quietly.
'Yes, I have a car for sale.'
'I would like to see it,' the man said.
'When can we get together?'
'Is your call number blocked?'
'No.'
'I'll call you back.'
'I'll look forward to it.'
Morrison thumbed the discom button on the belt phone.
Ventura said, 'My people have scanned the incoming number, we have it.
Go in there and put the phone in the trash.' He pointed at the men's
room.
'Should I turn it off?'
'Leave it on. They probably already know where you are, but it'll give
them something to look for.'
Morrison headed for the bathroom. Ventura waved, and a pair of
college-aged men dressed in shorts and T-shirts and backpacks went into
the men's room ahead of him.
Ventura stayed out in the corridor.
Making sure nobody was watching him, Morrison shoved the phone into the
bin under the paper towel dispenser. 'Then he went and used the
nearest urinal.
When he exited, Ventura said, 'There's a car waiting in front of the
airport for us. Let's go.'
'You think they can get here that fast?'
'They can trace the phone from the carrier sig alone if you don't
bounce it--major national intelligence services have access to some
very sophisticated equipment. They'll probably send somebody. It
won't be a trio of long-finger nailed Chinese dressed in colorful
Mandarin silks and sporting Fu Manchu mustaches smiling and bowing and
looking like the incarnation of the Yellow Peril. More likely it'll be
a busty Norwegian blond nurse helping a little old man with a cane
hobble along--the last people you'd look at and think 'Chinese
intelligence.' Certainly they have local agents within a few minutes
of most major cities. Fortunately, Anchorage isn't that big a town. If
you used a decent re mailer they won't backtrack your email for a
while, though probably they'll get that soon. I'd expect them to know
who you are within a day or two at most, even if you don't call them
back.'
Morrison swallowed dryly.
'The service I used guaranteed confidentiality.'
Ventura smiled, looking at that moment like a human shark.
'Sure, if somebody calls them on the phone and asks, they won't say
anything. But confidentiality goes right out the window when somebody
puts the point of a sharp knife into your re mailer back, over his
kidney, and asks.'
'They would do that?'
'Sure. I would.' He flashed the smile again, and Morrison was in that
moment as afraid of Ventura as he was the Chinese. Thank God the man
was on his side.