Aiden Jackson took the disposable cell phone out of his pocket, plugged in his earpiece and answered the call. “Go.” Aiden spoke with his lips in a thin line, dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he searched the bustle of people waiting for their train at the Waterloo Station in London.
“They know someone’s here,” Chuck said, his voice whisper quiet.
“Shit, they on to me?” Aiden took off his shades and picked up a book. He leafed through the pages, acting the part of bored tourist on holiday.