Private Dublin

Chapter 17

I left the hospital and went to the office to grab the go bag I kept there for urgent deployments just like this one. At the wheel of my Mercedes SLS, a very expensive thank-you gift from a grateful client, I turned into the parking garage beneath our building. I stopped at the bottom of the ramp to give the sensor time to recognize my license plate, and the shutter rose to allow me inside.

After sliding the Mercedes into my parking space, I took the elevator up to Private’s offices on the fifth floor, and emerged into the lobby where Michelle and Dewayne, our two receptionists, were already at their shared desk. Both were on the phone fielding calls, but they smiled and waved when they saw me. I didn’t linger but hurried into my corner office, which overlooked Wilshire Boulevard and offered a view of the City of Angels coming to life for the start of another working day.

As I sat at my desk, booking my flight, I received a call from Emily Knighton, the manager of Private London. I’d tried her on my way from the hospital and had left a message for her to call me as soon as possible.

“Emily,” I said.

“Jack,” she responded. “How are you? And how’s Justine?”

Word of the shooting had spread throughout the Private network.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Justine is in hospital, but it looks like she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s such a relief. What can I do for you?”

Emily had been a Royalty and Specialist Protection Officer in Protection Command until she’d taken over our London office two years ago. Tough and dedicated, she was someone I knew I could rely on.

“I’m flying to Dublin tonight. I arrive tomorrow afternoon. Do we have anyone with local knowledge of the city?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “A handful. I’ll see who’s available. Send me your flight details and I’ll make sure you’re met at the airport.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Does this have something to do with the shooting?” she asked.

“It looks like Justine and I might have been targeted for the attack at the Academy.”

My response prompted a sharp intake of breath from Emily.

“It was meant to look random, but it wasn’t. He tried to throw us off the scent with that eco statement. But it was revenge, for Rome and Monaco.”

Our European offices had all been involved in the Monaco operation and the entire organization had access to the Rome case file so I knew Emily would pick up on what I was saying.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied. “Send me everything you’ve got and I’ll make sure it goes to the operative assigned to you. We’ll also see what we can dig up from here.”

“I appreciate it,” I replied. “Speak soon.”

“Safe travels,” she said, before hanging up.

I completed my reservation for the next flight from LAX to Dublin, grabbed my go bag, and headed for the airport.

As I crawled toward the airport in slow-moving morning traffic, watching the sunlight gleaming off the rainbow of cars ahead of me, I thought about our current situation. Fate had set Justine and me on a collision course with Propaganda Tre in Rome and, rather than leave us in peace, they’d sought revenge. First, they’d kidnapped Justine in Monaco and had attempted to blackmail me into assassinating Eli Carver. Now they’d tried again, and as I thought about her lying wounded in hospital, my anger grew stronger. I knew we’d never truly be safe until I found the man responsible for the shooting and used him to implicate those who’d sent him to kill us. I wondered whether Raymond Chalmont could be behind this, even though he didn’t strike me as the type. He was careful and cunning; his first instinct would be for his own survival, which meant staying hidden. Revenge attracted unwanted attention and was a costly business, particularly when it was unsuccessful.

I reached the airport a little before noon and spent the rest of the day in the first-class lounge, counting down the hours, coordinating with Mo-bot to send Emily everything we had on the investigation so far. There wasn’t much to go on besides the photos of the shooter taken from surveillance cameras outside of the Academy. Mo-bot had been able to get a copy of the passport the shooter had presented at LAX, made out in the name of Colm Finlay. It was fake, but at least it gave us a full, head-on image of the man. And we were able to give Emily details of the flight he’d boarded, which pinpointed his arrival time in Dublin.

With the case file on its way to London, I exchanged WhatsApp messages with Justine for a short time. I was keen not to tire her, but wanted to keep her connected to what I was doing.

Finally, after hours of waiting, my flight was called for boarding and I got to my feet and headed for the gate and the Airbus A330 that would take me to Ireland.