Silent Masquerade. Molly Rice

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      Chapter One

      Bill Spencer had known for some time that he wasn’t going to trust his life to the protection of any government agency. He was too familiar with the mechanics of the bureaucratic system to put his faith—his life—in their hands. He knew there were moles in high places, leaks in the system’s plumbing.

      But he needed to use the agency to front his escape.

      He needed the Organization to think he’d gone into the Witness Protection Program, so they’d be off sniffing in that direction while he made his getaway to parts unknown, covering his tracks with the expertise he’d acquired while working both sides of the fence.

      For that reason, there were two sets of papers in his pocket, one given to him by the WPP, the other a set he’d spent many nights crafting himself, not even trusting one of the specialists whose markers he held.

      If he’d learned nothing else during the two years he worked with a foot in both camps, he’d learned that there was always the possibility of betrayal when you were dealing with other human beings.

      He made another sweep of the room. The least little clue could be magnified by the right intelligence team and used to begin the tracking that would lead them to him.

      He was just running his hand between the mattress and the box spring when the knock came at the door.

      “We’re ready to go, Spencer,” a male voice said softly.

      He looked around the room and nodded, satisfied that it was clean, then picked up his bag and his briefcase. He was ready.

      They led him out of the hotel, a man on either side of him, two in the rear, one scouting a few feet in front.

      He got into the rear of the limo, again flanked by two of the agents, and did his own survey of the street as the chauffeur looked right and left before pulling out of the drive. There was no sign of anyone from the Organization

      No sighting didn’t mean that nobody was out there, it just meant they couldn’t be seen. Keeping his paranoia in place had saved his behind more than once, and he wasn’t about to give it up now. But the fact was, it worked in his favor if they had a man watching him now, someone who’d report back that he’d gone off with the WPP agents. The red herring.

      At the airport, he picked up the ticket the agency had reserved in the name Stanley Springer, checked his bag through to Madison and moved purposefully toward the blue concourse. The five men circled him, keeping a watchful distance, but staying close enough to move in if he was targeted.

      He nodded distantly at the agent near the water fountain and went into the men’s room. The cubicles were all empty. He chose the one farthest from the door, locked himself inside and opened the briefcase.

      When he left the men’s room, he nodded again, but this time there was no recognition in the agent’s eyes. The agent was merely responding politely to a stranger’s passing nod.

      He went to the Western Airline counter, picked up a ticket in the name of Sam Spalding, checked the briefcase through to San Francisco, and then left the terminal through the sliding glass doors.

      The car, stashed in long-term parking, was covered with dust. He drove to a self-serve car wash and hosed it down. Then, making sure there was nobody lurking around to observe his actions, he got a tool kit out of the trunk and removed the plates, replacing them with another СКАЧАТЬ