“No kidding,” Jacob said. “I’m the one paying.”
“You have a card for operational expenses.”
“It doesn’t work.”
“Have you tried it?”
“Several times. It won’t go through.”
“It’ll go through,” Mallick said placidly. “At any rate, given the expanding scope of this investigation, I thought it would be best to discuss it.”
“Face-to-face.”
“I’m a people person, Lev.”
Jacob said nothing.
Mallick said, “You’re making progress on the case.”
“I’d be doing better if I had the 911 tape or even the slightest sense why you’re stonewalling me.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“You have a better word, sir?”
“I told you. It’s sensitive.”
“Then I don’t get the point of working from home. Or having a secure line. The idea was to avoid attracting attention. Not to put me in a box so small I can’t function.”
Mallick didn’t respond.
“Pardon my language, sir,” Jacob said, “but what the fuck is going on?”
“I’ve given you a very important task and I need you to carry it out.”
“What task is that, sir?”
“Exactly what you’re doing,” Mallick said. “That’s what I need you to do.”
“Tread water?”
“From what you’ve told me, you’ve done a good deal more than that.”
“So you did read my e-mails.”
“I read them.”
“Then you know there’s crucial information that I’m not getting access to.”
“We’re on top of it.”
“Who’s we? On top of what?”
“That’s all you need to know at the moment.”
“With respect, sir, fuck that.”
Mallick chuckled. “Everything they said about you is true.”
“Who said? Mendoza?”
“Are you asking me to take you off the case?”
“I’m asking to not feel like everybody’s running around behind my back.”
“Everybody being?”
“Subach. Schott. Divya Das. Even the guy I talked to in Prague sounded spooked.”
“What’s in Prague?”
“Another head.”
Mallick’s brow creased, and his eyes grew unfocused. He remained that way for some time, nodding slowly.
At last he said, “I think you should go to Prague.”
“So that’s a yes, sir?”
“That’s a yes.”
The bout of permissiveness bewildered Jacob. “Thank you, sir. But can I ask why you’re okay with me leaving the country but you won’t help me obtain a simple 911 recording?”
Mallick rubbed his forehead and contemplated for another long stretch. He seemed to consider several alternatives before settling on taking out his phone, placing it on the coffee table, tapping the screen a few times.
Recording hiss.
Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?
Hello. A woman’s voice. I’d like to report a death.
Sorry, ma’am, can you repeat that? A death?
The woman recited the address of the house on Castle Court.
Are you — ma’am, are you in danger? Can you tell me if you — do you need assistance?
Thank you.
Ma’am? Hello? Ma’am? Are you there?
The hiss cut off as Mallick leaned over and touched the screen.
“Did that help?” he asked softly.
Jacob looked at him.
“Do you want to hear it again?”
Jacob nodded.
Mallick touched PLAY.
Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?
By the end of the second listen-through, Jacob’s mouth was dry and he was gripping the edge of the table hard enough to feel his pulse.
Thank you.
Mallick reached over and pressed PAUSE. “Do you understand now?”
Jacob looked at him. “No.”
“I can e-mail you a copy, if you’d like.”
Jacob nodded.
“Regardless of whether you understand,” Mallick said, “it’s vital that you keep doing what you’re doing. Vital.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Lev?”
“Are you sure I should go to Prague?”
“Why not?”
“I should probably stay here to try and... chase that down.”
The Commander gazed at him with strange tenderness.
“Go,” he said. “I think you’ll find it educational.”
Long after he’d left, Jacob was sitting, motionless. The apartment got dark. He rose to shut and bolt the front door.
His computer seemed to be working fine now. As promised, Mike Mallick had e-mailed him the audio file. Jacob listened to it five, six, seven times, many more times than he needed to be absolutely certain that he’d heard right, that the voice on the recording belonged to Mai.
Chapter twenty-nine
He called his father to tell him about the trip.
Sam said, “No.”
Jacob stuttered laughter. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t go. I can’t allow it. I, I — forbid it.”
Jacob had never heard his father like this before. “Abba. Seriously.”
“I am serious,” Sam said. “Do I not sound serious?”
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“In Prague.”
“What, you think I’m lying to you?”
“I think there’s no reason for you to have to travel halfway around the world.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my call to make, not yours.”
“Wrong,” Sam said. “Wrong. Wrong.”
“I’m not asking for permission.”
“That’s good,” Sam said, “because I’m not giving it to you.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“You can’t do this to me.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not doing any—”
“You’re leaving me.”
“You’ll be fine. I spoke to Nigel. He’ll be by every day.”
“I don’t need him,” Sam said. “I need you, here.”
“What aren’t you telling me? Are you sick?”
“I’m speaking, as your father—”
“And I’m telling you, as a grown man, that this is not a negotiation.”
A wounded silence.
“I thought you’d be excited,” Jacob said. “Home of the Maharal.”
Sam did not reply.
“Look,” Jacob said, “I’ll drop by later, all right? Right now I’ve got to go.”
“Jacob—”
“I have a ton of stuff I need to do. I’ll see you later.”
He hung up before Sam could object.
His passport was a few months shy of expiration and bore two stamps from the previous decade: a winter jaunt to Baja, a last-ditch attempt to repair things with Renee; another to Paris, same deal with Stacy, more expensive, equally unsuccessful.
Per Mallick’s instructions, he used the white credit card to book his flight and hostel.
It went through.
Maybe they had a list of preapproved purchase categories — travel, for instance, but not food. Long as he wasn’t paying.
He went off to pack, delaying going to Sam’s until the late afternoon. He wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and the abrupt shift in his father’s personality had him worrying about the possibility that Sam might be losing it, too.
He found a spot on the street behind Nigel’s red Taurus, a broken-down bundle of nonmoving violations.
“Consider yourself warned,” he said, stepping onto the patio, where Nigel stood holding a full trash bag. “Again.”
Nigel grinned. “The Lord is my shepherd.”
“Fine if you drive a sheep.”
Nigel’s smile widened until nothing remained of his cheeks; he began to laugh, a gold cross bouncing on the trampoline of T-shirt stretched between massive pectoral muscles.