Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Agent 11 heaved a sigh. “Very well. Who are you going to send with him on the babysitting duty?”
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She had thought she had made it obvious.
He let out a laugh. “With all due respect, you can’t be serious, ma’am. You know I can’t.”
“And why is that, A11?” she said coldly.
A furrow appeared between his dark brows. It clearly wasn’t the response he’d expected. “It will ruin my cover, ma’am. My cover for Mission W.”
She suppressed a sigh. It was true that going undercover as a hedonistic sugar daddy might ruin A11’s cover for one of their most important long-term missions. But it was nothing she hadn’t considered before.
“The risk is negligible,” she said. “Mission W is mostly situated in Russia and England. It’s extremely unlikely that the targets will ever cross each other’s paths. Your long-term cover won’t be compromised.”
A11’s lips pressed together. He clearly disagreed, but when she glared at him, for once, he didn’t argue.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Read the boy’s file,” she said. “You’ll be the one to recruit him, so familiarize yourself with his background. It’s pretty standard, as backgrounds go. Born to a single mother, no known father. The mother died when he was four. Cancer. A relative took him in. Our sources indicate the boy was emotionally abused by his relatives, perhaps physically too.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject. “In any case, he ran away when he was six. We believe he joined Ed Tucker’s gang and started pickpocketing in exchange for protection and a roof over his head.” She looked at the agent. “I don’t think he’s loyal to the gang. Use the boy’s yearning for a stable life and home. I’m sure I don’t have to teach you how to manipulate him.”
His lips thinned. “No, ma’am.”
“The boy will be recruited tonight. You will supervise his progress and train him yourself if needed.”
A muscle twitched in A11’s jaw. They both knew a senior agent like him had better things to do than train rookies.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, very evenly.
“Dismissed, Agent,” she said.
She watched him leave and frowned when the door shut after him.
She wondered if she had made a mistake. Agent 11 wasn’t someone you wanted to have as your enemy.
But she needed to keep him on a leash.
After all, she was neither stupid nor blind. She was well aware that he was the most likely candidate to replace her.
She returned her gaze to the redhead on the screen and smiled.
Yes, the Brylsko mission was perfect for her purposes.
Chapter 2
The woman reeked of money.
Chewing on his lip, Sam evaluated her from head to toe, from her designer dress to her Prada bag to the shiny new iPhone in her hand.
Maybe he wouldn’t even need to look for anyone else. He needed six hundred pounds—the minimum Tucker had set for him—so he hoped the woman had enough cash on her.
Ignoring the voice of his conscience, Sam moved toward her, telling himself that six hundred pounds would be spare change for someone who could afford to wear clothes that were worth at least five grand.
The question was, what was someone like that doing in this part of London?
Not that it was his business or anything. She was just a target and he should think of her as his target, nothing more. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford to be squeamish about the job if he didn’t want to become Tucker’s punching bag tonight—or worse.
Sam sighed, his lips pursing unhappily.
Not for the first time, he wanted to kick his younger self for ever agreeing to Tucker’s protection. To be fair, he’d only been six at the time, a scrawny little kid, easy to pick on, scared and defenseless. At the time, Tucker’s protection had seemed like a godsend. Now it felt like a form of slavery, with Tucker’s ever-increasing demands. Sam knew Tucker would never let him leave his gang. He was Tucker’s golden goose, capable of bringing more money than all the other boys put together. He would never be free.
Pushing the depressing thought away, Sam tried to focus on the job.
The woman had her purse in her left pocket. Her right hand had just brought her iPhone to her ear.
Sam pulled out his own battered phone—an old Nokia, scuffed and scratched but indestructible—and walked toward the woman, his eyes fixed on his phone. Nothing suspicious. Just another teenager texting his friends and paying no attention to where he was going.
Sam bumped into the woman, murmured his apologies, and walked away, her purse tucked under his jacket.
He rounded the corner and disappeared into the dark alley. Glancing around and making sure he was alone, Sam pulled out the purse and opened it.
His eyes widened when he saw its contents. Money. Lots of money. And were those diamonds?