Choke Point (11 page)

Mawl smiled to himself; his first opportunity to redeem his reputation since his failure to take out Rynerson. “What do you want to know? I have a complete summary of the conversation.”

“I’m impressed. Read it.”

For the next five minutes, Mawl did exactly that, embellishing just enough to make it sound like he had a microphone attached to everyone’s ass. “That’s pretty much it.”

“What will they find in those accident reports?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

Mawl resented being questioned twice about anything, but swallowed his impulse to strike back. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. What happened after the meeting with Quan?”

“Ms. Rynerson went directly to the hospital. Leonidovich spent most of the afternoon inspecting the resort. Roof to parking lot.”

“What do you know about him?”

Mawl turned back to his profile notes. “White male, forty-three years old. Works as an international courier. Office in New York. Lives at—”

“Don’t waste my time with that background crap! What’s he doing in Macau? What’s his role?”

Mawl hesitated, realized the man already knew
that background crap,
which meant he had another source in the province. And there could only be two reasons for that:
insurance,
a backup team in case Mawl failed; or
termination,
someone to sever the link once the hit had been finalized. And the latter, Mawl realized, would explain the bullet in his side.

“Mawl…?”

“Don’t!” Mawl interrupted, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Use…my…name.”

There was a long silence, far beyond the normal satellite delay. “What’s your problem? These conversations are secure.”

“We hope,” Mawl answered, working very hard to hide his anger, and the fact that he had figured out the man’s game plan. “Technology changes. Can’t be too careful.” A piece of advice he intended to follow himself.

“You’re right,” the man answered, “there’s no reason to get sloppy. So, what about Leonidovich? What’s his role here?”

“Just what I said,” Mawl answered, his subconscious struggling to process the new information, measuring risks and revising plans. “A family friend. He’s insignificant.”

“If he’s so fucking insignificant, what’s he doing poking around the Pearl? What’s he looking for?”

Questions Mawl had been asking himself, but so far he had found nothing to indicate that Leonidovich was anything other than a high-class delivery boy. “He’s fumbling in the dark. Probably trying to impress the Rynerson broad.”

“You said they weren’t together!”

“I said they weren’t in the same suite,” Mawl answered, not liking the man’s accusatory tone. “I didn’t say anything about a relationship.”

“Well then say something! What is their relationship? I need information.”

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason, Mawl thought, to what
background crap
the man considered important. “They’re friends. It’s platonic.”

“You’re sure?”

No, he wasn’t sure, but knowing he was now competing against another intelligence source, he needed to rachet up his value, to imply he had video surveillance everywhere. “There’s been no nocturnal movement between their suites.” He flipped back to his surveillance log. “And she had dinner Friday evening with a guy by the name of Atherton. James Atherton. They seemed pretty cozy.”

“Interesting. What else?”

“I checked the guy out.” Mawl quickly scanned the profile information, picking out the highlights. “He’s from Washington, D.C. Runs an international consulting firm. Does piece work for the government from time to ti—”

“Don’t bother with that. I know who he is.”

Another surprise bit of intelligence. “Right.”

“What are they doing today?”

“They’ve been alternating shifts,” Mawl answered. “One at the hospital, one at the hotel.” He decided to throw in another small embellishment. “Going through all those accident reports.”

“Good. That was clever of Quan, a good way to keep them busy. Don’t let that courier out of your sight. Add more people if you need to. I want to know what he’s up to.”

“What about the daughter?” Though Mawl would normally have mentioned that he already had someone on her security detail, he now realized there was no longer an upside to that kind of disclosure. “You want twenty-four/seven on her too?”

“Absolutely not. She’s a fucking zoologist for Christ’s sake.”

Another fact Mawl hadn’t mentioned, though he realized the information was readily available on the Internet. “You want another accident? Just say the word and we can set them back another week. Maybe two.”

“No, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

Now Mawl was absolutely sure the man knew more than he was saying.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

The Pacific Pearl, Taipa Island, Macau

Monday, 2 July 07:21:39 GMT +0800

The guard stiffened to attention as Simon approached with his two steaming containers of coffee. The kick-off-the-day meeting with Kyra had become routine, something he both enjoyed and dreaded, knowing that sooner or later he would find her in bed with James Atherton, her dinner companion for three straight nights. “Good morning.”

The young man nodded, his smile open and friendly. “And a good one to you, sir.” Broad-shouldered and muscular, with pale blue eyes and a smattering of sun freckles across his cheeks, he filled the doorway like a load of bricks.

Simon glanced at the man’s security badge: R. J. Kelts. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, R.J. You’re new?”

“Aye. First day.”

“You sound Irish.”

“Aye, that I am, sir. And you are…?”

Simon pulled open the front of his jacket, exposing his security badge. “I’m expected.”

“Oh, yessir. I saw your name on the list.” He extracted a keycard from the breast pocket of his blazer, slipped it into the magnetic card reader, waited for the click, then pushed open the door. “Have a good day, sir.”

“You too.” For an instant, Simon considered asking if she was alone, then thought better of it. “Good luck with the new job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Simon closed the door, waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then worked his way toward the bedroom, and the only sliver of light in the suite. Hoping her dinner with Atherton had not turned into something more carnal, he tapped lightly on the door. “You—” Distracted by images of erotic interplay, he almost said
alone.
“—decent?”

Her voice, husky from sleep, barely penetrated the door. “I may not be great, Leonidovich, but I’m better than decent, you can bet on that.”

That he believed, though more information than he cared to ponder. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pushed open the door. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, the bed covers pulled to her chin. She gave him the squinty eye, a feigned look of displeasure. “Don’t you ever sleep, Leonidovich?”

“Five good hours. What more does a person need?”

“Six would be nice.”

Meaning she hadn’t gotten in before 2
A.M
. “Six!” Though he had no right to be jealous, he couldn’t help but envy the time she was spending with the suave James Atherton. “Six is for wimps.”

“Don’t pick on me, Leonidovich. I know things.”

“Lies and rumors,” he fired back, feeling better now that he knew she was alone. “Exaggerations and innuendo.”

“That’s what I thought. It was all too good to be true.”

“Exactly. They don’t call me bad-to-the-bone, for nothing.”

“Ha! You don’t know the meaning of bad, Leonidovich.” One naked arm snaked out from beneath the coverlet. “Coffee! I need coffee.”

He handed over one of the containers. “What’s with the new guard dog.”

“That’s Robbie.” She took a small sip of coffee, carefully checking the temperature as she always did, then sucked down a healthy gulp. “He’s my new body man.”

Body man,
now there was a job a man could get into. “What happened to Paul?”

She shrugged, exposing her bare shoulders. “No idea. The manager of the security company called yesterday. They lost a couple of men, the only ones on my detail who spoke English. Told me to expect a couple of new faces.”

“Lost…?”

“That’s all I know. Robbie showed at seven o’clock.”

“Robbie?”

“Robert Joseph Kelts.” She cocked her head toward a profile sheet laying on the nightstand. “Don’t you just love his accent?”

“Heterosexual men never admit loving anything about another man. I read it in the
Rock Hudson Guide to Machismo.
”

“Men have such silly rules.”

“Don’t get me started on the female species.” He picked up the profile sheet and began scanning through the particulars. “I thought he looked young. Only twenty-four.”

She smiled, a wicked little grin. “What you call ‘young,’ I call eye candy.”

“I thought that was Atherton.” He regretted the words instantly—a foolish, shoot from the hip remark—but they were already gone and he couldn’t retract them.

She cocked her head to one side, a puzzled expression. “You don’t like James?”

Afraid he would sound like a jealous schoolboy, he ignored the question, keeping his eyes on the profile of Robert Joseph Kelts, aka R.J., aka Robbie. “He does seem to have plenty of experience.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she answered, as if they were still talking about Atherton. “We’ve only had dinner.”

Was she purposely providing information, checking his reaction, or was he reading too much into too little? “He’s been with the same security service since his discharge from the SAS. Moved here from Hong Kong about a month ago.”

“I saw that. What’s the SAS?”

“Special Air Service. It’s a division of the British military. Small commando units. Very elite.”

“Guess you’ll have to start being nice to me, Leonidovich. He sounds tough.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The playful twinkle faded. “You talk to my mother yet?”

“An hour ago. The flight went well; no complications. She likes the hospital and all the doctors.”

“And…?”

“No change.”

She emitted a long sigh, the sound of hope fading. “I should be there.”

“No, you shouldn’t. This competition between you and Billie isn’t going to help your father.”

“Competition?” She gave a little snort, as if the word gave her a bad taste. “Believe me, I’m not competing with my mother. It’s just that—”

“Come on, Kyra, it’s obvious. You were both out of Jake’s life for years, and now you’re competing for his approval and affection.”

She stared back at him, as if trying to decide whether to be insulted or angry, then simply shook her head. “You really do piss me off, Leonidovich.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell she was only being sarcastic. “It’s a special gift, the ability to say exactly the right thing at the wrong time.” He hesitated, feigning a look of confusion. “Or is it the wrong thing at the right time? I can never remember.”

“You’re too damn smart is what you are.”

“Yup, I hear that a lot. Smartass this, smartass that. It’s all very gratifying.”

“I can only imagine. Okay, smartass, I need to take a shower. Turn around.”

He did as ordered, fixing his gaze on a molded duplicate of the Crest of Ch’in, a framed adornment in all of the executive suites. “Don’t take forever, Rynerson, we need to talk. I may have discovered something important.”

“I’ll be quick,” she answered, her voice fading toward the bathroom. “Five minutes.”

Bathroom. Female. Five minutes. No way that was going to happen. He snapped on the television, a fifty-inch plasma with a wireless keyboard and Internet connection, and settled into a comfortable armchair, but before he could get halfway through his e-mail messages she was back, scampering across the room in a fluffy white towel that barely covered her
féminin délicieux.

“Didn’t think I could do it, did you?”

Despite the taunting implorations of the horny little devil whispering in his ear, Simon managed to keep his attention glued to the screen. “Never doubted you for a second.”

“You’re not only a smartass, Leonidovich, you’re a smartass liar.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“You take your eyes off that television, you’ll be singing soprano at the Temple of Lost Jewels.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Rynerson, I’ve seen you naked, remember? Nothing special.”

“Yeah, but back then I looked like a refugee from Dachau. Now I’ve got some meat on my bones.”

Well-toned meat,
but this time he was smart enough to keep such insightful commentary to himself. “Yes, ma’am, eyes front, mouth shut.”

“What’s the weather like?”

Despite his good and honorable intentions, he could see her nude reflection in the television.
Very
well-toned.

“Earth to Simon.”

“What?”

“Is it still raining?”

“Yeah. I mean no. It was.”
Damn,
he sounded like a junkie on crystal meth. “It stopped about an hour ago. Supposed to be dry for the next couple of days.”

“Hallelujah.” She turned and disappeared into the closet. “You said you may have found something important.”

He tried to refocus, to erase the vision of her naked body from his mind, but knew it was hopeless, the image forever frozen in the occipital lobe of his brain. “I went to the hospital last night.”

“Oh…?” Her reflected image—now covered in a bra and boy-short panties—reappeared in the closet doorway.

“I wanted to talk to Dr. Yuan. Some things about the shooting didn’t make sense to me.”

“How’s that?” She pulled on a pair of wheat-colored slacks.

“Your father was hit twice, once in the chest, once in the side. I assumed…I think we all did…the impact of the first shot spun him around before the second bullet hit his side.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” she admitted. “But sure, that makes sense.”

“Except that’s not what happened.”

“How…” Her voice momentarily faded as she pulled a sleeveless top over her head. “…know that?”