Born to Run

Vladimir said, “Your deadline was last Tuesday.”

“You gave me another week. It’s only been five days.”

“And what did you do with the extra time?” said Vladimir. “Nothing, except cook up a plan to run from the country with your ex-wife.”

“That’s not true!” said Sofia.

“Quiet!” said Vladimir.

Sofia cowered in the corner. Jack didn’t have a good vantage point from the floor, but he could see that her hands were bound behind her back. He also noticed that behind the long, drawn draperies was a set of French doors that led to a courtyard-presumably the intruders’ point of entry.

Vladimir began to pace-not the quick steps of a nervous man, but the slow and confident gait of a man in control.

“We’ve been watching you, Demetri. We know you went to visit Sofia’s bakery. We followed her to Miami. We saw her go to Swyteck’s law office. We watched you show up an hour later. Did you really think you could run from us?”

“Of course not. That’s why it makes no sense for you to say I would even try.”

“Except that now you must believe anything is possible, no? Now that you have the son of the future vice president to help you.”

“I’m not helping him,” said Jack.

“Shut up!” said Vladimir. He stopped pacing, and silence hung over the room. Finally, he said, “This is how it’s going to be. Demetri, you are coming with me.”

Vladimir gave a nod, and his partner got up and lifted the Greek to his feet. He patted the old man down, found the gun in his pocket, and threw it on the bed. Then he shoved him face-first against the wall and put the gun to the back of his head.

Vladimir said, “Sofia and the lawyer stay here with Mika. I give Demetri twenty-four hours to pay what he owes. If he comes up with the money, I shoot him. If he doesn’t, I kill him any way I choose. And Mika shoots Sofia and the lawyer.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” said Jack.

“We’re done talking,” said Vladimir.

He pushed the Greek toward the door, then stopped before opening it.

“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “Mika, if you don’t hear from me before then, you know what to do.”

Jack listened as the door opened, the men filed out, and the door closed.

Mika locked it and took a seat in the reading chair. “Let’s decide,” he said.

There was smugness in his tone, and Jack didn’t bite. Sofia did.

“Let’s decide what?” she said.

He released the ammunition clip from his pistol, then shoved it back into place for effect.

“Who will I shoot first?”

Chapter 35

Ortanique on the Mile was bustling, and Andie sat alone at an outdoor table for two. A brightly painted, seven-foot statue of a flamingo stood guard on the sidewalk beside her. She was halfway through her second mojito-Ortanique’s were numero uno in Miami-and she already knew what to order. It was creative cuisine with a Jamaican flair, and everything was exceptional, but the special West Indian bouillabaisse with lobster and Key West shrimp in a curry broth was a lock.

Andie had spent all day preparing for an undercover role. She’d been looking for ways to stay busy ever since Thursday’s phone conference with the Washington ASAC. He’d told her things about Harry that she probably would have been better off not knowing, and ever since she’d been cool to the idea of spending too much time around Jack. She worried about a slip of the tongue. Saturday was their standing date night, however, and she’d decided to keep it. She’d called that morning to tell him that it was going to be a crazy day and that she would just meet him at the restaurant at seven.

It was now after eight o’clock. Andie dialed him once more on her cell, and for the seventh time, her call went straight to voice mail. Desperate, she dialed Theo. He picked up from behind the bar at Cy’s Place, the jazz club he’d named after his sax-playing uncle.

“Theo, do you have any idea where Jack is?”

“Last I looked, he was right here on the shelf next to Mr. Bacardi.”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about Jack Daniel’s.

“I meant my Jack, wise guy.”

He shouted something to a customer. It was getting hard to hear him, between the traffic noise on the Mile and the weekend roar over the line from Cy’s Place.

“Sorry,” said Theo. “Haven’t seen him since lunch.”

“Do you know if he had something going on? He’s over an hour late. He hasn’t even called, and I can’t get him to pick up on his cell.”

“You might want to call Hotel San Pietro. He had…er-uh.”

Andie definitely sensed backpedaling. “What?”

“He has a client staying there. I gotta go. See ya.”

Andie looked at her phone, confused. Theo had clearly just committed a slip of the tongue of some sort. Calling a hotel probably wasn’t a lead she would have followed if Theo hadn’t acted so weird. She pulled up the number for Hotel San Pietro, dialed it, and connected to the front desk.

“Hello, this may sound like a strange request, but I’m trying to reach Mr. Jack Swyteck. I understand that he has a client staying at your hotel.”

“Yes, actually he paid for the room.”

“He did? Is he there now?”

“I believe so. He went back to her room a couple of hours ago. I haven’t seen him come out.”

Her? Andie suddenly felt numb. “Does…she have a name?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information. Would you like me to put your call through to the room?”

“No!” she said, her tone way too sharp. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and she struggled to get the words out. “I mean, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

Andie closed her flip phone and laid it on the table. Her hand started to shake, and she suddenly had the same sick feeling that she thought she had left behind with her ex-fiance in Seattle. The pit in her stomach was widening, and part of her wished that she could just fall into it and disappear forever.

“Will it be just you this evening, miss?” the waiter asked.

She looked off toward the traffic on Miracle Mile. “Yes,” she said. “I guess it is just me.”

For the second time in one day, Jack’s hands were tied with electrical cord. Sofia’s were bound in the same way, which left no working lamps in the hotel room. Mika was reclining comfortably on the bed, shoes off, basked in the colorful glow of the flat-screen television on the wall. His gun rested within his reach on the nightstand. Jack and Sofia were sitting side by side on the floor near the closet, their backs against the silk wallpaper.

It had been at least two hours since Vladimir had left with the Greek. Jack had no idea what kind of debt Demetri owed the Russian mob, but he had no hope that Demetri would somehow pull a rabbit out of a hat and come up with the money. Bottom line: Jack had about twenty-two hours to figure out how to stop Mika from putting a bullet in his head.

“Gooooooooooooooooal!” said Mika.

A soccer game was playing on Spanish-language television, and Mika was joining the sportscaster in the universal language of celebration.

Mika rolled off the bed and grabbed his gun. Then he picked up the complimentary copy of City Beautiful magazine and started toward the bathroom.

“I make shit now,” said Mika.