Authors: Jeff Abbott
I felt the butt of the spear grind into the mud and so I pushed him up. His feet scrabbled in the muck, obliging me, and then
I drove the spear into him. It hurt him, he howled, but it didn’t pierce his side. He writhed away and then I was on top of
him and I drove it, point down, hard into his belly.
I walked back up to the house, bleary with pain and my mouth tasting of puke. My eye was swollen nearly shut. It hurt but
it wasn’t anything more than a black eye, I thought, not a broken socket. I stumbled and kept my feet moving.
Leonie stood in the door, shivering. With my good eye I could see her clutching at her elbows.
‘Mrs Ming … ’ she said. ‘Hurry, in here. Where’s the driver?’
‘Dead.’ I didn’t add it hadn’t been a good death to see.
‘You killed him?’
‘That’s usually what dead means. Thanks for the help. Thanks for shooting him once you got the gun and everything. Really
appreciate it.’
‘I had to try and help Mrs Ming … ’ she moaned, and then I ran into the house.
*
The driver’s stray bullet had punctured her chest. Her skin was pale and gray as a clouded sky, blood easing from her mouth,
her nose. Leonie had tried to staunch the bleeding. I knelt by her.
‘Mrs Ming.’
Her eyes fluttered open.
‘Mrs Ming. Where has Jack gone?’
Her bloodied lip thinned. ‘Won’t tell you … You people want to kill him.’
‘Is he going to go to his father’s building in Brooklyn? He took the keys from your house, I think.’
‘Tell you nothing … You want to hurt my son.’
‘I can help protect your son,’ I said.
‘Liar.’
Oh, God, please, I thought, please help her talk to me. ‘Mrs Ming. I worked for the CIA. I don’t
want
to hurt your son. Look at me.’ Her face focused on my bruises. ‘I just killed the man who kidnapped you. I’m trying to help
you. I lied to that man. So I’m Jack’s only hope. The CIA is looking for him.’
‘The CIA called me … ’ she said. ‘Liars. All liars.’ Her eyelids fluttered.
Her words hit me hard as a punch. ‘Who in the CIA called you? Who?’
Her lips moved, and her breath gave what sounded like a final hush. ‘They wanted a deal … protect Jack, protect me … if you
came I was to keep you at the house until they got there … ’
‘Who in the CIA did you talk to, Mrs Ming?’
But she didn’t want to talk about that, not with fewer breaths than fingers left. Mrs Ming said, ‘My son … help my son, please.’
What was I supposed to promise her? I was supposed to kill
her son to save mine. I took her hand. ‘Jack will be all right,’ I said. ‘I promise you. I promise you.’
‘I loved him,’ she said. ‘Forgave him … ’ And the words, the breath, faltered and with a bubble of blood at her lips she was
gone.
‘Oh, my God,’ Leonie said.
‘Are you all right?’
She nodded. She stared at the dead woman. She pressed fingers against her throat, so as to be sure there was nothing to be
done. ‘What do we do? His boss is coming … ’
‘I know. These are our choices. I know where Jack Ming is hiding. He might be there if we go there now. Or we can wait and
see if the driver’s boss shows up, learn who we’re up against. We can’t do both.’
‘Jack Ming,’ she said. ‘No question.’
Leonie drove, I sat hunched in the seat. She smoked a cigarette, blowing out the cracked window. I told her she wasn’t supposed
to smoke in the rental car and she’d given me an incredulous stare and then laughed and kept smoking.
The phone call came as we were driving silently back into Manhattan. I answered.
‘Yes?’ I said.
Anna. ‘We have a confirmation that Jack Ming is going to meet his CIA contact tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow. What time?’
‘He has told the contact he’ll call him at noon with instructions.’
So Anna had someone inside the CIA.
‘I know where Jack wants to meet them. So your worries are nearly at an end, Anna.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No.’
‘I said tell me.’
‘We ran into a problem. I think you might have a leak on your side.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Jack Ming’s mother is kidnapped and now dead, and so is her kidnapper. If you don’t have a leak, then a third party is interfering
in our work.’
A chastised silence. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’ll talk to you after Jack Ming is dead.’
She hung up.
‘You can’t cross her,’ Leonie said. ‘She holds all the cards.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘She only thinks she does.’
‘So who’s trying to screw us? Is it the CIA?’
‘Anyone could say that they’re CIA,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. But as long as we find Jack Ming first, it won’t matter.’
‘Who is this Mila?’
How do you explain Mila? ‘A friend.’
‘Who has a price on her head.’ Her voice was steady.
‘An interesting friend.’
‘You were just trying to panic the driver.’
‘I wasn’t going to sell out anyone, thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Thank
you
. You got us out of that alive.’
‘We’re in this together.’
‘Yes,’ she said, but now we believed it in a way we hadn’t before. She fell silent. I thought about how Special Projects might
have identified their informant as Jack Ming in the past few hours. I thought about Fagin. I thought about him talking to
his bosses at Special Projects and whether anyone there would hire an ex-Latvian spy and current limo driver to do their dirty
work.
We drove to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, to the address of Russell Ming’s property, the one for which Jack had presumably taken
the keys. All the windows were darkened. It was a squat, four-story building – it wore the look of having once been a small
factory. It had not been redone into shops or studios or apartments for the throngs of young, hip professionals and former
Manhattanites crowding into Williamsburg. The windows were boarded. A sign on the side read
MING PROPERTIES
.
‘Do we break in?’ she asked. Her voice was strained.
‘Yes. He could be inside right now.’
I picked the locks and we went inside.
An alarm sounded.
‘Hell,’ I said. We bolted back to the car. From a side street we watched. First a private security car responded. The guard
went inside, stayed inside, turned off the alarm.
‘I don’t think Jack Ming is there,’ Leonie said.
After a few minutes the guard came back out, locked the door, did a final walkthrough around the building, and then left.
‘No Jack,’ she said.
But he’d taken these keys for some reason. If he wasn’t here now, he soon would be. I refused to consider the possibility
that I was utterly wrong.
‘Do we wait here? Wait here for him to come?’ she said.
The pain in my head throbbed. My eye was nearly swollen
shut; I was going to have a shiner and I didn’t want a shiner. Black eyes are memorable. I needed to be invisible.
‘We need a vantage point,’ I said. ‘We need to be able to watch the building, know how often the private security comes and
goes.’
We drove past the building again and our headlights danced on the sign. Security by Proxima Systems. She looked them up on
her iPhone. Then she pulled Mrs Ming’s phone from her pocket, listened to her voicemail and dialed the number.
‘Proxima New York.’
‘Yes, this is Sandra Ming of Ming Properties. I own a building in Williamsburg for which you provide security.’ Leonie made
her voice brisk, slightly deeper.
‘Yes, ma’am, and may I have your account passcode.’
She hesitated about five seconds. ‘Jack.’
We could hear typing and then ‘Thank you, ma’am, how can I help you?’
I stared at her. How had she known?
‘I need to confirm the security check schedule for that building. I’ve heard from other property owners that there might be
a crime increase going on in the neighborhood and I just got a phone call that there had been a breach.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Typing noises. ‘The guard comes by at 11 p.m., 1 a.m., 4 a.m., 6 a.m., then again at noon, with up to a ten-minute
variant. If he will be later than that we contact you. Do you want to increase your patrol profile?’
‘Not now. Thank you,’ Leonie said. She hung up.
‘You should have canceled the service,’ I said dryly.
‘Generally that requires a face-to-face meeting, or a separate confirmation password,’ Leonie said. ‘I didn’t want to arouse
attention. We know our time windows now.’
‘How did you know the password?’
‘Because I’m a mom. Moms use their kids’ or pets’ names, or a variant as passwords, like eighty per cent of the time. It was
worth a try.’
‘So we know when the guard comes. Yes, and there’s a long gap when Jack and August can meet.’ I considered. ‘And I don’t think
Jack is going to camp out inside the building. He risks being caught by a security guard as well, or being noticed. But we
need to find a place to watch from, to be sure.’ I scanned the buildings. ‘There. Two away. That’s a hotel.’
Leonie got the room at the Williamsburg hotel, a trendy, high-end spot with the meaningless name of Hotel Esper (was it short
for
esperanza
, hope? Or did it imply you could read minds while a guest there? I wondered); just one room, with a window facing the Ming
building. We were going to be awake in shifts and if anyone else – say a rogue element in the CIA – was looking for us, they’d
be looking maybe for a man and a woman checking in together but in separate rooms. I drove back to our Manhattan hotel and
washed my face clean of dirt and blood. I looked okay except for the black eye. It wasn’t so bad. I gathered all Leonie’s
notes and papers and stuffed them into her small suitcase. I put on fresh, untorn clothes and collected our bags and checked
out for us both.
Then I took the rental and swung by my bar, The Last Minute. I looked like a wreck going in and Bertrand raised an eyebrow
at me. I went straight upstairs. There was an apartment up there but I didn’t dare bring Leonie to it. She already knew I
owned The Canyon in Las Vegas but she didn’t need to know more of my business. And I didn’t need Mila knowing what I was doing.
But when I opened the door, there Mila was. Sitting at the computer, a neat Glenfiddich at her elbow.
She was typing something. She looked up at me and wiped her hand back across her eyes.
Seeing Mila cry? Never in my lifetime, I thought. But I actually hadn’t
seen
a tear.
‘You look like hell,’ she said.
‘I know. Are you okay?’
‘Fine. What’s going on?’
‘I need some gear.’
‘What are you doing, Sam?’
‘I am getting my son back. I need you not to ask questions, okay.’
She stared at me. It was weird to have Mila stare at me. She knew so much about me, and I knew so little about her.
‘But you asked me a question. I get to ask back,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You wanted to know why there is such a high price on my head. I am writing you my detailed answer.’
‘You’re not exactly the essayist type.’ Mila was a woman of few words.
‘Please know I won awards for my essays in school.’ She put her fingers back on the keyboard but kept her stare locked on
me.
‘So, in Moldova, a school prize is probably a goat?’
‘Not always. Once I won a copy of
A Wrinkle in Time
. The message of the book stayed with me. Never give up against darkness.’
‘And love conquers all.’
‘Yes,
Samuil
. Love conquers all. Or at least it tries.’ Now she looked back at the screen.
‘And when do I get to read your true confessions?’
‘I am sure publishers will fight to the death, gladiator-style, for my story. But you can read it first. And when you tell
me what you’re doing and how I can help you.’
‘Help me by staying out of this.’ I went into the storage closet. I put two pairs of binoculars, a pair of small flashlights
and a Glock in my bag. I selected a Beretta for Leonie, for her protection. Picked out rounds of ammunition. I packed a Burberry
Prosrum suit I’d liked, shirt, tie and shoes to go with it. I might have to play a part to lure Jack close.
Mila stood in the doorway. ‘You don’t have to fight your war alone.’
‘I’m not alone.’
‘Why reject my help?’
‘Because you are in danger. Stay out of this. Get out of New York, Mila, now.’
‘I do not worry about muggers.’
‘I’m serious. I killed a man tonight who specifically wanted to find you, wanted me to give you to him, and he has a boss
who wants you. Someone in the CIA.’
She made a dismissive wave. ‘They want me for questioning.’
‘I don’t think that’s it at all. I think someone’s after the bounty on you.’
‘Then for my own safety,’ she coughed, ‘I should stick with you. Help you. We will take the fight to them together.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you want this informant alive. The guy who could give you Novem Soles.’
‘Of course he could give us Novem Soles. And maybe he in turn could give me the guy who posted the bounty,’ she said.
I let her words settle. ‘Novem Soles has posted the reward for you.’
She nodded. ‘One of them is behind it, yes. If I can kill the man who wants me dead, no one will fund his revenge. They won’t
care. This is his private vendetta.’
‘Then why hasn’t this guy in Novem Soles asked me for you in exchange for my son?’
‘They don’t know we know each other,’ she said. ‘No one who could tell them that is still alive.’ She paused. ‘Except August,
and whoever he has told inside the CIA.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because you have to kill the informant. For your son.’
‘The informant may know nothing about how to find the man who wants you dead.’
She shrugged. ‘You pick up a thread, unwind it, it can pull apart the entire blanket. My aunt always says so and she is right.’
‘Who wants you dead?’
‘He is a man called Zviman. He hides from me like I hide from him. There is a price on his head as well. We shall see who
gets bought first.’