Death Echo

“Anything happening on Blackbird right now?”

“She’s swarming with technicians.”

“So she won’t be leaving the dock in the next hour or two,” Faroe said.

“It looks that way. Want to bet on it?”

“For an hour or two, yes. Go track down Durand and make your pitch.”

“You’re the boss.”

She closed the phone and reached for the ignition key.

The passenger door opened. MacKenzie Durand slid into the seat next to her.

“Breakfast or lunch?” he asked. “You’re buying.”

13

DAY TWO

ROSARIO

11:34 A.M.

The vibration of a cell phone against his ribs woke Demidov from his doze. Without moving anything but his eyelids, he looked around. It was hard to see out through the smoked windows in the front of the van, and the rear door windows were even darker. Demidov approved. People had an even harder time looking in than he did looking out.

The parking lot had tourists and boat owners coming and going. At the moment, nobody was walking nearby.

Most important, Blackbird was still at the dock.

People were still busy ripping things out of the yacht and putting other things in. Binoculars had told him that everything being installed on the boat came from a legitimate commercial source.

The bug in Blue Water Marine Group’s office had told him the same thing. Even so, he’d checked every name on the boxes. His computer told him that each was a common supplier for Blue Water boats.

His ribs vibrated again.

Demidov reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone. Since only one man had this number, he knew who he would be talking to.

“Yes?” he said in quiet Russian.

“I need more time. Get it for me.”

“How much?”

“The boat can’t leave until after tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“Nothing of interest has been put on board yet,” Demidov said. “Even at night, when you would expect it. They have the ship lit up like a stage. It would take a fool or a very, very clever man to sneak by while anyone could be watching. Temuri is not that clever.”

“My source tells me the exchange will be made in Canada.”

“Where?”

“If I knew that, fool, I wouldn’t need you to follow the ship. Make sure Blackbird does not leave until Thursday. Friday would be better.”

Demidov bit back a curse. He was safer working alone-no one to betray him-but being alone on a job this complex wasn’t easy.

“Then I will sabotage the boat so-”

“No! Too unpredictable. Blackbird must fly. Later than Saturday isn’t acceptable. Earlier than Thursday isn’t acceptable.”

The connection ended, leaving Demidov alone in the sun-struck, stinking van. He didn’t notice the smell or the heat or the random Blue Water Marine Group office noise bleeding through his ear bug. Like a computer programmed to find certain words, he wouldn’t focus on the bug until it said something interesting.

Thinking of various ways to make certain the Blackbird didn’t leave the dock until Thursday, Demidov dozed, catlike, both resting and alert. For a man working alone, death was the most reliable way of carrying out a mission. The only question was whose death would get the job done.

14

DAY TWO

RESERVATION OUTSIDE ROSARIO

11:57 A.M.

Emma drove into the casino’s parking lot in the same silence she’d maintained since Mac had invited himself into the Jeep. She still hadn’t decided whether to slug him for his attitude or hug him for making her mission easier.

She turned off the engine and faced him.

“Dealer’s choice,” she said. “For now, you’re the dealer.”

Mac smiled slowly. “You decided that two seconds after I opened the door. Why the silent treatment?”

“Poor baby. Are you used to nervous chatter?”

“I won’t get that from you, will I?”

“I’m told the food is edible here.” She opened the door and got out. “Breakfast or lunch.”

Mac slid out and faced her over the top of the Jeep. “Food is better at the bowling alley.”

“A local’s place?”

Mac nodded.

“I don’t do local when I’m working a small town. I don’t fit it in.”

He nodded again, as though he’d expected the answer.

“I haven’t been to the casino,” she said, “but I’m guessing I won’t be all that unusual.”

“Good-looking women are always noticed.”

Emma took a mental inventory of herself-jeans, a loose T-shirt, rugged sandals that would have been at home on a hiking trail-and said, “In this outfit, I’ll pass without a second glance.”

“Probably. I liked the crop top better.”

Ignoring him, she locked the Jeep and headed toward the casino entrance, leaving Mac to follow or not, his choice.

He followed, smiling to himself. Ms. Emma Cross didn’t like having the initiative taken out of her hands. He could understand that. He felt exactly the same way.

Mac caught up with her before she reached the casino’s double doors. Unlike Nevada casinos, this one lacked the clamor and clang and razzle-dazzle of slot machines. Without that kind of relentless, come-and-bet-your-life atmosphere, the casino echoed like the nearly empty warehouse it was. The only action was at the poker machines, where retirees old enough to know better and too bored to care fed the electronic monsters.

“How can they take the excitement?” Emma said under her breath.

“Clean living and constant prayer.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Good to know.”

“Two,” Mac said to the unsmiling hostess.

The woman waved her hand toward ranks of empty tables. “Sit anywhere you want. Someone will be over to take your order.”

Mac led Emma to a corner and chose a seat next to the wall. She selected a nearby chair and moved it slightly, keeping an eye on the entrance.

“Talk,” she said to him.