The Council of Ten by Jon Land Page B

Plaza, a nest of shops and stores in Palm Beach where the famous deli was located. Not only did this spare him the attention that might have been drawn by a waiter arriving in a taxi, but it also provided him with a chance to study the layout. Small access roads wound through the plaza, crisscrossing parking lots and providing easy access to the labyrinth of stores. Too-Jay’s was situated in the center of one of several mall-style buildings. Drew entered and announced himself.
    He hung his windbreaker on a coat rack in the kitchen, careful to make sure that the right pocket containing a bulge was concealed. There he had stowed the snub-nosed magnum revolver, checked and loaded and now waiting for him to retrieve it.
    Minutes after that he had donned a pair of khaki slacks, blue Too-Jay’s shirt, and white apron. He took advantage of the moderately slow first hours to study the restaurant’s layout in detail. A huge dessert counter was on the left of the entrance just before the start of the sandwich counter. The cash register station lay on the right along with the entrance to the full kitchen where his jacket hung with the hidden pistol. The tables were straight ahead in an informal dining area, about twenty of various sizes. The far wall was all windows and looked out over a spacious courtyard across which lay still more shops. Masterson’s men would probably be watching from one of these for Drew to lean over and feign tying his shoe at the proper time—the signal that he was about to initiate the hit. The side and rear walls of the dining area, meanwhile, were mirrored, and as Drew delivered order after order he found his eyes focusing on himself more and more.
    Is it me that’s really about to do this?
    The mirrors told him that it was. For real. No game in mercenary camp.
    By one o’clock the lunchtime rush had subsided and Drew anxiously began to wonder if Trelana was going to show. He didn’t know if he could stand this kind of pressure another day, didn’t know if he could maintain the mental state he had put himself into in order to accomplish the task before him. The pay phone on the wall kept grabbing his eye, tempting him to call Masterson and tell him the whole thing was off.
    A little past one o’clock, two large, menacing-looking men came through the doors and spoke briefly with the manager. Dressed in light cotton suits, they made a careful walk through the deli and kitchen, checking faces but not speaking to anyone. Drew went about his business as if he didn’t notice them. And since the men’s eyes never regarded him a second time, he figured he must have done a pretty good acting job.
    Less than a minute later, one of the big men held the door open for Arthur Trelana. Drew recognized him immediately from the file Masterson had provided. He stepped inside slowly, smiling, looking dapper and elegant in a finely cut three-piece white suit. He greeted Too-Jay’s manager and shook hands with him warmly. They exchanged pleasantries.
    Drew’s heart picked up its pace and he felt along his chest involuntarily. Shaking himself alert so as not to draw attention, he returned to the dining area to take the order of a couple who had just been seated in his section, making eight tables occupied in all. He was distracted now and had to concentrate on appearing at ease.
    Drew moved toward the kitchen to put in the order. On the way, Trelana and his bodyguards walked right by him. The man reeked of sweet, expensive cologne. Everything about him seemed perfect, his naturally bronze skin making him look healthy and fit for a man of sixty.
    Drew hated Trelana’s guts.
    But the reality of what he was about to do suddenly struck him. Every part of him starting shaking until he clung to the hate once again. This was the man who’d had his grandmother murdered, the man who would soon order him killed as well.
    Unless he struck first.
    More of the lessons of the mercenary camp returned to him. How to melt into a