“Don’t count it until you’re inside,” Lovich called out.
“If you think I’m that stupid,” Mac said without turning around, “you’re a dickhead for hiring me.”
The door closed behind them.
Voices erupted in the office.
“Walk slower,” Emma said, nibbling on his ear. “It’s hard to hear.”
“You understand that racket?”
“Enough to get words here and there. Sounds like bastard Russian of some kind. Almost a dialect. For sure those yutzes haven’t been to Moscow lately.”
Slowly, nibbling between every other step, Emma and Mac walked out to the parking lot. The more she heard, the less she understood.
Nobody had known which side of the war games Temuri had been on. All they knew was that he was making a lot of money playing.
“What’s wrong?” Mac asked softly.
“I don’t know. But I know something is.”
“We knew that already.”
“There’s knowing and then there’s
27
DAY THREE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
6:08 P.M.
Tim Harrow glanced idly around the tapas bar. It was small, plush, and preferred by congressmen meeting lobbyists for a little off-the-record monkey business. Just one of the many open secrets of Washington, D.C., that the press corps never got around to “discovering” until one of the congressmen pissed on some editor’s private crusade for truth, justice, and headlines.
Don’t ask. Don’t tell.
Happy hour begins at 10:00 A.M.
Although Harrow’s expression didn’t show it, he was annoyed at being there. Usually his contact was happy with coded emails or black-box telephone calls.
Maybe she was looking for a little action.
The thought eased a lot of Harrow’s irritation. Carin Richards was as good on her knees as she was in back- channel communications.
The beveled glass and mahogany bar door opened. A woman dressed in the D.C. uniform-good quality business suit in a subdued blue, leather briefcase, short dark hair, medium heels, and simple jewelry-walked through the crowded bar area to the quiet booth where Harrow waited.
No one hit on her. She wasn’t dressed for it, wasn’t swinging her ass for it, and wasn’t looking around for it. Just one more lobbyist having a drink after a long day.
Except this lobbyist was an FBI agent and an old friend. With benefits.
Harrow smiled as she slid into the small booth opposite him. She toasted him silently with the drink he had ordered for her. As she did, she leaned forward and said a name.
“Shurik Temuri.”
Harrow’s expression didn’t change.
“Mean anything to you?” Carin asked.
“In what context?”
“Rosario, Washington, state of.”
“The rez murder?” Harrow asked.
“Big coincidence otherwise.”
Harrow sipped his neat Scotch. “As far as we’re concerned, that’s not a familiar context for him.”
“No shit. My boss-and his boss, and the one above, all the way up to top of the mountain-is stroking out over the fact that your people didn’t warn them that your good buddy is on U.S. soil. Where you, by the way, are specifically not permitted to act under the laws we all know and love. This is an unofficial warning. The official one will land as soon as my people can speak in language fit to print on a memo. We want Temuri. Bad.”
“How certain are you of the identity?” Harrow asked.
“Ninety-three point six probability, based on a surveillance photo that came through back channels. And yes, we trust the source.”
Harrow sipped when he wanted to hurl the heavy glass into the booth across the bar. “I’ll look into it.”
“You do that. Real fast.” She waved a server over. “I’m hungry. How about you?”
He’d just lost his appetite, but he knew he might as well eat. He had a long night of work ahead. Silently he damned all informants who couldn’t be trusted to stay bought.
Not that anyone with two brain cells expected Temuri to do anything but what he was best at. Betrayal.
“Knock yourself out,” Harrow said. “I’m buying.”
“You bet you are. My expense account gets maxed out at a soda machine.”
28
DAY FOUR
ROSARIO
BEFORE DAWN
Showtime.
Emma took a long, hidden breath and walked next to Mac. Both of them were carrying a duffel and wearing wind jackets. It might be one of the rare, almost warm dawns the Pacific Northwest got after summer, but experience told her that the water was always cooler than the land. Direct sunlight was different. She planned on a little sunning on a sheltered part of the yacht. No reason she couldn’t read files outside.
Mac pushed a marina cart filled with enough food and water to get them to Campbell River in a day. It would be a long haul and a fast way to determine if
The bulkiest item Mac had was a box of paper charts that covered the Inside Passage all the way to southeast Alaska.
The twelve thousand in cash was in St. Kilda’s care. Mac wouldn’t leave until he had a fresh eight thousand for his pocket. In Canada, fuel was priced like liquid gold. He wanted to be certain he had plenty of cash for the ride, no matter how fast he pushed
The only thing lacking in their equipment was any kind of radiation detector, chemical sniffer, or even a bug detector. St. Kilda didn’t want to risk tipping off anyone that the transit captain suspected this was more than a somewhat dodgy delivery.
Better to assume they were bugged and act accordingly.
The radiation patches they had worn to the Blue Water office yesterday had showed zero exposure above the expected norm. No one in the Blue Water office had unusual exposure, so they hadn’t been handling fissionable material. Chemical and biological were still on the suspect list, and would stay there until there was a reason to cross them off.
