed. She had been asleep for the last hour. The Passat had been outfitted with power bars and water bottles, so a straight-thru drive got them to their destination with thirty minutes to spare.
Back at the rally point, while Franks was transferring Parker to another vehicle, Dahlia had placed the security card from Man 1 on a truck. She hoped the truck would be going in another direction from them, leading their attackers on wild goose chase.
Now, they sat at the edge of a forest, tall trees all around them. The pitch-black sky and thick clouds blocked out the moon and afforded them zero visibility. The temperatures throughout Germany had been mild during the day, hovering around fifty degrees Fahrenheit. At night, ahead of an approaching cold front, the thermometer was dropping rapidly.
Dahlia brought the wool blanket up to her chin. A second later, she scratched her neck before hugging herself beneath the prickly fabric. The VW’s blower shot out warm air, but a chill ran up her skirt, and her body trembled. “So, I mean no disrespect, Franks, but I have to know.”
The man kept his eyes straight ahead.
“What were your parents thinking when they named you?”
He laughed and slowly shook and bobbed his head. “I’ve asked myself that same question for years.”
“And?” said Dahlia, seeing the time on the dashboard—9:48—and reaching behind to shake Charity. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”
“No clue,” Franks held up his hands, “but like they say…what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” He shot Dahlia a quick glance. “Needless to say, I had my fair share of fights in school.”
She laughed and shoved her arm under the blanket.
Franks spied the dashboard clock—9:49. He sat upright, one hand on the headlight knob, the other twisted, so he could see his watch.
“Well, thank you Agent Franklin Franks.” She paused. “Out of curiosity, what’s your middle name?”
He never turned his attention away from the wristwatch. His eyebrows went up. “You don’t want to know…or rather…I don’t want to tell you.”
Dahlia grinned. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say, it makes the first and last names sound benign.” His watch showed 9:50, and he flashed the headlights three times, waited a beat and flashed them three more times. In his head, he counted to thirty and turned the headlights on and off three times.
“So, what happens now? Do—”
Franks’s hand shot up. After another thirty seconds, he executed the headlight ritual again and sat back. “Now, we wait.”
Charity clutched the front seats and stuck her head between them. “What are we waiting for?”
Franks lifted a finger. “You’ll see.”
“See what?” She looked out both back windows. The inside of the vehicle was as dark as the night sky. “I might as well be blind.” Fumbling around, she found Dahlia’s head, and mussed the woman’s hair. “Is that you, Dahlia?”
His eyes adjusted to the blackness, Franks saw what Charity was doing. “No ma’am…it’s me.”
Charity’s hand recoiled as if she had touched a hot stove. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”
Holding her stomach, Dahlia bent over, laughing. “I like you, Agent Franks. It’s a shame we can’t get into one more gunfight before we leave.”
Fifty feet away, straight ahead, a light flashed the same sequence Franks had used. He flicked the headlights on and off three times before leaving them in the ‘on’ position. “All right, ladies,” he held out his hand, “Agent St. James…”
“Please, call me Dahlia. You’ve earned the right to loosen your tie.”
He shook her hand. “Dahlia, it’s been a pleasure.” He extended his hand into the backseat area.
Charity took the hand. “The same goes for me. My friends call me Cherry.”
“Cherry, thank you for what you did for my partner. I really appreciate it…and I wish you both the best.”
Dahlia held up the blanket. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“By all means…” He sniggered and pointed. “It’s a better parting gift than those souvenirs in your leg.” Before Dahlia could reply, he added, “By the way, tell Hardy his payment for this favor is…Louise.”
Dahlia frowned and cocked her head.
“Just tell him that.” Franks smiled. “He’ll know what it means.”
… … … … …
A man in a black woolen overcoat approached the VW. After a few words with Franks, he stood near the women in the wash of light from the Passat’s low beams. “My name’s Carter.” He held out a hand.
“Dahlia.” They shook hands.
He eyed Charity. “So, you must be Red Ryder. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” After another handshake, he beckoned them to follow. “I have a car over here. I’ll be taking you to Strasbourg, where a jet is standing by to fly you to London. You should be there, and away from whatever mess you’ve gotten yourselves into, in a couple hours.”
The trio trudged through the woods a short distance and climbed into a vehicle, Carter at the wheel, Dahlia in front, Charity in back. The engine came to life, and the man navigated out of the forest, turned left onto L554 and pointed the headlights south.
Dahlia wrapped the blanket tighter around her body. “Is Carter your first or last name?”
Carter rolled his head her way and smiled. “Need to know, ma’am.”
She zeroed in on the man’s teeth. I thought mine were white. “Let me guess. Carter probably isn’t even your real name, is it? What agency are you with?” When she saw his pearly whites again, Dahlia went back to watching traffic. “Need to know, right? And, we don’t need to know.”
“We’ll be at the airport by eleven, ma’am, and you’ll be in the air a short time later. Tip the seat back and get some rest. I’ll wake you when we’re ten minutes out.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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