Epilogue

He stood quietly on the hotel balcony and looked down on the parking lot of the hospital. The desk clerk had been a bit surprised by the request for such a view but wasn't stupid enough to turn down the extra bills passed to him for the simple task of switching a reservation. And all it took was one look at the steely dark eyes to decide, even without the cash, that it was in his best interest to do as the man asked.

Visiting hours were ending. The increased exodus of cars was all he needed to know that, without having to glance at his wristwatch. The only sign of life coming from his own location was extinguished when he butted out his third cigarette of the night as he seated himself on the flimsy plastic seat. The accommodations were seriously lower than he was used to, which in the circumstances made them a safer option.

Not that anyone was looking for him here. The trail of strategically placed breadcrumbs would have the young computer whiz scanning for signs of him in either the far east or the Australian outback, depending on which lead he'd latched onto. Giving him a couple to follow was the logical ploy. They would assume he'd try to throw them off course, so it was only polite to do so.

Bored by simply waiting and watching he reached for a fourth cigarette but was halted by the appearance of the group he'd been waiting for. Five men together, much more boisterous and upbeat than they had been in the last couple of days. The sixth was likely staying the night again. Still it was a good sign and one that reinforced the information he had gleaned when he had hazarded a brief sojourn into the hospital. It had been easy to disguise himself and slip onto the floor and took little effort to find a talkative orderly who was relieved the group of men staying with the patient in room 417 were in a better mood now that their friend was out of danger.

He was a bit surprised as he realized he'd been relieved to hear that. It wasn't just the awareness that had Standish died, his teammates would not have rested in their mission to avenge him, although that motivation was not to be dismissed. Standish had proven to be a formidable opponent during their first encounter. Made of much stronger character than he'd expected. He'd seen the glimmer of realization when the man began to see through his disguise while tied to a chair wired to explode. Who does that? It had been foolish to dress so well when pretending to be a cop, but he had counted on the confusion to distract the others. It almost worked. He hadn't counted on the keen eye of the undercover expert whose life depended on noticing the small details. He'd been lucky that fatigue slowed his captive's ability to process those details long enough to permit his escape.

And now this. Standish as a customer in the bank he was robbing. Damn the luck. It had been a perfectly good plan, well executed several times before. But this agent, this apparent albatross, managed to thwart him.

Common sense would dictate he should be angry the man had survived to be a future concern, but he couldn't summon that emotion. There was a grudging respect for the sheer temerity of the southerner. And, thanks to the research he had done, an equally grudging respect for the risk he represented. His personal and professional history was intriguing. If they had met earlier in each other's careers, there could have been a wonderful partnership formed.

He waited until the men had left the parking lot, then slid the balcony door open. He took the ashtray and dumped the contents down the toilet, flushing it twice and wiping the dish clean, flushing that tissue as well. Scanning the room quickly to make sure nothing had been left behind, he picked up the small overnight bag and slipped into the hall, down the back stairs and off into the night.

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

The end.

Sort of. Barrington will be back. Maybe not for a while (the man is an expert at disguise and misdirection after all), but there will be more encounters to come.