“What will you do?”
“Go home. They don’t know about my New York condo — it has not been under surveillance, I have made certain of that. I will release an electronic evidence packet I have to show that I have left for one of the Middle East countries with whom the United States does not have an extradition treaty. It will not be obvious, they will have to look for it, but they will come across the false trail soon enough. I will sit tight for a few days until they are gulled, then I will use a disguise and get back to dealing with the problem.”
Cox shrugged. “I leave it to you, Eduard. This is your area of expertise.”
“Yes.”
The diversion was easy. Well after dark, the rear gate opened and a car rolled slowly out. A security cam at the gate was reset to watch this.
The military watchers moved in to halt it. The car did not stop, however, and it became apparent shortly there was nobody driving it as it coasted to a stop.
Thirty seconds later, the car burst into flames.
A simple timer and a small charge attached to the gasoline tank had been enough for that.
By this time, Natadze was gone from the house, at the fence on the north side of the estate, well away from any of the gates, crouching in a stand of tall, evergreen arbor vitae.
There would be much radio traffic concerning the fire, and while the confusion roiled, Natadze cut a hole in the chain-link fence, pushed the motorbike through the gap, and quickly crossed the road and into a field whose borders were also blurred by trees. They could have watchers on all the gates, but it was highly unlikely they would have had enough men to completely surround the huge estate, and they would not have worried about somebody leaving on foot — the estate was some distance from transportation.
Thermal vision he could do nothing about. He didn’t have the equipment with him to deal with that. But even with night vision gear, it would have been difficult at best to see Natadze, who was dressed all in black, keeping a low profile, and moving as slowly as he could to avoid drawing attention.
Once he was well away from the road, he climbed onto the bike and started pedaling it, riding farther north until he came to a neighborhood street behind a water tower. There weren’t that many roads here in this part of Suffolk, but there were a couple of small airports, and MTA stations to the south on the Ronkonkoma Branch Line, and it would be easy enough to loop around and leave that way. If he hurried before they cast a net to cover those.
He knew they would cast that net, and soon. The problem with his diversion was that it had pretty much told them for sure that he had been in there. A car blowing up like that was just too convenient for them to believe it was a coincidence.
They would know he had been there, and they would realize quickly that he was gone. Whatever he did would have to be soon.
Life was not always easy, but nobody had ever told him it would be. As long as you could stay a step ahead of the Reaper? That was as much as you needed, just one step.
Howard and Kent figured it out pretty quick. Kent got on the horn and called it in. “I want a full reconnoiter on the estate’s perimeter, put spook-eyes on the scouts and tell them to look real hard.”
Julio said, “Yes, sir.”
“Discom.”
Kent turned to Howard. “He’s flown the coop.”
“I expect so.”
“He was there, John. We were right all along. And he got away.”
“For now,” Howard said. “Look, Abe, there was nothing you could have done about this. Even if we’d known — and I mean known absolutely for sure that he was in there — we would never have been able to get a warrant.”
“Stopping that car going in gave us away, and you know it. It was my call, General, and I blew it.”
“You don’t have a working crystal ball, Colonel. I called it the same. You had to check.”
“If he went over the fence and is on foot, we won’t find him with the troops we have.”
“We could call the local police in. Cover the roads.”
“He’ll steal a car, get to a ferry or airport pretty quick.”
Howard nodded. “It would be best if we could get some indication he’s out before we get the law rolling.”
“I will catch this guy,” Kent said. “No matter how long it takes.”
“I believe you, Abe.”
It was half an hour later when one of the teams covering the north side of the estate reported that there was a fresh cut in the ten-foot-high chain link fence there, big enough to let a man pass through. The team also reported what appeared to be bicycle tracks in the soft dirt next to the fence.
“He’s gone,” Abe said. “Again.”
Howard nodded. “For the moment, Abe. For the moment.”
32
Thorn sat at his table and sipped his drink — club soda over ice — watched the movers and shakers, and remembered what he had said to Michaels, when they’d met, in what was to be his office.
He smiled at the memory.
Here, the men wore tailored tuxedos — Armani, Sprach, Saville Row, or Hong Kong’s best, with tasteful gold cuff links and custom-made Swiss watches. The women wore evening gowns that probably averaged eight or ten thousand dollars each. Some of the women were players, some showpieces — trophy wives or mistresses, movie starlets or models. There were a couple of boy toys escorting older women, too. There were enough diamonds, rubies, and emerald necklaces, earrings, and bracelets to fill a large bath tub, a king’s ransom in cool ice. A typical high-end charity dinner and dance, wherein many, if not most, of the attendees could write checks for the cause in six figures and not miss it.
Thorn’s own clothing was understated. He wore his grandfather’s opal ring and a basic Rolex stainless steel watch. His tux was well-cut, but didn’t scream its maker’s name out loud, and his shoes were soft Italian leather, spendy, but not ostentatious. He was new money, but knew that wearing it so that it showed was gauche.
He recalled how he had felt smug about Alex Michaels’s cowboy hotdogging, going into the field himself. And how he — Thorn — would never do such a thing.
And yet, here he was. At a charity ball in New York, ostensibly to help orphans in the Middle East, but really here as a spy, plain and simple. Net Force’s first efforts to catch Natadze and Cox together had been less than fruitful — but had only confirmed what they already knew.
He could understand the attraction of field work now, despite his good intentions when he’d taken this job. There was a bad guy out there, though not one who was apt to pull out a machinegun and start blasting. No, the quarry was rich and old, a man who had gotten a little head start by marrying well, but who had taken that advantage and used it to claw his way to the apex of a multibillion-dollar empire.
You had to have a little luck along the way, but you also had to be smart, ruthless, and willing to do whatever it took to get to the top of that hill, and then to stay there. If Thorn’s modest fortune fell from Cox’s pocket, he might not be bothered to stoop and pick it up.
Cox had been there for a lot of years. He’d been wheeling and dealing and making major fortunes when Thorn had been in high school. Cox was powerful, canny, and not above having his enemies squashed. A man like that was a worthy opponent, somebody who wasn’t going to just roll over if you went “Boo!” at him, and something in Thorn wanted to beat the guy just to prove he could.
And part of that was getting a close look at the man, trying to get a feel for him, something you couldn’t really do at a distance, or in VR. Good as it was, even the best virtual scenario wouldn’t allow you to nail it all down.