The Charlemagne Pursuit by Steve Berry Read Free Book Online

take a fortune to repair all this.”
    “Which brings me to an informational note. Because of unanticipated fuel cost increases, higher-than-expected travel fares, and an overall increase in overhead and expenses, we will be experiencing a slight rate increase. Though we strive to keep costs down while providing excellent customer service, our stockholders demand that we maintain an acceptable profit margin.”
    “You’re full of shit, Charlie.”
    “And besides, this place cost me a fortune and I need more money.”
    On paper Smith was a paid asset who performed specialized surveillance services overseas, where wiretapping laws were loose, particularly in central Asia and the Middle East. So he didn’t give a damn what Smith charged. “Send me a bill. Now listen. It’s time to act.”
    He was glad that preparatory work had all been done over the past year. Files readied. Plans determined. He’d known an opportunity would eventually arrive—not when or how, just that it would.
    And so it had.
    “Start with the prime target, as we discussed. Then move south for the other two in order.”
    Smith gave him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Captain Sparrow. We shall make sail and find the fairest wind.”
    He ignored the idiot. “No contact between us until they’re all done. Nice and clean, Charlie. Really clean.”
    “Satisfaction is guaranteed or your money back. Customer satisfaction is our greatest concern.”
    Some people could write songs, pen novels, paint, sculpt, or draw. Smith killed, and with an unmatched talent. And but for the fact that Charlie Smith was the best murderer he’d ever known, he would have shot the irritating idiot long ago.
    Still, he decided to make the gravity of the situation perfectly clear.
    So he cocked the Walther and rammed the barrel into Smith’s face. Ramsey was a good six inches taller, so he glared down and said, “Don’t screw this up. I listen to your mouth and let you rant, but don’t. Screw. This. Up.”
    Smith raised his hands in mock surrender. “Please, Miss Scarlett, don’t beat me. Please don’t beat me . . .” The voice was high-pitched and colloquial, a crude imitation of Butterfly McQueen.
    He didn’t appreciate racial humor, so he kept the gun pointed.
    Smith started to laugh. “Oh, Admiral, lighten up.”
    He wondered what it took to rattle this man. He replaced the weapon beneath his coat.
    “I do have one question,” Smith said. “It’s important. Something I really need to know.”
    He waited.
    “Boxers or briefs?”
    Enough. He turned and left the room.
    Smith started laughing again. “Come on, Admiral. Boxers or briefs? Or are you one of those who are free to the wind. CNN says ten percent of us don’t wear any underwear. That’s me—free to the wind.”
    Ramsey kept marching toward the door.
    “May the Force be with you, Admiral,” Smith hollered. “A Jedi Knight never fails. And not to worry, they’ll all be dead before you know it.”

 
    NINE
    M ALONE’S GAZE RAKED THE ROOM . E VERY DETAIL BECAME CRITICAL . An open doorway to his right drew his alarm, especially the unexplored darkness beyond.
    “It’s only us,” his hostess said. Her English was good, laced with a mild German accent.
    She motioned, and the woman from the cable car strutted toward him. As she approached he saw her caress the bruise on her face from where he’d kicked her.
    “Perhaps I’ll get the chance to return the favor one day,” she said to him.
    “I think you already have. Apparently, I’ve been played.”
    She smiled with clear satisfaction, then left, the door clanging shut behind her.
    He studied the remaining woman. She was tall and shapely with ash-blond hair cut close to the nape of a thin neck. Nothing marred the creamy patina of her rosy skin. Her eyes were the color of creamed coffee, a shade he’d never seen before, and cast an allure that he found hard to ignore. She wore a tan rib-necked sweater, jeans, and a lamb’s-wool