One way to tell.
She searched his pocket and pulled out his picture cell phone.
She searched his cell phone memory.
'Shit!'
BOSTON
7:32 P.M.
According to the information Dananka was able to pull out of his computer, Miriam Frey was divorced, in her early forties, and lived alone with her son in a two-story house in a small subdivision twenty minutes from Cathy Bryson's home. Neither she nor her ex-husband had ever registered a firearm. Perfect.
He could already see how this would play out. The maternal instinct would destroy this woman. She would neglect her own safety for that of two children who weren't even hers. He'd seen it happen too many times. It would be a simple matter to dispatch her, scoop up the kids, and get the hell away. In and out in less than ten minutes.
He parked beside the detached garage and crept toward the back windows. A TV blared from the living room. He peered inside and saw a children's cartoon playing on the screen.
But no Miriam Frey, no kids.
He looked up at the second floor. Two lights upstairs-a bedroom and bath, he guessed. Bedtime for the kiddies?
He checked the back door. Locked, and he spotted a cheap alarm system wiring the door. It took him a few more minutes disabling it.
He was in the house.
He pulled out his automatic and moved quietly through the kitchen.
It came from upstairs. He cocked his head, listening.
He smiled. I'm on my way, young ones…
He slowly climbed the stairs.
Running water in the bathroom. Ah, of course. Bath time.
The thumping came from the same place.
He moved down the hallway to the open door of the bathroom.
The bathtub water was running, but the small room was empty. He stepped closer to the tub.
He finally saw the noise's source. A battery operated floating duck, repeatedly ramming itself against the tub's inner wall.
No one here. They must all be in the bedroom.
He turned toward the doorway.
Those two sounded… different.
Pain. He went cold and couldn't move. His breath left him. His gun slipped from his numb fingers.
What the hell?
He glanced down. Two red stains were spreading across his chest.
The door of the linen closet swung wide. A man stood there holding a smoking gun equipped with a silencer. Bradworth. It was Bradworth. He smiled. 'One last wish for a happy afterlife?'
Dananka's last memory was the flash as he raised the muzzle and the dull sound that came with it.
Good riddance.
Bradworth ran down the steps to the basement.
'It's all right, Preston,' he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Except for the cleanup. How are the kids?'
He nodded at the two children, who were huddled over a game table with Miriam Frey. 'Playing checkers and complaining because there's no TV down here.' He paused. 'I'm sorry you had to be involved, Bradworth.'
'I didn't do it for you. I did it for Kirov. He made me a deal.' He looked at the kids. 'And for them. I've got a couple kids myself that I don't get to see near enough. The helpless have more rights than the rest of us. I have no problem killing filth who go after children.' He turned to go back upstairs. 'I'm calling a mop-up squad and telling them to get out here and get rid of that body. It's not something the kids should see.'
'Could I help?' Preston asked. 'It would be good to do something besides act as babysitter.'
He gave him a cool glance. 'I was wondering whether I should let you do that. But I wouldn't have found you here yourself mounting guard if you were a Judas. You'd have wanted clean hands.'
'I didn't like the idea of sending away those guards.'
'If he'd seen we had security, it would have tipped him, and he would have called Pavski. This way we had only one scumbag to eliminate. No problem.'
His lips twisted as he looked down at his hands. 'Clean hands. Instead, I let you get yours dirty.'
'It doesn't matter. Vermin have to be smashed.' He shrugged as he started up the stairs. 'And this time I got to be Superman, saving the world. That's not half-bad.'
Kirov's phone rang as they were getting in the rental car waiting at the small airport at Rock Bay Harbor.
He glanced at the ID. 'Bradworth.' He listened for a moment. 'Thanks, Bradworth. No, I won't tell you what I'm doing. Yes, I know I owe you. I'm sure you're not going to let me forget it.' He hung up and turned to Hannah. 'Pavski sent one of his goons after the kids, but they're safe now. He said Preston turned out to be legitimate.'
'Good.' She added, 'And if Pavski heard where the kids were being kept, then he must have bought the telephone call to Cathy. He knows where we're headed. He'll take the bait.'
'I can hear him snapping now…' Kirov murmured as he started the car.
The phone rang again when he was only a block away from the airport. Eugenia. This time he put it on speaker.
'I've sent you a photo of the second statue,' Eugenia said quickly. 'It was a statue of Jason holding high the fleece. On the base it had the same symbol and the inscription read.
'I don't know. Don't worry. Get the hell out of there. You've done your job.' He hung up the phone. 'Let's just hope that picture doesn't trigger anything for Pavski. We don't want him distracted.'
'I don't see how it could.' She frowned. 'Let's see. The line on the first statue was
Kirov glanced sharply at her. 'What?'
'Where are my charts I made of those plates?'
'In my duffel in the backseat. Why?'
She was on her knees and grabbing the duffel. 'I need to look at them.' She unzipped the duffel and rummaged until she found the tube of rolled-up stationery. 'I think I may-' She broke off as she saw something in the bottom of the duffel. 'Dynamite?'
He shrugged. 'You can never tell when you might want to toss a few sticks at the undesirable elements we seem to be encountering.'
