Free The Lucifer Sanction by Jason Denaro

that’s all.”
Without missing a beat, Bell flipped him the
finger.
“Hey – that ain’t nice,” Dal said, faking shock.
“Hey, yourself!” she snapped. “You deserve the
bird.”
Having avoided the Heimlich maneuver, Dal
chuckled, “Oh really! Giving me the bird, huh? That ain’t
too ladylike.”
He spent the next few minutes avoiding her stare,
taking small bites, chatting to Blake who, aside from an
occasional uh hu, uh hu, worked away on his roulade.
A smirk crossed Patrice Bellinger’s face as she took
in Dal’s ceaseless banter. He caught her smirk, broke off
his chatter with Blake, and bellowed, “What!”
Her smirk became a hearty laugh. “Aw – I was just
thinking of how you were such a perfect gentleman when
we first met. I recall Sam introducing you, Carson Dallas. I
was so impressed. First impressions can be so misleading.”
She laughed for a half-minute and then became strangely
silent. After playing with her food she reached for the
napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry – yeah, I really
do miss Hunter.”
Blake continued to toy with the roulade as Dal
coughed the words, “Come again?”
“I wish he could be with us for this job,” she
sighed.
“Get over it,” Dal said, eying his plate.
“Excuse me!” she snapped, making a screwed up
face.
Silence.
“Uh-oh,” Blake said placing his fork alongside his
plate. “Silence ain’t good – have speaks with me, Patrice,
Dal, anyone?”
*****
    Eight-thirty the following morning they enjoyed
breakfast at the trendy restaurant Rive Gauche. Hunter’s
name was unambiguously absent from the conversation.
Bell, feeling
a little off from the previous night of
drinking, turned away from Dal as he finished a bottle of
Gewürztraminer. She flashed him an extra special look of
revulsion as he set about devouring a platter of oysters.
    “Why not?” Dal queried. He tapped a finger on the
empty bottle. “It’s on the tab, right?”
“Oysters for breakfast?” Bell snapped. “Give me
a break.” Her complexion changed from her usual pink to
a pale hue. “I need to head upstairs,” she said. “I’m not
feeling good.”
Dal grinned as she flung her chair back. “Something
you ate?” he called as she shot out of the restaurant like a
cork from a bottle of Perriet Jouet.
Blake was amused by the scene and took the last
pull from his cappuccino. Dal gazed about the restaurant as
Blake held a mouthful of coffee.
“And what’s with this leaving a piece of chocolate
on the pillow?” Dal scoffed. “I woke this morning and
thought my brain had hemorrhaged fuckin’ fecal matter.”
Blake leaned to his left, tapped a finger on Dal’s
forehead and sniggered, “Amazing how you show no signs
of neurological damage. Mental backup in progress – do
not disturb!”
    CHAPTER SIX
Andermatt, Central Alps
Switzerland
March 25
7.05 A: M
    The man reminded Blake of the quintessential
Colonel Klink. Conversation was minimal during their
drive from the hotel to the private hangar. Bell looked hung
over, Dal was hung over, and Blake was a prodigiously
miserable morning person even without the booze.
    Blake gave the passing scenery a short glance and
moaned to himself, “Is it legal for the sun to be up this
early?”
    The wipers struggled as they cleared accumulated
snowflakes from the windshield of the Benz.
“The road from Gothard is snowed in,” the driver
said apologetically. “So we will avail ourselves of the
foundation’s helicopter.”
He turned his head to the
passengers and put a slight laugh in his voice. “Far better
than the two hour drive less important dignitaries must
endure.”
Blake kept a serious face and asked the driver,
“What’s your name?”
“Arno.”
Dal peered at a flight-control tower barely visible
through the increasing white mist. He asked, “So eh, where
are we headed, Arno?”
“To Andermatt, a small village not well known to
tourists. Our Swiss Army trains