“So, the gold is down there, near the runway?”
Mona nodded distractedly and pulled a small mirror from her shirt.
“What time now?” she asked, her voice a monotone of defiance.
“Three o’clock.”
“We wait one hour. Before sun goes down, I send signal, my brother. Then we go meet.”
Rendel grinned at her, watching a thin rivulet of sweat run from her neck into her cheap polyester shirt.
“No,” she said, a flash of anger in her eyes that Weltmeister hadn’t seen before.
He liked her righteous indignation. After all, she’d slept with creepy Rendel to get them here. Now that they were here, there was no more need for pretense. The honey trap had withdrawn its sticky content. They were close. The trap was about to snap shut.
They descended towards the base just before sunset. Mona, dead sure
