Page 27 of The Atlas Maneuver

He checked his phone on the off chance he’d missed a call or text. But nothing was there. Koger was with Cassiopeia and he hoped everything was all right.

Shewasthe love of his life.

No question.

And his best friend.

He’d long given up on the breathtaking, pulse-quickening, love-at-first-sight encounters, thinking no one would come along and be that. Then Cassiopeia appeared in a French village, shooting at him before speeding away on a motorcycle. Ever since, there’d been bells, incredible highs, unbearable lows, calls, texts, dinners, weekends, soul searching, pleas, jokes, arguments. Good and bad. A lot of time had passed since Pensacola. He was older and a whole lot wiser. Long ago he’d analyzed his mistakes and learned from them. He’d also been tried, convicted, and sentenced by his ex-wife for all of his failures. He served his time and had moved on, forging a new life.

All was good.

“Cotton.”

Suzy’s voice. Loud. Sharp. Troubling.

And no Harold or Earl.

Not good.

He bolted from the chair and headed toward a small alcove that led to the restrooms. He banged on the door for the ladies’ room. No answer. He pushed it open. Empty. His gaze darted to the left and another door markedEMPLOYEES ONLY. He pushed through and entered a short corridor that led to another door markedEXITin three languages. He turned the knob and opened the metalpanel, exposing a small parking lot at the rear of the building and a car, a light-colored BMW, speeding away.

He caught a quick glimpse of Suzy in the back seat, struggling with two men. He reached for his gun to take out the tires, but the car made a sharp right turn and disappeared. But not before he locked the license plate into his brain.

CD BS

375 • 48

Working twelve years at the Magellan Billet had taught him a lot about license plates. They could be really informative.

Especially in Switzerland.

He knew that BS at the top right stood for the canton of Basel-Stadt, one of twenty-six political subdivisions that existed across the country. The CD confirmed that the car was a diplomatic vehicle, and 48 was the code for the particular country that plate was assigned to. The 375 denoted who was utilizing the vehicle. An embassy? Consulate? Special envoy?

Hard to say.

He found his phone and typed an inquiry into the search engine. A moment later the screen flashed with information. The number 48 within the Swiss diplomatic plate scheme was assigned to Japan. He then inquired about the 375 code and received another answer.

One that told him precisely who was operating the BMW within Basel.

The Japanese consulate.

CHAPTER 17

CASSIOPEIA ABSORBED WHAT SHE’D JUST READ ABOUT THECIA. Lost gold? The Black Eagle Trust? The U.S. government keeping war loot? Using it to finance covert operations?

Wow. That was a lot.

They were back on the road, a four-laned autoroute, heading north, paralleling Lake Geneva.

“That classified summary report you just read was prepared a few weeks ago for the director of Central Intelligence,” Koger said.

“Should I be reading it?”

“Probably not. But you need to know what we’re dealing with. A lot of people at the agency have no idea what happened back in the 1940s and ’50s when the CIA was first formed. It was a different place then. The bottom line is we kept all that war loot and did a lot of bad things with it. Now we’ve lost every ounce of that gold. Trillions of dollars’ worth. Gone. I had no idea if that vault would be empty, but I had to find out.”

All of which would have been nice to know beforehand. “Cotton said you were a pain in the ass, and he was right.”

“I pride myself on directness. Captain America prides himself on—” Koger paused. “I have no idea what he prides himself on. But I’m sure it’s something heroic. He’s always heroic.”