southward. To the north, tall trees lined a busy boulevard.
“Contrary to what you and Henrik believe,” she said, “I’m not helpless. I have two agents on Constitution Avenue. I had just hit the panic button when you showed up.”
“Bad news. Those two men left.”
“What do you mean?”
“Right after you sat down with Dixon. They drove off.”
The mall ended at the base of the Lincoln Memorial. She looked back. The two pursuers had stopped their advance.
“Apparently we’re where they want us.”
A taxi roared toward them from the direction of Independence Avenue.
“About time,” Cassiopeia said, waving a black handkerchief.
The cab stopped and they leaped inside.
“I called a few minutes ago.” Cassiopeia slammed the rear door and said to the driver, “Just drive around. We’ll tell you when to let us out.”
The cab sped away.
Stephanie plunged a hand into her pocket and found her cell phone. She dialed the number for the agents she’d positioned as backup. Two men were about to be fired.
“You want to tell me why you left me there?” she calmly said into the phone when it was answered.
“We were ordered away,” the man said.
“I’m your boss. Who contradicts me?”
“
Amazing. “Which one?”
“The attorney general. Brent Green himself came and told us to leave.”
MALONE TOSSED THE SATCHEL FROM GEORGE HADDAD’S apartment onto the bed. He and Pam were inside a hotel not far from Hyde Park, a familiar place he’d chosen for its congestion because, as he was taught,
“I have to work on that shoulder,” he said.
“What do you mean? Let’s find a hospital.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
He sat on the bed beside her.
“It’s going to be that simple. I want a doctor.”
“If you’d stayed upstairs like I told you, nothing would have happened.”
“I thought you needed help. You were going to kill that man.”
“Don’t you get it, Pam? Wasn’t watching George die enough? These SOBs are serious. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you.”
“I came to help,” she quietly said.
And he saw something in her eyes he hadn’t seen for years. Sincerity. Which raised a whole lot of questions he didn’t want to ask. Nor, he was sure, would she want to answer. “Doctors would involve police, which is a problem.” He sucked a few deep breaths. He was worn by fatigue and worry. “Pam, there are a lot of players here. The Israelis didn’t take Gary-”
“How do you know that?”
“Call it instinct. My gut tells me they didn’t do it.”
“They sure killed that old man.”
“Which was why I hid him away in the first place.”
“He called them, Cotton. You heard him. He called knowing they’d come.”
“He was doing his penance. Killing comes with consequences. George faced his today.” And the thought of his dead friend brought with it a renewed pang of regret. “I need to work on that wound.”
He slipped the shawl from around her shoulders and noticed that the towel was sticky with blood. “Did it open back up?”
She nodded. “On the way here.”
He peeled the compress away. “Whatever’s happening is complicated. George died for a reason-”
“His body was gone, Cotton. Along with the woman’s.”
“The Israelis apparently cleaned up their mess fast.” He carefully examined her arm and saw that the cut was indeed shallow. “Which only goes to prove what I’m saying. There are multiple players. At least two, maybe three, possibly four. Israel is not in the habit of killing American agents. But the people who murdered Lee Durant don’t seem to care. It’s almost like they’re inviting trouble. And
He stood and entered the bathroom. When he returned he popped open a bottle of antiseptic and handed her a fresh towel. “Bite on this.”
A puzzled look came to her face. “Why?”
“I need to disinfect that wound and I don’t want anyone to hear you scream.”
Her eyes went wide. “That stuff hurts?”
“More than you can imagine.”
STEPHANIE SWITCHED OFF THE CELL PHONE.
She faced Cassiopeia across the cab’s rear seat. “I’m afraid, at the moment, you’re the only person I can trust.”
“You seem disappointed.”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s not true. In France you checked me out.”
Cassiopeia was right-she’d been thoroughly vetted, and Stephanie learned that the dark-skinned beauty had been born in Barcelona thirty-seven years ago. Half Muslim, though not noted as devout, Cassiopeia possessed master’s degrees in engineering and medieval history. She was the sole shareholder and owner of a multicontinent conglomerate based in Paris and involved in a broad spectrum of international business ventures with assets in the multibillion-dollar range. Her Moorish father had started the company and she’d inherited control, though she was little involved with its everyday operation. She also served as the chairwoman for a Dutch foundation that worked closely with the United Nations on international AIDS relief and world famine, particularly in Africa. Stephanie knew from personal experience that Vitt shied away from little, and she could wield a rifle with the accuracy of a sniper. At times a bit too brassy for her own good, Cassiopeia had been associated with Stephanie’s late husband and understood more about Stephanie’s personal life than she cared for anyone to know. But she trusted the woman. No question. Thorvaldsen had chosen wisely when he sent her.
“I have a serious problem.”
“That much we already know.”
“And Cotton is in trouble. It’s imperative I contact him.”
“Henrik hasn’t heard from him. Malone said he’d call when he’s ready, and you know him better than anyone.”
“How’s Gary?”
“Just like his father. Tough. He’s safe with Henrik.”
“Where’s Pam?”
“On her way back to Georgia. She flew with Malone to London and was leaving from there.”
“The Israelis are in London, too. Assassination squad.”
“Cotton’s a big boy. He can handle it. We have to decide what to do about
Stephanie, too, had been thinking about that conundrum.
