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driver, who probably doubled as Thornton’s bodyguard. Either way, he liked
his odds.
    He pulled out both Brownings. The
pistols were well taken care of, recently oiled. He switched the safeties on.
Cocked each gun’s hammer. He had two shots before any manual intervention would
be required. For a man like Jack, that was plenty.
    He leaned over, opened the glove
box, rifled through it looking for something to cover his face. He found a blue
rag of a t-shirt, stained with oil. He held it up to his head. A perfect fit.
He tugged on the emergency brake and pulled the keys from the ignition. Gas
fumes filled the cramped interior. He rolled down the driver’s side window a
couple inches, then opened the door and exited onto the sidewalk. He scanned
the street, north to south. Quiet aside from a few pedestrians. His preparation
ended there.
    In most scenarios, time was an
ally. Not today. Not here. Jack decided he couldn’t even take the time to walk
down the sidewalk opposite the shop, then cross the street and loop back. By
that point, the driver might be on the street again. And the driver might know
what Jack looked like. The driver could position himself between Jack and the
Fiat, and that would complicate matters greatly.
    Jack knifed through the damp air,
headed across the street diagonally on a line toward Federico’s. He planned to
turn his head the opposite way when he hit the sidewalk, preventing anyone
inside from seeing his face. At best, they’d have body type to go on. And while
Jack was somewhat of a physical specimen, he wasn’t impressive enough to be one
of a kind.
    But it didn’t go according to plan.
He didn’t reach the other side of the street. Instead, the car that had been
tailing him screeched to a stop in front of him. The driver’s side window
rolled down. A man with buzzed blond hair and almost white eyebrows aimed a gun
at Jack.
    “Get in the car, Jack.”
    Jack hesitated, took a step back.
He realized that the vehicle was government issued.
    “Don’t try to run. I’ll gun you down.”
    Jack’s hands went to the handles of
his pistols.
    “Don’t even think about drawing on
me.”
    Jack looked down both ends of the
street. To his left, the tailor’s shop, and half a dozen vehicles climbing
toward him. To his right, the driver of the Bentley.
    “Hurry, Jack, before you get shot.”
    The Bentley’s driver stared in
Jack’s direction. He reached into his coat pocket. Was he going for a handgun?
Or a cell phone? Was it better to face that man, or the blond guy inside the
cheaper government sedan?
    The Bentley’s driver pulled a
pistol.
    “Now!” the driver of the government
sedan said.
    Jack stepped to his right, grabbed
the rear door handle, dove into the vehicle as it peeled away.
     

CHAPTER 11
     
    “What are you doing, Jack?”
    Clarissa hunched behind the wheel
of her small car, full of disbelief at what she had just witnessed. It was bad
enough that Jack appeared to be ready to attempt a hit inside a store in a busy
area. But to get inside a vehicle owned by British Intelligence? What the hell
was he thinking?
    As she eased down the street, she
realized that Jack had only had two options after the car pulled up. Get in or
get shot by either the driver or the man who stood on the sidewalk between the
shop and the corner. She recognized him, having seen him before at Naseer’s
place. The guy gave her the creeps. She’d do her best to look away when she
passed. A guy like him would not likely believe in coincidences. He’d put two
and two together, tell his boss. His boss would get on the phone to Naseer,
then all hell would break loose. The last thing Clarissa needed was Naseer
questioning her about her whereabouts and intentions. She’d be pulled from the
assignment the moment she sent a status update. If she lived that long.
    As Clarissa approached the
intersection before the tailor’s shop, she had a decision to make. Turn and
drive up two blocks, then merge back onto