Project Northwest by C. B. Carter Read Free Book Online Page B

yards back and could barely see the Honda
from their vantage point, but were satisfied they could hear
everything being discussed inside the vehicle.
    “What the hell is he wearing?” asked Wright
when he saw James exit the vehicle.
    “It looks like a poncho or something. Do you
want me to get closer?” the driver asked.
    “No, don’t do anything.”
    Mr. Wright thought for a moment, then
ordered, “Remove the interior bulb.” The bulb was removed and he
slowly opened the passenger door, carefully closed it, and ran to
the darkest part of the road. He inched along the brush line,
trying to get a better view of the parked vehicle. He stopped every
ten feet or so and reevaluated the scene.
    It was too dark for normal vision and when he
switched to night vision, he couldn’t make out much of anything
other than a fuzzy-green silhouette from the moonlight and the
plume of exhaust fumes. He was using a pair of high quality night
vision binoculars, but the distance and the full moon distorted the
image and he tossed them to the ground in frustration, picked them
back up, and dusted off the lens.
    “Do you guys hear anything?”
    “Not really, just her singing,” was the
response.
    “You don’t hear him changing the tire?”
    “No.”
    “Damn.”
    After making it about 100 feet, Mr. Wright
thought he might be getting too close and started making his way
back to the Tahoe.
    “Still don’t hear anything?”
    “Ah, sir, we do hear something.”
    “Okay, pipe it into my earpiece.” Wright
immediately recognized the sounds, the heavy breathing, the
rhythmic creaking of the leather on the seat, the silky friction of
flesh on flesh, the sounds of deep kisses and moans. He looked back
with his binoculars and couldn’t see a damn thing, just bright
green reflections in the form of some odd visible aura of
moonlight.
    As he climbed back into the Tahoe, he noticed
his entire team was completely enthralled by what they were
hearing. Envy cloaked the atmosphere in the Tahoe.
    Mr. Wright quietly shut the door and said, “I
hate this guy.”
    The others couldn’t agree more.
    The associate in the back offered his input,
“I love that girl.”
    Again, the others couldn’t agree more.
    The drive back to University was quiet, both
in the Honda and the Tahoe. The traffic was light now and the
driver of the Tahoe stayed well back on I–5. They heard Bridget say
she forgot something at work and lost her trail among the crowd
exiting the closing Lounge. They didn’t see her slip the cell phone
back to Cindy. The exchange took less than a couple of seconds, as
she leaned in and kissed Cindy on the cheek and the encounter was
completely missed by Wright’s team.
    At 12:45, the Honda pulled into the parking
lot of the condominium and parked in the reserved spot for 602. The
crew watched as James, now fully clothed, and without the poncho,
was escorted into the lobby by Bridget, who carried a laundry
basket. The entire crew exited the Tahoe. They were dejected—having
to listen to them having sex made them miss their respective
girlfriends or wives. They entered the condo, rented from a
Japanese businessman, and plopped themselves into the chairs that
surrounded the makeshift surveillance equipment table. The condo
was a perfect selection in that it was one floor below James’s.
    “What’s wrong?” asked the surveillance tech
who had stayed behind, noting the listlessness of the team.
    “Nothing, just that we picked the luckiest
guy in the OTS to mark. Listen to channel four, at about the eleven
pm mark,” replied one associate, as he mindlessly flipped through
the Japanese Monthly magazine he’d picked up from the nearby
breakfast bar.
    “Listen to it later,” ordered Mr. Wright.
“Did you get the mics replaced or fixed?”
    “Yes, sir, I added five additional mics and
two additional cameras. This maxes out our recording channels, so
it’s the best I can do.”
    “Fine, get driver two on the phone. I want to
find