“That’s the lower level,” Sharaf said, “down where we parked.”
“There’s a blind spot,” the security man said. “Two cameras on that level are out.”
“Since when?” Sharaf asked.
“An hour ago.”
“Shit! What quadrant?”
“Southeast corner.”
“Let’s go!” Sharaf said.
Sam followed him as they rushed out of the room and back down the corridor to the elevator, where Sharaf cursed as he fumbled with the key code.
“You see? These people have extended their influence everywhere. I would bet any amount of money that someone from mall security was bribed to disable those two cameras.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you guess?”
He could. And it was the last thing he wanted to be rushing to see. The elevator opened, and they headed toward the glass cubicle in the middle of the deck.
“There they are, way on the other side,” Sharaf said. A black Toyota Prado SUV eased into view from the upper ramp, tires squealing as it headed toward the Mafia men in the far corner. Sharaf and Sam had just reached the glass walls of the escalator cube.
“Stay back!” Sharaf said. “We’ll watch from here.”
The car stopped next to the men, maybe a hundred yards from where Sharaf and Sam stood, trying to watch through the glass walls.
“Should we be out in the open like this?” Sam whispered even though the nearby fountain was roaring like a waterfall. His question was answered in rapid succession by two muffled pops, sharp but wheezy barks that echoed dully off the low concrete ceiling. The two Russians dropped out of sight, and the Prado’s rear hatch swung open. The torsos of the four Iranians stooped downward, then moved toward the Prado. The hatch slammed shut and the Iranians climbed in through the front doors. It all happened within seconds.
“Jesus! Did they just—?”
“Get inside!” Sharaf hissed. “Try to get up the escalators before we’re seen!”
Sam did as he was told, weak in the knees. He didn’t dare look below, but he heard the tires of the Prado squealing as the roaring SUV headed back in their direction. Sharaf clambered up the rising steps, and Sam followed. Just before they moved out of sight he glimpsed a flash of black metal as the Prado raced past below, toward the exit ramp. When they stepped off on the next floor, Sharaf was panting loudly. A Japanese family, overloaded with shopping bags, bumped past them with a stream of apologies in halting English. Sam tugged Sharaf aside.
“Where to now?” he asked.
“We wait five minutes for everyone to clear out, then we do the same.”
“What about Rybakov? Won’t he be waiting for his men?”
Sharaf shook his head.
“His business here is complete.”
“But—?”
“It was an arrangement. Part of his apology. Arzhanov must have done something very wrong. By killing your friend, most likely. What doesn’t make sense is why that would have upset the Iranians. They don’t control prostitution. The Russians do.”
“Could Charlie have been working for them?”
“The Iranians? Do you really think so?”
“No. But I didn’t know him very well.” And it certainly fit with Nanette’s theory that Charlie was involved with unsavory dealings. He wondered if she had suspected as much even earlier. It would better explain why she had wanted him to track Charlie’s movements. “What will you do now? Arrest them?”
“Those men in the Prado? As far as I’m concerned this never happened.”
Sam was amazed.
“You’re not reporting it?”
“What is there to report? We saw two men drop from sight and heard popping noises that could have been cars backfiring. The whole time, the security cameras were blind as bats. There are no bodies to be found, and never will be, unless Daoud finds them for us. More to the point, if I report this the first question will be, ‘What were you doing following Anatoly Rybakov, and why was the American with you?’”
“Yes, but—”
“Around my office, Mr. Keller, the prevailing view is that as long as these people settle their own affairs without involving the rest of us, then who are we to interfere? Why do you think our crime rate is so low? It is the same reason there are so few fatal accidents at construction sites. All that matters is how you do the counting.”
Sam supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. But if all that were true, then why was Sharaf so interested in this case? Was he the only cop who cared, or was he, too, part of the problem?
“What do we do now?” Sam asked.
