The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) by James E. Mosimann Page B

had not moved.
    “Mila, that car is still there. Where are your binoculars?”
    Every Nags Head home had binoculars to watch birds and boats offshore.
    She pointed to an overturned end table.
    “They were in the drawer. There they are, on the floor.”
    Jim took them and focused on the Excursion. He turned back to Mila, a finger on his lips for silence. He penciled a note and held it before her.
    The guy in the passenger seat has earphones.
    He’s listening to us.
    Mila stood quietly while Jim scanned the room. Only one end table was upright. He ran his fingers under it.
    When he stood erect, he held a small circular device between thumb and forefinger. He went to the window and put the device on the floor. He focused the binoculars on the Ford Excursion and smashed the listening device with his heel.
    “Crache!”
    The passenger in the Ford Excursion tore his earphones off and threw them against the windshield.
    Moments later, the Ford Excursion drove away.
    Jim turned to Mila.
    “They must have planted that bug when they trashed your house.”
    “Aren’t you worried there might be another bug, that they’re still listening to us?”
    “I don’t think so. They didn’t have a lot of time, and most of it was for searching. Besides they took off. One of them has a headache right now. His ears are ringing.”
    He added.
    “But, you’re right. We should check for more bugs. I have a tech friend who will sweep your place after we clean up, and that will take a while.”
    He frowned and took her hand.
    “Mila, the damage is done. They know about your Gustav character as well as Vaclav’s package and those Ryan Associates, whoever they are.”
***
    The passenger in the Ford Excursion held his hand over his ear.
    “That guy broke my ear drum. How did he find the bug? You told me he was a dumb local.”
    The driver replied without taking his eyes off the road.
    “That’s what I thought. I’d better check on him. His name is Harrigan.”
    Keeping one hand on the wheel, the driver deftly thumbed a message on his phone. In seconds, the text was on its way.
    They drove north towards Kitty Hawk. Minutes later, as the massive Nags Head dunes came into view on the left, the phone vibrated with a reply.
    With one eye on the road, he scrolled the text and read. He hit the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder.
    “Damn!”
    “What?”
    “Harrigan isn’t a yokel after all. He was four years as a homicide detective upstate in Raleigh, North Carolina. He semi-retired to come to the Outer Banks.”
    “So what?”
    “So before that, until his thirties he was with the CIA, and he wasn’t a paper pusher. He was in covert ops in Austria, in Vienna.”
    “He can’t know about Karel.”
    “The hell he can’t. You heard what Mila told him. And he’ll have contacts at the Agency. He can get information, and help too.
    “What do we do?”
    “For now, we dump Vaclav’s body. Then we think.”
    He started the engine.
    “Damn it, first Gustav, and now this Harrigan guy! We may have to kill them both, but we’ll need help. I’ll call Karel.”
    They continued north, the Nags Heads dunes disappeared. Some minutes later, the Wright Brothers’ Memorial came into view.
***
    In Nags Head, Jim Harrigan and Mila finished straightening the wreckage of her rooms. Now it was noon and they were hungry. They opted to eat out at the Tortugas’ Lie Restaurant.
    Mila ordered for Jim, a grilled yellowfin tuna sandwich with Teriyaki glaze, Swiss Cheese, and Portabella relish. Jim left it largely uneaten. I wonder if she likes doughnuts?
    Still he smiled.
    “It’s been a while since I had lunch with an appealing woman.”
    Mila’s lips thinned.
    “Thanks a lot. You just ate with me at the Blue Point yesterday, remember?”
    “I didn’t eat, I only had coffee, and you boxed your catfish to take with you.”
    He smiled again.
    “Besides, Mila, you are attractive. Trust me.”
    Mila cringed at the word “Trust,” but touched his