the driveway and head for the back door, which opened a moment later, just as Dominic slipped behind it. The woman stepped inside. Dominic swung the door shut, stepped to her, clamped his right hand over her mouth, and twisted her head so it lay tight against his shoulder.
“Quiet,” he whispered in Swedish. “Do you speak English?”
She nodded. Most Swedes did, they’d found, which seemed to be the case in most European countries. Americans were unique in that respect, having largely remained literate in English only-and sometimes then only marginally so.
“I’m going to take my hand away. We’re not going to hurt you, but if you scream, I’ll gag you. Understand?”
She nodded.
Dominic took his hand away and gently shoved her into one of the dining room chairs. Brian came in. “What’s your name?” Dominic asked her.
“Maria.”
“Anton’s your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“People are looking for him, you know.”
“You’re looking for him.”
“Other than us,” Brian replied. “The waitress at the Radish told us some Middle Eastern guys were asking about him.” Maria didn’t answer. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”
“No.”
“Probably didn’t want to worry you.”
Maria rolled her eyes, and Brian chuckled. “We’re kinda stupid that way sometimes.”
This brought a smile to Maria’s lips. “Yes, I know.”
Dominic asked, “Did Anton tell you why he’s hiding?”
“Something to do with the police.”
Brian and Dominic exchanged glances. Had Anton assumed the police were looking for him for another reason? Something other than his aunt’s missing-person report?
“Where were you two going?” Dominic asked.
“Stockholm. He has friends there.”
Okay, listen: If we’d meant you harm, we would’ve done it by now. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. We need you to make Anton understand. If he answers our questions, we’ll see what we can do to help him. Okay? If not, things go bad.”
“Okay.”
Brian got a pitcher of cold water from the kitchen and dumped it over Anton’s head. Then he and Dominic retreated to the far side of the living room while Maria knelt before Anton’s chair and started whispering to him. After five minutes, she turned around and nodded to them.
My aunt filed a report,” Anton said a few minutes later.
Dominic nodded. “She hadn’t seen you. I guess she was worried. You thought it was about something else? Something to do with that plane?”
“How did you know about that?”
“A hunch,” Brian replied. “Until now. You did something with the transponder?”
Anton nodded.
“What?”
“Duplicated the codes.”
“For another plane, a Gulfstream?”
“Right.”
“Who hired you?”
“The guy-the owner.”
“Of Hlasek Air. Lars.”
“Yes.”
Brian asked, “Not the first time you’ve done this for him, is it?”
“No.”
“How’s he pay you?”
“Money… cash.”
“Were you there the night the Dassault came in and took off?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about it,” Dominic said.
“Four passengers, Middle Eastern, came in a limousine. They got aboard, and the plane took off. That’s it.”
“Can you describe any of them?”
Rolf shook his head. “It was too dark. You said something about the Radish. Someone else looking for me?”
Brian said, “According to the waitress. Four Middle Eastern men. Any idea why they’re looking for you?”
Rolf glared at him. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“No, sorry.”
Dominic and Brian left Maria with Anton and stepped into the hall. “You think he’s telling the truth?” Brian asked.
“Yeah, I do. He’s scared shitless, and happy as hell we were white faces coming through the door.”
“Doesn’t change much, though. He’s got nothing we can use. No name, no faces, no paper trail-just Middle Easterners traveling incognito to who knows where. If DHS or the FBI had Hlasek or his pilot, they wouldn’t have asked Zurich and Stockholm to beat the bushes.”
“Probably right,” Dominic replied.
“What about those two?”
“Best we can do is get them to Stockholm. If Anton’s smart, he’ll turn himself in to the Rikskriminalpolisen and pray they’re interested in his story.”
Dominic watched over Anton and Maria as they gathered their things. Brian left through the back to retrieve the car. He returned three minutes later, panting. “Problem. Tires on our rental are slashed.”
Dominic turned to Anton. “Your friends?”
“No. I told them not to come back.”
From outside came the squelch of brakes. Dominic shut off the table lamp. Brian locked the front door and peered through the peephole. “Four men,” he whispered. “Armed. Two coming to the front, two going around back.”
“You were followed,” Dominic told Maria.
“I didn’t see anyone-”
“That’s sort of the point.”
“You have a gun?” Brian asked Anton.
“No.”
Dominic and Brian exchanged glances. Each knew what the other was thinking: too late to call the cops. And even if it wasn’t, their involvement would bring more problems than it would solutions.
“Get in the kitchen,” Dominic ordered Anton and Maria. “Lock the door, then get on the floor. Stay quiet.” Dominic and Brian followed them there. “Knives?” Brian whispered to Anton, who pointed to a drawer. Hunched beneath the level of the window, Brian walked over, slid the drawer open, and found a pair of five-inch stainless- steel steak knives. He handed one to Dominic, then pointed to himself, then the living room, then moved that way. Dominic followed, and together they shoved the couch, the coffee table, and a side chair up against the door. It wouldn’t stop whoever was coming, but it would slow them down and, they hoped, even the odds. Though unavoidable, Brian and Dominic had, in fact, brought knives to a gunfight. Dominic gave his brother a good-luck
