Free Tom Clancy Duty and Honor by Grant Blackwood Page A

twelve.”
    “Go straight there,” Jack said, handing back Effrem’s wallet and passport. “Wait for me.”
    On Effrem’s cell phone Jack navigated to the address book, found the phone’s number, then typed it into his own cell phone.
    “Why should I trust you?” asked Effrem, taking the phone back.
    “Because you’re still alive.”
    “Good point. What’re you going to do now?”
    “I don’t know. Can you tell me anything about that guy? His name, where he’s staying?”
    “No. I was just following him.”
    Jack wanted to ask the obvious question—Why?—but instead said, “Can you get to your room without going through the lobby?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do that. Get on the 495, find a gas station bathroom, clean yourself up, and then get into your room and stay there. Don’t answer the door until you hear my voice.”

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
    J ack sprinted back to his car and, five minutes after sending Effrem on his way, was heading down Cardinal Drive. He crossed over the 495 and onto the Georgetown Pike. At the first stoplight he spotted a gas station. He pulled into a parking spot.
    He had one shot at this, he knew, and it was fifty-fifty at best. Despite taking a bullet from Jack’s Glock, Möller had been moving at a decent clip through the trees and the man had already proven himself cool in a crisis. Therefore Jack had to assume Möller had tended to his wound, regrouped, and either was lying low in the nature preserve or was already out of the area. The question was, Would the man go back to his hotel or did he have a fallback exfiltrationplan? Things had gone very bad for Möller: There were witnesses and he’d been in a firefight. How would he react?
    He dug the fast-food receipts out of his pocket, then used his phone’s Yelp app to map both restaurants. Each was located within a quarter-mile of the other, off Richmond Highway. Next Jack dropped a pin on the app’s screen and searched for nearby motels. There were three within walking distance of the restaurants, a Holiday Inn, a Days Inn, and a Comfort Inn, all similar to the hotel Eric Weber had chosen—mid-priced, nice, but not extravagant. Maybe that meant something, maybe not.
    The outcome of Jack’s scheme depended on human nature. Most people looking for a quick meal in a strange city chose restaurants close to their motel. Whether a man like Möller would allow himself such a convenience Jack didn’t know, but it was all he had. He’d already made one mistake by leaving his passport in the Malibu; perhaps he’d make another. A common problem with professionals of any trade is self-assurance, the mother of complacency. It had happened to Jack before—perhaps as recently as the Supermercado. Even John Clark had once—just once, over a few beers—admitted his own occasional tradecraft blunder. The question was, What do you do after the mistake? What would Möller do after his?
    Jack pulled out of the gas station and got back on the highway.
    —
    T wenty minutes later he reached Richmond Highway, turned south, then took the first exit. He chose the first motel he came to, the Holiday Inn, pulled in, and parked outside the lobby. Inside, using what he hoped was a decent German accent, he gave the name Stephan Möller to the front desk attendant and claimed he was a bit confused. Was he staying here? The answer was no. Jack moved on to the second motel, the Days Inn, and got the same results. At the third motel, he got lucky.
    “Yes, sir, you sure are,” the young Hispanic man said. “Can I help you with something?”
    “Yes, please,” Jack said, rubbing his eyes. “It has been a long day. I have been lost much of the time, and now I realize I have left my key in my room.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have a driver’s license or passport?”
    Jack handed over Möller’s passport. As the attendant studied it, Jack said with a sheepish chuckle, “About the beard, please do not ask. My wife is only now forgiving