Victor’s jaw flexed. It had been a statement, not a critique. It wasn’t in his nature to complain. ‘With this short a time frame, there is no way I can take the computer from him without his knowledge.’
The broker nodded, grudgingly accepting the implication.
‘We’ll need an appointment at Seif’s firm for tomorrow,’ Victor said. ‘Plus his home address and every piece of pertinent information we can find on him.’
‘I’m seeing one of his associates at two thirty tomorrow afternoon.’
‘That was fast.’
He caught the trace of a proud smile before she said, ‘Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though. I’ve got a thing about bad teeth.’
‘That’s just a stereotype Americans like to perpetuate. Teeth are no worse in Britain than anywhere else.’
She shook her head. ‘Dammit.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I thought you might have said “we” at some point in there.’
‘Why would I say that?’
‘You wouldn’t necessarily, but if you had it would have told me where you’re from.’
‘You think I’m British?’
She shook her head. ‘Or you could have said it instead of “Americans”.’
‘So I’m American?’
‘You speak like you’re from the United States sometimes, like a Brit at other times, transatlantic sometimes, too. Your accent switches all the time, though, so I really don’t have a clue.’
‘I move around a lot.’
‘I figured. But when we spoke on the phone, I’m sure I detected an Eastern European accent in your English. But when we met, I thought I could hear a trace of French. I’m guessing your accent reflects whichever country you’re in at the time.’
‘Very observant.’
She smiled, shyly but proudly at the same time. ‘So I thought I’d test you, see if you’d slip and give it away.’
He liked her guile. ‘Better luck next time.’
‘Thanks, I’ll make sure I’m more subtle.’
‘You’ll have to be.’
She was still smiling, as though they were just normal people talking, a man and a woman getting to know each other, chatting easily. He reminded himself that was a dangerous course of action. There were good reasons he had no one in his life. Now was not the time to start letting his guard down.
He noticed her expression was different. She stared at him.
‘What?’ he asked eventually.
‘I didn’t thank you for earlier. At my apartment.’
‘You don’t have to thank me.’
‘You saved me. If not my life, my-’
His voice was hard. ‘We don’t need to discuss it.’
The broker’s face changed. It looked like he’d hurt her feelings. Victor told himself he didn’t care why.
No one spoke for a minute. The broker reached into the shoulder bag again and took out a file. She handed it to Victor without looking at him.
‘Seif’s dossier,’ she explained. ‘I’m sorry; it’s all I could get in the time frame.’
The file was a quarter inch thick. She had done a lot in just two days. He flicked through, surprised. Impressed.
‘It’ll do.’
CHAPTER 52
Falls Church, Virginia, USA
Monday
16:54 EST
Sykes climbed out of his Lincoln and gave the door a good, satisfying slam. He squinted against the low afternoon sun, pointed the key fob at the car, and watched as the indicator lights flashed twice. It was hardly necessary. Crime in this government and CIA-heavy part of the state was virtually nonexistent, even though over the river it was rampant, but Sykes was a cautious man. He just wished he had been more cautious when Ferguson had said those immortal words to him: How would you like to be rich?
Yes had been the answer, hell yes. Sykes was on the last few zeros of his trust fund and didn’t much like the idea of having to downgrade his lifestyle. But that had been then; now Sykes would be happy if he managed to stay out of jail. It was supposed to be simple. A retired Russian navy officer was selling the whereabouts of some extremely valuable missiles to the CIA. Kill him and steal the information. Have the killer killed to prevent the rest of the CIA from finding out who hired him. Recover missiles and sell them on the black market. On paper it had sounded easy, but everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.
Hunting an assassin around Europe while trying not to get busted by his own organization wasn’t what Sykes had signed up for, and it certainly wasn’t what he’d sold his honour for. Ferguson, old fearless bastard that he was, was hardly breaking a sweat. For him it was just one more messy operation in a lifetime of messy operations. Ferguson may have done this kind of illegal shit plenty of times before, but Sykes was as green to it as could be.
The air was still but cold. He could feel his insides jumping around all over the place. It was saying something that his stomach hadn’t exploded yet. For the last week he hadn’t dared leave home without a pocket full of antacids.
At the end of the drive was Ferguson’s beautiful three-thousand-square-foot colonial. The house was nestled within four wooded acres and was in immaculate condition. Sykes took a heavy breath as he approached. If things had been bad yesterday, today they were desperate.
Ferguson opened the door. He was dressed casually in a polo shirt and slacks and did not look pleased at the interruption to his sandwich. Sykes couldn’t remember the last proper meal he’d been able to finish that hadn’t played murder with his guts. With a monogrammed handkerchief Ferguson wiped the corners of his mouth while he finished chewing.
‘I figured you’d want to know straight away,’ Sykes said.
‘That sounds decidedly ominous, Mr Sykes.’
Sykes shifted his weight. He spoke in facts. ‘Tesseract returned to Paris. He met up with the girl, Sumner. There was a firefight. They’re both gone.’
There was an agonizingly long pause before Ferguson spoke. His voice was too calm and sent a chill along Sykes’s spine. ‘You had better come in.’
Sykes followed Ferguson into the hallway. It was the first time he had been in the veteran CIA officer’s house. For some reason Sykes would have expected it to be cold inside, but instead it was almost uncomfortably warm. Sykes unbuttoned the jacket of his dove-grey suit and let it fall open.
Ferguson’s house was sparsely decorated. A pure guy’s place. He’d been divorced for at least ten years, and as far as Sykes knew there wasn’t some crusty love interest. He noticed golf clubs near the door.
‘What the hell has been going on?’ Ferguson asked when the door was closed.
No foreplay then, straight to the ass raping.
‘Exactly as I said. Tesseract was spotted in Paris. I’m not sure exactly how at this moment.’ Sykes cleared his throat. ‘He went to Sumner’s apartment. Obviously we had no one on her after you had me redirect Reed after Hoyt.’
Sykes was pleased to be able to pass the blame so early in the conversation.
Ferguson was silent for a moment. ‘Then what?’
