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The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 72 из 267Startled, he dropped the phone and jumped back, bringing the gun up in both hands. O'Rourke stood off to the side of the door, his heart racing, trying to decide if he should pick up the phone or find better cover. The frightened squawking of his wife's voice won out, and he snatched the phone from the floor just as the front door swung open.
12
Peter Cameron was having his doubts about calling on Villaume. The man was a little too independent for his liking. He was right about Duser, though. What carpet bombing was to air strikes, Duser was to black ops. The man and his people liked to bring a lot of firepower to the party and weren't afraid to use it. Villaume, although he was very adept at keeping a low profile, presented an entirely different problem. He lacked loyalty, and not just to his adopted country but also to his faithful employer of thirty years – the CIA.
Cameron looked out the front window of the rented van and watched the road. It was a quarter to five in the evening, and the afternoon sun was throwing long shadows off the peaks of the mountains. The van was backed into a spot near the office of the Buffalo Bill Motel. It was a quaint twelve-room motel on the outskirts of Evergreen, Colorado. Evergreen was a beautiful town in the mountains forty minutes due west of Denver. It was surrounded on all sides by huge hills that anywhere other than the Rockies would have been referred to as mountains. A half dozen creeks sliced through the hills from all sides and met in the middle of town. In the last decade, Evergreen had fought a battle that towns just like it had fought across the nation. Multimillion-dollar homes were being thrown up and golf courses developed. The place now sported four coffee shops and one of the nicest post offices in the country. The old-time locals were torn between increased wealth, provided by all of the dollars their new neighbors threw into the town, and the loss of their serenity.
Peter Cameron could care less about any of this. He was waiting in the van as Villaume had instructed. Villaume was inside the manager's office taking care of things, and he had told Cameron on no fewer than three occasions that he wasn't to leave the van. Cameron was getting sick of being treated like a neophyte. He had been in the intelligence business for almost as long as the Frog. Granted, he didn't have as much practical field experience, but it wasn't as if this was rocket science.
Villaume had split the group into two upon arriving in Colorado Springs.
12
Peter Cameron was having his doubts about calling on Villaume. The man was a little too independent for his liking. He was right about Duser, though. What carpet bombing was to air strikes, Duser was to black ops. The man and his people liked to bring a lot of firepower to the party and weren't afraid to use it. Villaume, although he was very adept at keeping a low profile, presented an entirely different problem. He lacked loyalty, and not just to his adopted country but also to his faithful employer of thirty years – the CIA.
Cameron looked out the front window of the rented van and watched the road. It was a quarter to five in the evening, and the afternoon sun was throwing long shadows off the peaks of the mountains. The van was backed into a spot near the office of the Buffalo Bill Motel. It was a quaint twelve-room motel on the outskirts of Evergreen, Colorado. Evergreen was a beautiful town in the mountains forty minutes due west of Denver. It was surrounded on all sides by huge hills that anywhere other than the Rockies would have been referred to as mountains. A half dozen creeks sliced through the hills from all sides and met in the middle of town. In the last decade, Evergreen had fought a battle that towns just like it had fought across the nation. Multimillion-dollar homes were being thrown up and golf courses developed. The place now sported four coffee shops and one of the nicest post offices in the country. The old-time locals were torn between increased wealth, provided by all of the dollars their new neighbors threw into the town, and the loss of their serenity.
Peter Cameron could care less about any of this. He was waiting in the van as Villaume had instructed. Villaume was inside the manager's office taking care of things, and he had told Cameron on no fewer than three occasions that he wasn't to leave the van. Cameron was getting sick of being treated like a neophyte. He had been in the intelligence business for almost as long as the Frog. Granted, he didn't have as much practical field experience, but it wasn't as if this was rocket science.
Villaume had split the group into two upon arriving in Colorado Springs.