The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

just a moment, both read through the menus propped up by the Worcestershire, HP, ketchup, and mayonnaise bottles in the center of the table. Bangers and mash for the American and a fish and chips for the Brit. With thanks and a smile, the server was gone as quick as she came. The two wasted no time getting back to it.

“No surprises so far, I hope there’s more to it than this,” Rogers said, faking a dramatic yawn.

Matt then switched to the calculator app on the phone and added the numbers 7 ,8, 1, 9, and 9 for a total of 34 and explained that if he entered the number as sent, it would alert the sender that the phone or the operator was compromised and they would enact other protocols as simple as cutting the communication, tracking the phone, or sending in the cavalry to help. Matt looked at Rogers to be sure he grasped what had been said and then continued. Switching back to a site on the phone, Matt entered M34C, his initials separated by the sum of the text numbers, and hit enter.

Turning the phone away so that only he could see the response, Matt smiled and said, “You wanted me to prove that this was all real and not a setup before you went any further. Well, tonight’s the night. I’ve got an assignment, an address, and an hour to get there before the target arrives. You in?”

Rogers thought for a moment. He was a smart, well-trained military veteran who had taken lives and wasn’t averse to doing it again. He was intrigued by the mystique of this game and was keen to get something on this American that he thought of as an insurance policy to keep him out of jail.

“Where we off to then,” Rogers said as he stood from the table, the adrenaline pumping, allowing his legs to respond much quicker to movement after resting for so long. Matt left a 20-pound note on the table under the salt shaker and led his accomplice out the door, left toward the bridge across from Big Ben and Parliament, and then left again along the Thames.

It wasn’t long before they entered an alleyway that ran between two high-rise buildings. It was dark and cold, the smell of trash, garbage, and who knows what else in the dumpsters adding to the ambience. While Matt had expected Rogers to be slowed by the temperature, he was impressed that he kept up the pace. Minutes later, they entered a building through the delivery entrance and entered a service elevator. Matt tapped the button for the eighteenth floor and noted Rogers’ demeanor had changed.

“My Uncle Thomas maintains a condo on the nineteenth floor in this building. You had me worried for a minute,” Rogers said, a sigh of relief in his voice.

“That’s the best part of this life, Billy,” Matt replied. “You’ve got to enjoy a good adventure.”

Once the door opened, Matt stepped out and headed to the end of the long hallway, past a dozen doors that led to spacious, high-end condos held by some of the most powerful people in the country. It was a building that lent itself to discretion. Residents often entered through an underground car park and connecting tunnel from the building next door. If you wanted the best and could afford it, you stayed on this street. If you wanted to be famous, you stayed at the Ritz; if you wanted discretion, you stayed in this building. By design, there were no security cameras.

“Up one flight of stairs, and we’re there,” Matt said. “Keep as quiet as possible from here on, Billy.” Matt opened the fire escape stairway door and held it for Rogers, who had stopped abruptly in the hallway.

“Coming?”

“This is getting pretty fucked pretty fast,” Rogers stated, his body language screaming to Matt that he wasn’t sure whether to fight or turn away and head back to the elevator. Normally, a Royal Marine would never turn and run, but this one was damaged, and his emotional state was in question.

“Don’t worry, Billy, you’re safe,” Matt assured him. “You’re not the target. The target is the person who ordered me to kill you.”

CHAPTER NINE

The fire escape was void of any sounds other than Billy’s labored breathing and a faint squeak from the door’s heavy hinges. Rogers wasn’t having any of it. He reached into his pocket and removed a Walther P99 pistol and raised it toward Matt’s torso.

“Go ahead on up those stairs, Agent Christopher,” Rogers directed. “We’ll sort this out once you show me what’s next.”

Matt smiled. “Smart move. I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t come prepared.”

“Show me your pockets. Raise your jacket and show me your waist,” Rogers ordered, the gun still pointed directly at Matt.

Matt obliged, slowly unzipped his jacket, held both sides open for Rogers to see, and then turned to show there were no weapons tucked in his waist. “Satisfied?” Matt watched Rogers closely and read his expression. This turn of events hadn’t been expected by the man with the gun, and Matt could see that paranoia had begun to creep into his mind.

*

He turned and looked down the hallway as if he expected the elevator to open. He listened as if expecting to hear voices from behind one of the condo doors. There wasn’t a sound. Turning back to Matt, he gestured with the gun toward Matt’s shoes.

“Slowly pull up your pant legs,” he commanded, and Matt complied, no ankle holster or weapons, just black socks.

“Okay, let’s keep going, but slowly. Take one step for every one I take. Slowly,” Rogers insisted. Twenty steps and the two were standing at the rear entrance door to number 1910. Matt turned to Rogers, asking if he wanted to type in the door code.

“You do it,” he replied. “Let’s see if your intel is as good as it has been so far.”

“Need my phone again,” Matt said as he pulled