Local thugs.
Tucker shadowed the group as they moved toward the church. One of the three glanced back at him, but Tucker knew what he would see.
A man in his late twenties, taller than average, sandy blond hair worn a little shaggy, walking a dog outfitted in a brown sweater. Tucker hid some of his muscled height by slumping his shoulders and hunching down. His clothing was already nondescript: worn jeans, a battered olive green coat, a wool cap tugged low. He knew not to avoid eye contact that raised as much suspicion as staring. So he merely nodded politely back and showed disinterest.
As the other turned around, Tucker touched his nose and ticked his finger toward the mountain of a man in the middle.
Acquire that ones scent.
Kane had a vocabulary of a thousand words, understood a hundred hand gestures, making the dog an extension of himself. The shepherd trotted forward, sniffing behind the man, close to his heels, nose near the edge of the trench coat.
Tucker pretended to ignore his partners efforts, staring off across the square.
Once Kane secured what he needed, the dog dropped back and waited for the next command. His ears remained stiff, his tail high, expressing his alertness.
As the trio reached the church, more orders were passed brusquely in Hungarian, and the group split up, spreading out to cover the exits.
Tucker stepped over to a park bench, crouched down next to Kane, and tied the end of the leash loosely around its iron leg but unclipped the other end. He merely tucked it in place behind Kanes collar, making it look as if the dog were secured there.
Next, he slid his fingers under the brown sweater to the camouflaged K9 Storm tactical vest. It was waterproof and Kevlar reinforced. His fingers flicked on the built-in camera and snaked up its fiber-optic lens, smaller than a pencil eraser, hiding it between the dogs pricked ears.
Stay, he ordered.
Kane sat in the deep shadows of the church, just another dog waiting for the return of its master.
With a final scratch at his partners ear, ensuring the Bluetooth earpiece was secure, Tucker leaned forward, bringing his face close to his dogs. It was a ritual of theirs.
Whos a good boy?
Kane reached his cold nose forward and touched his.
Thats right. You are.
A tail thumped good-bye as Tucker straightened. Turning, he watched the huge man stride toward the churchs main entrance with the full confidence of a hunter whose prey had been trapped.
He followed, freeing his modified cell phone courtesy of the military, as was the tactical vest, both stolen when he had left the service. For that matter, so was Kane. But after what had happened at that village outside Kabul
He shied from that painful memory.
Never again
His whole unit had helped him escape with the dog.
But that was another story.
He switched on the phone, tapped a few icons on the screen. Then a video appeared: of his backside, walking away, the feed coming from Kanes camera.
All was in order.
Tucker pocketed the phone and followed the tall hunter through the doors of the church. Inside, massive spiral pillars held up a cavernous space. All around, the plastered walls displayed a frenzy of brilliant golden frescoes depicting the deaths of Hungarian saints, brought to life by the flickering of candles throughout the nave. Farther down, a series of chapels opened off to the sides, containing a few sarcophagi and a museum of medieval carvings. The entire place smelled vaguely of incense and mildew.
Tucker easily spotted the target, again standing out in her ivory coat. She sat in a pew halfway down the length of the nave, her head bowed.
The hulk of a man took a post near the entrance, leaning against the wall, preparing to wait her out. Clearly, the group was afraid to nab her in front of witnesses and was biding its time before making a move. With the sun almost down and the church emptying out, it would not be a long wait.
Unless Tucker did something about it.
He slipped past the wide bulk of the man, noting the earpiece in his left ear, then continued into the main church. He moved down to the pew where the woman had parked herself and slipped in next to her. She moved a few inches farther down the bench, barely glancing his way. She had taken off her hat and sunglasses in respect for the church. He reached up and did the same with his cap.
Her hair shone like gold in the candlelight. Her eyes, as she glanced at him, were a watery blue. In her hands, she fondled a cell phone, as if unsure whom to call or maybe she was hoping for a call.
Do you speak English? he asked softly.
Even the whisper made her flinch, but after a long pause, she answered curtly, Yes, but I prefer not to be bothered.
She spoke the words as if she had said them countless times before. Her accent was distinctly British, as was her reserve as she slid a full foot away from him.
He knelt down in the pew, offering a less intimidating pose, bowing his head to his hands as he spoke. I wanted to warn you that three men are following you.