FOURI HAVEN’T TAKEN ANY kind of assignment in seven months. Talking to Deeley like this, out of the blue, two months before my self-imposed sabbatical would end, brought back a surge of adrenaline as I lay there on the bed. My palms were sweaty again, heart picking up speed. I was already doing calculations in my head about how the split would go. Technically, I still owed SCOUR for the unsuccessful outcome in Hong Kong.
Thursday night was only seventy-two hours away. Three nights to find and extract a foreigner I’ve never heard of, knew what he looked like, where he was or what kind of security he had surrounding him.
I told him, “Clarence, you know how this sounds, right?”
Deeley lit a cigarette. People—women—were laughing in the background. The music turned up a bit. Of course he kne
