whatever he can to salvage this,” Reed agreed. “He feels obligated to look after his nephew for his younger brother.”
Working with Trent was something Jack had been doing under the radar. No one in the family knew of their new relationship. Mentor and prodigy.
Simpson rubbed his chin and said, “That’s the reason we were finally able to bring him on board, sure, but he believes in what we’re doing. He understands the big picture.”
“That’s not the problem, Addy. The problem is how you’ll go about finding a person who had a major hand in developing the very systems we use to track people down.”
Simpson hated it when people pointed out the obvious. “That’s not something you’ll have to worry about,” he said, alluding to his resignation.
Chapter 22
Hilton Hotel, Tysons Corner, Virginia
BRUCE CAMPBELL ENTERED the Hilton Garden Inn on edge. He looked at the small child throwing a temper tantrum at the front desk and was happy for the distraction. His target, Aliaksandr Petrov, had been reported as being on the first floor. The first floor wouldn’t have been Campbell’s preference, so he began to wonder whether the assassin was expecting an uninvited guest. Perhaps the room was just a decoy. He knew his employer had incredible resources and would have provided the information if there were any indication of a trap, but his target was a top-notch professional, so he couldn’t discount the idea.
Doubts began to creep into his mind as he casually surveyed the hotel. An inflated ego made coming to the hotel alone an easy choice. He reasoned that he could catch the Russian off guard and score the kill, so bringing his driver along for an extra set of eyes wasn’t necessary. He hoped taking care of Petrov would get him back on good terms with his employer. Pressure from Pavel Kozlov about the previous fuckup had unsettled his nerves and chipped away at his confidence. Kozlov wasn’t a man who tolerated failure.
After exploring the layout of the building, Campbell decided to make a casual pass by the target’s room. Lobby signs directed him down a hallway to the left of the reception desk. The long corridor had a bend, presumably to help keep the noise down for the hotel’s first-floor guests. His level of anticipation remained high. Petrov’s room was still out of view because of the curvature.
He carefully rounded the bend and was presented with the cleaning crew’s rolling station. The cart was situated in the middle of the hallway, with a guest room door propped open on either side for quick access to the cleaning supplies. Campbell counted the rooms and knew the open door on the right led to the Russian’s. He readied his weapon as he crept to within earshot and steadied his breathing.
A quick check behind confirmed nobody else was in the hallway, but a flash of movement as he turned back to the room was enough for him to brandish his Sig Sauer P226R. The adrenaline shot spiked his heart rate as his laser-like focus switched to the object in motion. He took a deep breath as a white towel lazily slinked its way down the side of the cleaning cart and fell to the floor. Campbell quickly stuffed the weapon back into his sport coat and checked his six, annoyed with his edginess, knowing the assassin wouldn’t be expecting him. He approached the door slowly and peered around its frame.
The maid gasped in surprise when he appeared, and raised her hand to her heart. She quickly resumed smoothing out the sheets.
He took quick stock of the room and asked, “Will you be much longer?”
“Yes, sir…I mean, no, sir. I’m just about finished.”
He entered the room as she rushed nervously to complete the job. Campbell was an imposing figure, and the sport jacket didn’t do much to soften his look. After making the bed, she walked to the window and began to open the shades.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said firmly.
She took the hint and scurried out of the room with her head