‘See? I told you I could drive this. Not a problem, no problem at all.’
‘So you can,’ Vladimir said, looking over the truck, seeing that the tires appeared to be in good shape, the bodywork was clean and recently washed. ‘And you rented this for the agreed amount of time?’
‘I did,’ Imad said proudly. ‘One full month. They were eager to rent it. There were many more in the lot, but I chose the best one.’
Vladimir got on his knees, examined the truck’s under-side. Nothing blatantly out of place, but he was not a mechanic, nor was he a diesel-truck driver. Which was why he was burdened with this child to accompany him. A gift from his mysterious benefactor. He got up, brushed gravel and dirt from his knees. A cold wind was blowing, smelling of salt and exhaust.
‘And the paperwork? You used the proper credit card, the proper identification?’
Imad’s smile faltered. ‘Of course I did. Do you think I am a fool?’
‘I don’t know,’ Vladimir shot back. ‘You tell me. The first time your friends tried to take down the World Trade Center, one fool went back to the rental agency, to get back his deposit for the truck that carried the bomb. That led to his arrest and the arrest of many others, and it s only because the Americans wanted to arrest you instead of kill you that you fools succeeded the second time around. Will you do that here, Imad?’
‘No,’ Imad said, his face darkening. ‘No, I will not. And remember this, my friend: despite whatever that “fool” did, we
Vladimir shook his head. ‘No, it has not been forgotten.’
Imad grabbed his upper arm. ‘And do not forget this. My own cousin… my own cousin, I did what had to be done. I did what I was ordered to do. The poor boy…all he wanted to do was to come to Canada and marry a Canadian girl and someday own a small restaurant. And I infected him with that awful anthrax and dumped him off at a hospital like a bag of shit, so that whatever must be done is happening. So don’t doubt me.’
Vladimir shrugged off the boy’s touch. ‘I don’t doubt it. Just do your job.’
‘And you do yours, Russki. You do yours.’
‘I shall,’ Vladimir said, walking back to the motel room. ‘And get your belongings ready. I want to be over the border by nightfall.’
Imad kept up with him, now smiling, like a man who would cheerfully feed you a sumptuous meal and then strangle you later that night. Imad said, ‘Very well. Over the border at nightfall, all to defeat the enemy.’
‘Yes,’ Vladimir said, finding himself finally agreeing with the child. ‘To defeat the enemy.’
Montgomery Zane was driving to his Tiger Team office when his pager started vibrating at his side. He grabbed the pager, toggled it, and then read the text message. He shook his head. A hell of a fucking time for a trip. He looked ahead, found a place to turn around, and did just that.
No Tiger Team visit today.
Brian Doyle looked out the window of the Delta airliner, saw the city of Memphis and the Mississippi river unfold beneath him. Elsewhere in the cabin was the Princess, Adrianna Doyle, looking very quiet and unflappable over there by the other aisle, and behind her sat a very unhappy and apparently nervous Dr Vincent Palmer. Although they traveled on the same flight, there were rules against sitting together, probably to prevent some idle chitchat that could be overheard by either a
Below Brian the view of Memphis seemed to tilt up and down as the aircraft descended. He hated flying. Not that he was some Luddite who thought that transportation progress had ended with the arrival of the steam locomotive; no, he just hated being strapped into a thin aluminum tube and having his life completely in the hands of a pilot he had never met, a mechanic whose work he didn’t know, or an aircraft assembler who might or might not have had a bad day when putting together an intricate piece of machinery.
So there you go. He much preferred to have his life in his own hands, thank you very much, and being in control of the situation. Being 30,000 feet above the earth in the hands of somebody else didn’t strike him as being in control.
The descent continued, the ground getting closer and closer, and Brian couldn’t help himself, he closed his eyes for a moment as the wheels hit the runway. In control. The past several months, being at the beck and call of Adrianna and her bosses, that sure didn’t meet the definition of being in control, now, did it?
After long minutes of wading through the people exiting the aircraft, each juggling a piece of carry-on luggage, and passing the poor flight crew with their robotic ‘’Bye now’ — and did they do that because some marketing whiz a thousand miles away thought such greetings would mean a point five percent increase in return flyers? — he joined Adrianna and the not-so-good doctor outside the jetway. Adrianna nodded to him and Vincent just looked miserable. He was holding a silver metal case in one hand. Brian went up to him, grasped the doctor’s left wrist for a moment, and said, ‘The joys of technology, doc, am I right?’
Victor looked surprised. ‘What? What do you mean?’
Hand still on the doctor’s wrist, Brian tugged at a thin steel cable running from the handle of the case to a handcuff hidden under the shirt sleeve. Brian said, ‘Back in the bad old days, there was a thick chain running to the case. Now it’s just a thin steel cable. Harder to spot. But still, it’s easy enough to get the case off your wrist.’
‘How’s that?’
Brian couldn’t help himself. ‘Just use an axe. That’s all.’
Adrianna said, ‘Brian…’
Vincent said, ‘But I was told the cable was resistant to all cutting devices.’
Brian grinned. ‘Who said anything about cutting the cable? All it’d take to get the case away is to cut off your hand.’
Adrianna came around, grabbed his upper arm. ‘Come along. No time for games, Brian.’
Despite it all, he enjoyed her touch. ‘You got it, Adrianna. No time for games.’
They exited the terminal, got into a cab, and the cabbie snorted when he heard the address from Adrianna. ‘Man, what a waste of time…’
Brian was sitting in the front, letting Adrianna try to cheer up the doctor. ‘Don’t worry, pal. We’ll give you a big tip, just the same.’
‘You will?’
‘Sure,’ Brian said. ‘Unlimited expense account. For any-thing and everything we want. Even if it’s for a cab drive a couple hundred yards away.’
The cabbie got them out into the steady flow of airport traffic. ‘Must be nice, throwing money around like that. You guys must have one hell of a job.’
Brian said, ‘Pal, you have no idea.’
Alexander Bocks stood alone in his office, looking out the window at the collection of hangars and outbuildings that belonged to him at the Memphis International Airport. Oh, lawyers and bankers and accountants would put up a hell of an argument, saying that these structures did not belong to him, they belonged to AirBox and a bunch of subsidiaries and stockholders and this and that, and Bocks would nod at all the right places and then say, fuck you, they’re mine. They weren’t there before I started, and they are there now, and they belong to me.
He raised a hand, touched the window, felt the vibrations that came from the jet engines and ground equipment and luggage handlers. He pressed his hand tighter against the glass, as if trying to remember well what the sensation was like, what it was like to stand here and feel that thrumming sensation against your skin, that sensation that meant decades’ worth of work and dreams were finally being fulfilled, that he had something he could call his own, something that in a very few hours would—
The door opened. Bocks dropped his hand as if he was a twelve-year-old boy caught in a bathroom by his mom, a copy of her Cosmo magazine in his hands. He turned and Elizabeth stood there, Elizabeth Bouchard, a retired warrant officer from the Air Force, who had taken early retirement to come join him at this crazy venture, to go after the big boys at UPS and FedEx, and who was now a very wealthy woman, stock options and all, but still preferred to come to work every day for the general.
