Good Deed Bad Deed by Marcia Morgan (books suggested by bill gates TXT) 📕

told. He looked at the charcoal pre-dawn sky and wondered how things were going in Spain with Lenny and his charges. He knew Lenny wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all, if those were his orders. And should anything go wrong at the airport he had one imperative. He had to let the boss know—somehow. Then with one call from the boss to Lenny in Spain, the two women and Gareth Logan would be dead. He suspected that’s how it was meant to be from the beginning.

Fergus was on the couch, head back, eyes closed, the fabric of his uniform straining across his body. He jumped when the buzzer sounded. Someone downstairs wanted to be let in. Linus went to the intercom and found it was the drivers, who had parked the two trucks around the corner. They came noisily up the stairs and once inside were admonished for taking a chance on waking the other tenants. The first question out of his mouth was to ask which of the trucks was the decoy.

The two drivers looked at each other, and one answered, “Whichever one you want. You do know that neither of them is really armored, right?”

“Of course. I’m no idiot. Now shut up and sit down. We don’t move until we get the call.”

* * *

Lyle Brett sat at the kitchen table nervously tapping one foot and staring at his open laptop. He proceeded to hack into his work account, and from there, found links to the acquisition department and information on the events of that particular day. He clicked on ‘new acquisitions’ and found a file on the Spanish gold that was in transit from Spain to London for display at the museum. He had checked and rechecked the information. The departure time from Madrid and estimated arrival time at Heathrow’s cargo terminal were part of the file, as was the hangar number where it would be offloaded.

“Well, Paris McKinnon, you’ve done a good job, ” he said aloud, and then added a caveat. “But sorry madam, the plan has changed.” He leaned back and smiled, his expression both devious and full of greed.

He picked up a pencil and looked at the lined tablet that sat beside his laptop. He had prepared a timetable and was checking it over one last time. The timetable accounted for traffic at that specific time of day, unknown holdups like roadwork—even school buses or the odd ambulance slowing things down. There would be the usual slow moving traffic after entering the airport proper, and other trucks would also be collecting cargo—perhaps from the same hangar. It was his nature to be precise and he liked being that way. One day in the employee lounge he had overheard a colleague refer to him as punctilious, yet he had taken it as a compliment. Now satisfied that he had chosen the appropriate time for the trucks to head for the airport, he got up and went to the kitchen. After starting the coffee maker he went through to the bedroom and got himself ready for the day—the first day of the rest of his life, so he imagined.

Lyle emerged in the black velour tracksuit—his idea of a disguise—then began to gather up any and all tangible information that could tie him to the coming event. He stuffed everything in a trash bag and set it by the door. He would dispose of the whole lot somewhere along the way, a good distance from his flat. All he kept back was the timetable, and a check of his watch showed that it was time to make the call.

He dialed Linus’ mobile phone and he answered after the first ring. “Yeah, is this who I think it is?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Just get things underway—now!”

“Where will you be? I thought you’d want to be there—make sure we don’t fuck up.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be around,” Lyle said. “And you won’t fuck up because you know the consequences. If you do, the police will be the least of your problems. The last thing you want is Lenny on your tail. He’s devoid of loyalties.” He paused slightly then chuckled. “But sometimes a sociopath can come in handy.”

Linus failed to see the humor in that observation and said he had to get each driver into his truck. His last instructions were that he and Fergus each were to ride with one of the drivers. The conversation with Linus had triggered a flush of anxiety in Lyle. No longer in the mood for coffee, he switched off the pot then stuffed his phone in one pocket, his wallet in the other, and grabbed the trash bag as he left the flat. It was a short taxi ride to the parking garage where the unobtrusive little Prius he had rented was waiting. Before getting into the car he disposed of the trash bag in a nearby dumpster. Soon he was pulling out into the damp gray of a London dawn. Within a few minutes he received a call confirming that the trucks were underway.

* * *

The McKinnon’s had boarded the plane for the first leg of the trip to Pamplona and were settling into their seats in first class when Hugh’s mobile phone began to buzz. Paris sat forward in her seat and waited to hear at least one side of the conversation. He said little, mostly listened, and soon ended the call. He turned to her and said, “I’m glad they called before take off, since I have to put the phone in airplane mode.”

“Well, why did he call?” she asked, moving to the edge of her seat and turning to face him. She seemed to be holding her breath.

“It was my contact at Interpol. He wanted to tell me that everything is in place—also that the plane is on time. They posted information on the museum website about the number and location of the hangar where the plane will be unloaded. Confirmation came that the crates have been