Tower down a kirk mcgarv.., p.20
Tower Down--A Kirk McGarvey Novel, page 20
“That would be more trouble than you can imagine.”
“I could kill you.”
“Which would interest the cops here to no end.”
Kamal thought a moment. “You’re right,” he said.
Careful to keep the gun trained on Pete, he used his cell phone to call someone. “When are you leaving?”
Pete hoped that Otto was quick enough to catch the call.
“I’ll be delayed, perhaps as long as twenty-four hours,” Kamal said. He broke the connection and pocketed the phone.
The man was a professional, Pete had to give him that. But he didn’t seem to fit the mold of a crazy working with ISIS to bring down buildings. Certainly he was no jihadist. More the type who would launder money in the billions with no compunctions.
“Again the question is: What to do?” he said.
Pete couldn’t help herself. “You could always stick that gun up your ass and pull the trigger.”
Kamal was amused. Keeping the gun on her, he got up and went to a house phone. “Eight-ten. I need my automobile. Please have it out front immediately.”
This did not sound good. Pete measured the distance to her pistol lying on the floor.
“No, I’m not checking out,” he said and hung up.
“How do you plan on getting me through the lobby?” Pete asked.
“You’ll come willingly.”
“Not likely.”
“Then I’ll shoot you dead, and slip away in the confusion. By the time the police arrive I will be long gone. And trust me, Ms. Borman, or whatever your real name is, that would be much easier than you could imagine.” He smiled.
“Eyewitnesses.”
“Almost always unreliable.”
“Almost,” she said.
“You may pack a suitcase or leave as you are.”
* * *
Pete opted to leave as she was. When the maid came to clean the room she would report that things had been left behind and the desk might report it to the police. Worst-case scenario, they would place everything in storage.
But she still had Otto.
Kamal picked up Pete’s Glock and pocketed it. “May I have your cell phone, please?”
“No.”
He held out a hand, and reluctantly she gave it to him, praying to whatever gods that Otto was still monitoring the situation.
With one hand he awkwardly removed the back of the phone, pried out the battery, and removed the SIM card. Still his aim never wavered. He pocketed the card and battery, and the phone and its back plate.
Otto would know that they were leaving, but he wouldn’t know to where. The only possibility was that he was calling the police now.
Kamal removed the silencer, put it in his pocket, and stuck the pistol in the waistband of his trousers beneath his jacket.
Pete was ready to spring at him, but he read something of it from her eyes.
“Believe me, dear, I don’t need a pistol to kill you.”
She believed him.
* * *
Getting off the elevator in the lobby, Kamal took Pete’s arm, and together they walked out of the hotel to where a Bentley convertible, its top up, was waiting.
“You may drive,” he told her. “I’ll give you directions.”
By the time Pete got behind the wheel, Kamal had tipped the valet and climbed into the passenger seat. “Let’s go home, shall we?”
FORTY-SIX
McGarvey had just crossed into France in his rental Peugeot and was heading south on the A41, when Otto called all out of breath. Traffic was heavy as it usually was this time of the year, but the day was too pretty for what he was certain Otto was going to tell him.
“He’s taken Pete.”
“How?”
“He was waiting for her in your hotel room, and she didn’t have a chance from the get-go,” Otto said. He explained everything he’d heard through Pete’s cell phone. “He used the house phone to have his car brought around, and they left.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know. He had her phone, and it just went dead. Must have taken out the battery and probably the SIM card.”
“Call Gratto and have him get the Gulfstream back here.”
“It never left. I had him stand by in case you needed to get back in a hurry.”
“Good thinking. Hack the hotel’s system and see what kind of a car he was driving.”
“I’ve already done that too. It’s a three-year-old Bentley Continental GT Speed Convertible, metallic blue. Paris plates, but the address is an accommodations listing. A dead end. He could be taking her just about anywhere.”
McGarvey got off the highway and took the on-ramp back to Geneva. “There’s no way he’ll spend a night somewhere with her. If it’s too far he’d have to kill her and ditch the body. I’m betting it’s someplace close. Maybe even right there in Monaco.”
“He needs more information.”
“If he thinks that she suspects he’s Nero, he’ll kill her for sure.”
“There’s more,” Otto said. “He knows your name.”
“Christ.”
“But it sounded as if she convinced him that you and she worked for Treasury, and along with a lot of other teams were on the trail of Valdes.”
“That fiction won’t last long. If he knows who I am, it means he has a pretty good source of intel.”
“Photographs of you were in a lot of newspapers and on a few television news shows, and your disguise wouldn’t fool a decent facial recognition program.”
“That’s not the stuff I’m worried about. It’s what I’ve been involved with after I left the Company. If he knows that, he’ll know that Pete and I don’t work for Treasury.”
“I’ll put something on Treasury’s mainframe. If his source can hack that deeply he might be convinced that you guys are after Valdes.”
“Better do the same with everybody else. The Bureau, Homeland Security, any system you can reach.”
“That’d be all of them, Kemo Sabe. I’m on it,” Otto said. “What about asking the DGSI for help?”
McGarvey had considered it. “That would end up in a shootout that no one would win. Especially not Pete. This guy has no intention of being taken, especially not alive.”
“Finesse.”
“Something like that.”
“But, Mac, I don’t know where to start looking.”
“He’s made a mistake somewhere. We’ll find it.”
* * *
The Gulfstream was spooling up when McGarvey got back to Geneva’s airport, and it was ready for takeoff after he’d returned his rental car and took a shuttle across to the VIP terminal.
Toynbee was waiting with a cold beer when he came aboard.
“Otto says we’re returning to Cannes,” Gratto said from the cockpit. “ATC will want us to file a flight plan, but if the DGSI gets wind of us coming back, they’ll want to know why.”
“File one for Cannes, and at the last minute head out into the Med and file for Genoa.”
As soon as he was strapped in, they taxied out to the active runway and took off, heading directly to the Italian city, which was less than a hundred miles from Monaco. Even before they reached cruising altitude McGarvey got back on the phone to Otto.
“Assuming I’m right and Nero has gone to ground somewhere nearby, it could very well be his home base.”
“If that’s the case he’ll have no other choice but to kill Pete.”
“Not until he finds out what she knows, and not if I get there first. He was aboard Hammond’s yacht, which probably means he’s got money, which also means that he’s damned good at what he does. He gets paid well.”
“Big bucks to bring down AtEighth, and even more for a second one,” Otto said. “ISIS can afford it.”
“Could be that simple. Or, it’s someone with a good reason to make us believe that they’re behind it.”
“And deep enough pockets to afford someone like Nero,” Otto said, picking up the direction McGarvey was going. “He’s driving a Bentley, and it’s not a rental, so his home base will be a good one.”
“Find out who bought what and for how much over the past several years. It’ll have to be a private house or a villa. Maybe something off the beaten path. No snoopy neighbors.”
“Might he have staff? Someone to look after the place when he was gone?”
“If he does it would probably be someone English. A valet, cook, house cleaner. A man probably. Someone versatile.”
“Why British especially?”
“I’m betting Nero, if that’s who Valdes is, was educated as a kid in the UK, and I have a strong feeling he attended Sandhurst. Might even have graduated.”
“Fuck,” Otto said. He almost never used the word.
“What?”
“Sandhurst, you mentioned it before. Said you had a hunch. Just a mo.”
He was back in under fifteen seconds. “My darlings picked up on it two days ago, but I was too damned busy to pay any attention. Besides the KIAs, accidents, and natural causes, we only found one who dropped out under odd circumstances. His name was Kamal al-Daran, parents immigrated to England when he was just a kid. Put him in the best schools including Eton and then Sandhurst, where he graduated near the top of his class at both schools. Sandhurst was ten years ago. Puts Nero at about the right age. Anyway, he went on leave and took the QM2 to the U.S. Somewhere in the mid-Atlantic he apparently fell overboard. His body was never found, end of story.”
“It’s him,” McGarvey said. “Get everything you can, especially photographs.”
“There’s more,” Otto said. “His parents emigrated from Saudi Arabia. Maybe they want us to fight their battles against ISIS instead of spending more of their own money. They were probably involved with nine-eleven, though it was never proven. They hid behind sovereign immunity. But this now sure as hell fits the pattern.”
“If he’s on an op for the GIP, his intel would be first rate,” McGarvey said. “And it’s more than likely that the two guys who tried to take me out in Cannes were work-for-hire muscle.”
“It fits.”
“Let me know what you come up with,” McGarvey said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’m going to push a little, see what happens.”
“In the meantime, Pete.”
“Find out where he lives and I’ll take care of it.”
“Watch yourself, Mac.”
* * *
Hammond answered on the second ring.
“Joe Canton. I’m trying to contact Mr. Castillo, but apparently he’s checked out of his hotel. Is he aboard?”
“No,” Hammond said. “I thought you were in New York.”
“I’m halfway across the Atlantic right now,” McGarvey said. “Any idea where I might find him?”
“Not a clue. But he said he would catch up with us in a day or two. We’re leaving for Mallorca in the morning. Will you be able to get back and join us there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Sitting on the Monaco terrace finishing a late dinner of chilled lobster salad, croissants, and a bottle of Krug, all served by Kamal’s manservant, the entire setup seemed surreal to Pete. The magnificent view of Monaco Bay, the fabulous house, the lovely meal, and even Yves, who had attended them, was ominous. The calf being fattened before the kill. Even worse, Kamal had become the perfect gentleman once they had arrived.
“Nice place you have here,” she said.
“Unfortunately I’ll have to find another home soon.”
“Mexico?”
“Perhaps in time, but for now the army would very much like to catch up with me. Shot while trying to escape.”
“You don’t seem overly concerned.”
“Money has its uses.”
Pete took a sip of her wine. She’d never tasted Krug before but she decided that it definitely lived up to its reputation. “I suppose I could mention to Yves that you have kidnapped me.”
Kamal raised his hand, and the valet appeared at the slider.
“Yes, sir?”
“Ms. Borman has something to tell you.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Did you know that your boss launders drug money for the Mexican cartels?” Pete said.
“No, ma’am, I’ve never asked.”
“And are you aware that he’s kidnapped me, and it’s very likely that he’ll kill me before the evening is over?”
“No, ma’am,” Yves said. “Would there be anything else?”
“Perhaps some coffee and cognac in a bit,” Kamal said, and Yves left.
Pete was impressed despite the situation. “Where did you get him?”
“From a listing’s service. He’s discreet.”
“I’ll say.”
“Let’s talk about the relationship between you and Mr. McGarvey.”
“We’re partners.”
“You stayed in the same hotel room, only one bed. Lovers?”
“None of your business.”
“Ah, but this evening everything is my business. It was you two who approached me, not the other way around. I want to know why.”
“I’ve already explained who we work for and why we came looking for you. The Mexican government has asked for our help, and since most of the cocaine the cartels supply comes to us, we agreed.”
“And if you have me believe you, Mr. McGarvey is already halfway across the Atlantic to report to your boss that you have found me.”
“Yes.”
“Why not just make a phone call? If you two are right, and I am really Pablo Valdes, then I’m sure the Prefecture of Police here could be induced to help arrest me.”
“I don’t know the answer to that, except that you seem to be a friend of Tom Hammond’s and Susan Patterson’s, and Monégasques respect money above all else.”
“Indeed.”
Their coffee and cognacs came, but Pete declined the liquor. The two glasses of champagne had already given her a slight buzz, and she was certain that she’d be needing all of her wits about her before the evening was over. Her only hope was that Mac was on his way back to Monaco and that somehow Otto had pulled another rabbit out of his technological hat and found out about this place.
“It’s really quite a nice cognac,” Kamal said.
“I’ve had enough. I’m not what you would call a big drinker.”
For several minutes they sat in silence, the early evening beautiful, the lights of Monaco splashing across the bay. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a siren, but then it faded. They were in another world here, for all intents and purposes isolated. The feeling grew that her situation was becoming more ominous with every passing minute. No matter what magic Otto conjured up, it wouldn’t be possible for Mac to get here in time.
“What’s next?” she finally asked.
“That will depend entirely on your level of cooperation,” Kamal said. He raised his right hand and the valet instantly appeared.
Pete wondered if the man had overheard their conversation.
“That will be all for this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We will be wanting our privacy.”
“Of course, sir,” Yves said and he left.
“Who do you and Mr. McGarvey work for?”
“Treasury.”
“And you believe that I am Pablo Valdes.”
“Yes.”
“Are you two lovers?”
“None of your business.”
Kamal smiled and nodded. “Then perhaps we shall become lovers this evening. Talk like lovers. Tell each other our secrets.”
“Right,” Pete said.
Kamal got up and took a pistol from the waistband under his shirt. He screwed the silencer on the end of the barrel. “Let’s retire, shall we?”
“Or else you’ll shoot me?”
“Of course.”
Pete got up. “May I take the cognac? Maybe I’ll have some after all.”
“By all means,” Kamal said.
Pete looked toward the sea. The house was perched at the top of a rocky slope with a few scraggly trees that led down to a cliff. She figured it wasn’t much more than a twenty-foot drop from there but she couldn’t tell if was to the water or a beach or rocks.
“To the sliding doors at the end of the terrace, please,” Kamal said.
Pete went ahead of him, feigning a little unsteadiness. The glass sliders were opened to a large bedroom suite. Dim lights in the ceiling, meant to look like a starry sky, cast a soft glow.
She stopped, and looked again toward the sea. The drop from the terrace to the sloping ground was maybe ten feet or a little more. Workable, she decided, if she didn’t break an ankle in the fall, or if Nero didn’t shoot her somewhere vital. But she was counting that he wouldn’t want her dead until he found out the real reason why she and Mac had come here.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Go inside, take off your clothes, and lie down on the bed.”
“Are you going to rape me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Torture me?”
“If need be, but I’ve always found that when people are naked they become vulnerable to the mere suggestion of pain.”
Pete suppressed a smile. He’d made a mistake. Whoever he was—Nero or someone else—he definitely wasn’t a money launderer for the Mexican drug cartels. An intelligence operative or a field officer, trained in the military and working freelance for some intelligence or special operations organization such as the Russian Spetsnaz, or perhaps the Iranian secret police—what was once known as SAVAK.
The problem for her was that those kinds of agencies weren’t in the business of destroying buildings and killing innocent civilians and blaming it on a terrorist group.
She leaned against the rail, raised the cognac, and took a deep draft, but didn’t swallow it.
“Christ, Christ,” she sputtered, spewing the liquor down the front of her blouse.
Kamal’s aim wavered.
“I’m going to be sick.” She dropped the snifter and as it shattered on the tile floor, she rolled over the edge and dropped to the rocks below.
FORTY-EIGHT
