Bottom Line by Joseph Browning & Suzi Yee

Author:Joseph Browning & Suzi Yee [Browning, Joseph & Yee, Suzi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Expeditious Retreat Press
Published: 2019-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

European airspace, en route to Monaco

22nd of August, 08:17 a.m. (GMT+2)

Wilson was awake but he kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady nonetheless; he enjoyed the peace and quiet he received when everyone thought he was still asleep. In the past month, he had flown in nearly a dozen planes, but this flight had been by far the most comfortable—he’d even managed to sleep a whole six hours, which was quite the feat for someone who could rarely sleep on planes. He’d zigzagged so many time zones, it was a miracle he wasn’t more jet-lagged than he was—just a little tension around the eyes and fuzziness in the brain since his last shot of caffeine had worn off while he slept.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” Moncrief sung out in a cheerful tone. She drew up the shade covering one of the windows, and bright light spilled into the cabin. “We land in ninety minutes.”

Wilson yawned and stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The five-foot-two blonde was still in her pajamas—a two-piece cotton set with little flying pigs soaring through billowing clouds against a blue sky—with her hair pulled back in a ponytail; she looked more like a teenager at a slumber party than a billionaire heiress-slash-covert Salt Mine agent. She sauntered to the seat across from his and tucked her legs under her. Moncrief was always a picture, but it was the glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in her hand that drew the majority of his attention. “Is that for me?” He nodded at the juice.

Like clockwork, a platter appeared beside him with an identical glass. “Good morning, Mr. Westwood,” the steward greeted him. Wilson accepted the drink and nodded at the sound of his current alias’s name: Daniel Westwood, private security for Alicia Elspeth Hovdenak Moncrief. “Breakfast will be ready in half an hour,” the steward announced before retreating to the dining area.

Moncrief waited until Wilson took a sip of juice and maneuvered his seat from lay-flat to upright before beginning her interrogation. “Sooo...” Moncrief drew out the vowel. “Did you have a chance to see Alex while you were back in Detroit?”

“Alicia, I barely had time to go home, do laundry, and repack for the mission,” Wilson deftly avoided answering the question. “As it was, they had to send me the briefing electronically.” Leader had everything lined up just so: the “hack” of Lundqvist Investments and subsequent leak to the press was just the excuse Clover needed to get Fulcrum into place for infiltration. She was a major investor in Lundqvist—not just in a personal capacity, but also as a voting board member of numerous organizations. Truth be told, the kudos really belonged to the finesse of the Salt Mine’s coders, who used the backdoor on the memory stick that Stigma had recovered and made it look like an honest hack with a subtle Russian calling card.

Moncrief read the room and decided not to pick a fight. “He looks good, except for the broken leg,” she remarked offhand.

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