only thing to do. Negative gets you nowhere.
Solomon had to have known they were coming. Known they were looking for the nuke, and that they had a scanner to track its signal. A fresh burst of rage engulfed him and he pushed forward again. Something gave and a cloud of plaster dust convulsed him in a coughing fit. His whole chest burned with it.
Something lifted and a sharp beam of light speared his face.
‘Fucking fuck. He’s here!’ called Kroll.
Dima peered at him, ghostly not only from the reflected torchlight but also the plaster he was covered in.
‘What the fuck did you do that for? You trying to kill us all?’
‘Just get me out of here, okay?’
He could hear the sirens of the emergency services. The sound gave him a much needed charge of energy. Kroll and Vladimir hauled him to his feet. They felt like rubber.
There was only one explanation. Rossin.
84
Fort Donaldson, USA
Jackie Douglis didn’t take long to figure that the young man on the floor was in need of her help. For one he was dehydrated, that much was clear from his complexion and the yellowing whites of his eyes. He clearly hadn’t been taking food and as far as she was concerned, whatever the guards had told her about him having killed someone, in her world at least you were innocent until proven guilty.
The senior guard, Halberry, didn’t help matters by calling her
Eventually they came to an understanding whereby the inmate would be transferred to the medical unit secure room for observation and to undergo rehydration. He would have to be shackled. That was non-negotiable and Jackie conceded that yes, she didn’t know anything about this young man and that was one battle that she wasn’t going to win. But life in the Donaldson MedCenter had suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.
Eventually she shooed all the guards away and they were alone. She gave him a proper examination. Suddenly he spoke.
‘Doctor Douglis.’
Jackie was still not used to being addressed like that, but it sounded good. She looked at the young man whose name was Blackburn and smiled. His eyes came alive.
‘You smiled.’
‘I did.’
She smiled again.
‘Thank you,’ said the young sergeant. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see one of those again.’
Four hours later, her head spinning from the tale she had just heard from the shackled soldier, she reluctantly left him in the care of the night shift. She went to bed to the sound of his story in her head, a story of nuclear bombs in suitcases, of Russians and terrorists. . Two hours later, still unable to sleep, she decided to call her father.
‘I’m sorry honey, his committee is pulling an all-nighter,’ said Senator Joseph M. Douglis’s PA, Sheila Perkis, aka Bulletproof — because nothing got past her. So now she seemed to have control of his private number — well, Jackie would see about that.
She emailed him to call. Emergency!
Two seconds later he called.
Thank God for his Blackberry addiction. Jackie told him what Sergeant Blackburn had told her.
‘
Joe Douglis felt a tap on his shoulder from the usher. They were back in session. He let out a long sigh of defeat. She was headstrong all right — even worse than her mother.
When Jackie Douglis returned to Donaldson next morning, Sergeant Henry Blackburn was gone. All she could discover was that a special team had arrived unannounced by air and flown him out. Destination unknown.
85
Paris
This time Dima drove while Kroll and Vladimir tried to brace themselves. He hurled the Xantia at the Paris streets, throwing it into extreme broadsides and drifts rather than so much as touch the brakes. He didn’t know for sure that Rossin still lived at the same address and he doubted he would still be there, but right now he didn’t have a better idea.
Timofayev could have tipped off Solomon, but Rossin?
Solomon had been his best pupil, bar none. He soaked up everything Dima could teach him as if he already knew it and was just getting a refresher. He had answers before Dima had finished the question; he grasped techniques first time and never needed to practise. He could stab kick and punch more accurately and with more force than any other trainee. He solved whatever challenge Dima threw at him with an effortless ease that was intimidating. More than once it felt to Dima as if Solomon could see into his head and anticipate just what was coming. And right now he felt it again. Solomon, always a step ahead.
Dima brought the Xantia to a halt broadside in front of Rossin’s Espace. He was out of the car before it had stopped, wrenching open Rossin’s door and pulling him out on to the pavement. Before the Frenchman hit the ground Dima had a knife at his neck. Rossin’s eyes bulged like they were about to pop their sockets. Dima caught a glimpse of the Espace interior. It was stuffed with luggage.
‘I think your trip’s just been called off.’
‘Dima, please. I–I don’t understand.’
Dima gripped the Frenchman’s throat with one hand and applied the knife with the other. ‘You don’t understand why we’re still alive?’
It was all Dima could do not to plunge the knife right into his neck but he’d made enough mistakes for one night. Rossin needed to get the message fast. He flicked the blade up and sliced off an earlobe.
Rossin squealed like a pig until Dima put the flat of the blade against his mouth, the point half up his nostril.
‘Where is he — NOW!’
Saliva was running down Rossin’s cheek mingling with the steady course of blood oozing from his ear.
‘Headed for the airport. He’s going to New York.’
‘What about Paris? What about the Bourse?’
He shook his head. ‘The Bourse is under extra guard. They had a tip off.’
‘The nukes. Have they been shipped?’
Rossin nodded. Then stopped.
‘I don’t know. I don’t—.’
‘What flight’s he on?’
‘Atlantis — it’s one of those all business class—.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
Dima pressed the knife harder against his ear.
