Page 31 of Denied Access

HALLO?”

“Greta, it’s me.”

“Mitch!”

The instantaneous change in Greta’s tone made Rapp smile. This was no mean feat, since he was currently standing in one of his least favorite places.

An airport.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Don’t tell me,” Rapp said, turning his back to the pedestrians strolling through the international terminal. As airports went, Barcelona–El Prat wasn’t bad, at least from Rapp’s perspective. Then again, his evaluation criteria were a bit different than the average air traveler’s. Case in point, the custodians who serviced the terminal’s floor-to-ceiling windows did an excellent job of keeping the glass free of smudges. Presumably, most people took advantage of their hard work by taking in the view of the beautiful Spanish coastline.

Not Rapp.

He was busy studying the reflections of his fellow travelers.

“Why?” Greta said.

“Your grandfather thought it was better if I didn’t know. For now.”

“What does that mean?”

Rapp sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I think that means you’re about to do something dangerous for my grandfather. I think you don’t want to know where I am because you don’t want to have to worry about saying something to the wrong person if that thing you’re about to do goes wrong.”

Greta was not a covert operative, but she was smart and had a knack for putting two and two together and arriving at five. Greta acquitted herself well during the chaotic days after the Paris hit went south, but her stubborn streak had also reared its head a time or two. Stubbornness could look a lot like tenacity under the right circumstances.

Maybe he should start thinking of Greta as tenacious rather than mule-headed.

“What did your grandfather tell you?” Rapp said.

“You first.”

Definitely mule-headed.

“The CliffsNotes version is that you’re in danger—”

“And you’re going to fix things.”

The irritation coming through the phone was unmistakable and Rapp felt his own blood pressure rising in response. “Yes, I’m going to fix things. Why does that make you angry?”

“Because you and my grandfather came up with this plan without even once stopping to consider me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me, you idiot. I understand why he still treats me like a six-year-old with pink ribbons in her hair. I understand, but I don’t like it. But you? You should know better.”

So that’s what this was about.

Rapp shifted slightly so that he had a better view of the terminal’s reflection.

He was standing in a blind spot created by a T-intersection. The concourse to his right formed the T’s horizonal axis, while the terminal to his left was the vertical leg. His positioning allowed him to surreptitiously observe passengers as they entered the terminal. In yet another plus for the airport, his terminal had just four gates. The even numbers, gates 6 and 8, were on his side of the terminal, while the odds, 5 and 7, were on the far side. Only gates 7 and 8 featured flights that were scheduled to depart in the next ninety minutes. This meant that no one had any business entering his section of the terminal unless they were waiting for a departing flight.

Or tailing someone.