“Do they live?”
“Yes. When diphtheria raced through the next village, none in ours got it, but Dattar should have stopped it. The village elders are saying the UN brought the disease and infected the neighboring village deliberately to make it look as though their medicine worked. Who knows what the UN really injected them with? Dattar is weak.”
Khalil was up and walking again. “Dattar is irrelevant, but his vast utility holdings are not. I want a piece of them. Besides, he’s planning retaliation. Don’t worry. Soon disease will spread. None will be spared. Just focus on the Englishman.” He pocketed the phone and headed back to the East Side.
Dattar dialed the number he needed. When the man answered, Dattar plunged right in, not bothering to identify himself. “Did you eliminate Smith?”
“Not yet. Things were more complicated than I thought. But I know where he is, so it’s just a matter of waiting until he’s alone.”
“Did you shoot the receptionist? That was stupid.”
“You let me decide what’s stupid or not. Smith’s been cooperating with the CIA and is currently under CIA protection. In a safe house, and I can’t possibly kill him there, so I had a better idea. The police have been given a videotape of Smith entering the office. In less than three hours every cop in New York will be hunting him.”
“How is that better than just putting a bullet in his head?”
“The CIA won’t want to be seen as harboring a killer. Questions will arise as to his role in the Grand Royal attack. Suddenly he’ll go from a celebrated survivor to a possible co-conspirator. The CIA will want to wash their hands of him. Then I’ll shoot him and no one will care. Just another killer eliminated.”
Dattar smiled. “Excellent.”
“When are you going to pay me?”
Dattar’s smile fled. “I’m putting some time between my escape and accessing my accounts. This is better for both of us. You don’t want to be seen accepting my money directly after, either, do you?” Dattar gritted his teeth while waiting for the response.
“Fine, but make it soon. I don’t do this for free and my creditors are hounding me more and more each day.”
Dattar relaxed. “I will.” He hung up and exploded. “When I get my hands on that woman, I’m going to string her up and flay her alive. She’ll beg for death.”
Rajiid turned from his computer monitor. “But they continue to proceed despite the lack of payment?”
Dattar nodded. He moved over to the coffeepot and began to pour himself a cup. The ship rolled and Dattar stumbled back, spilling the coffee. “When do we dock at Cyprus? I can’t stand this vile freighter.”
“Another day at least. We’re working around the storm off the Italian coast.” The ship rolled again, but this time Dattar was able to correct for it. The coffee stayed in his cup.
“Tell me about the coolers. When will we be able to spread the disease?”
Rajiid shook his head. “I’ve received no news on the test. When I do, we’ll move quickly. I’m also considering adding a preschool to the target. No one will question an outbreak under such conditions.”
Dattar gazed at Rajiid’s placid demeanor. The man lacked any semblance of a soul, that was certain, but Dattar wouldn’t be concerned about the children of others, either. Better they not grow into enemies.
“You placed the weapon?”
Rajiid nodded. “In the engine room.”
Dattar sipped his coffee and continued to sway with the ship’s motion.
19
SMITH FOLLOWED RUSSELL, who ran down the brownstone’s stairs two at a time. Harcourt remained behind in the safe house, working the phones and coordinating a response. They hailed a nearby cab and tumbled into it. To Smith the ride across the park took forever, but he thought Russell seemed particularly affected. She was sweating, shaking, and turning pale.
“Have you known this agent long?” Smith said.
Russell shook her head. “Only a few weeks, but he’s smart and resourceful. I knew he was a bit inexperienced for a lot of field jobs, but I thought the Nolan stakeout would be fairly routine. All he needed to do was call in a sighting.”
Police cars and an ambulance already clogged the street. An officer stood at the corner, waving cars past the intersection. Russell bounded out and headed to the officer while holding her wallet open to show her identification, but closing it before the officer could scan it. Smith stayed with her, looking down the street and checking each window above, searching for movement. Most were empty. Only a couple of faces peered at the scene, and those were women. None were Nolan.
“I’ve been sent here by Johnson. This is my assistant,” Russell said. The officer waved her through.
“Who’s Johnson?” Smith said to her in low tones.
“His captain. Harcourt just texted me the name. He gave me the ID, too. It identifies me as a special consultant to the NYPD, just like Harcourt, but with a fake name. Technically I shouldn’t be here at all. It may blow my cover. But I can’t just leave him.”
Smith understood her concern. They moved to the car, now surrounded by officers. A bullet hole marred the windshield and blood was spattered over the glass and covered the top portion of the steering wheel.
“Where is he?” Russell said to a nearby officer.
“In the ambulance.”
“Is he alive?”
“So far,” the officer said.
Russell jogged to the emergency vehicle, where the EMTs were working on a man lying on a gurney inside.
“What’s his condition?” Russell said to a paramedic who stood between the open doors in back.
“We’re heading out. Bullet entered his cheek, we think. We can’t tell if it exited or is still in his skull. He’s bleeding pretty badly.” One of the paramedics said, “Let’s go” and Russell stepped back while the EMT closed the doors and slapped a hand on them. The siren started to wail as the vehicle began to wind its way through the parked squads.
Another officer, this one older than the first, wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, navy windbreaker, and a lanyard around his neck that contained a large badge and a nametag that read “Manderi” walked up to Russell.
“You know the victim?” He cast a sharp look at Smith before returning his gaze to Russell.
“I do. He works for me.”
“ID says he works for a technology company in McLean, Virginia. Only thing I know that’s there is the CIA.” The officer gave Russell a shrewd look.
“We do some of their… tech work.” The way Russell said the sentence left no doubt that she was CIA.
“He had a gun on him. Know why he’d have one as a computer technician?”
“Well, tech work for the CIA can be dangerous.” Once again, Russell emphasized the word “tech” and the officer responded with another knowing look. “I’ll ask my supervisor to contact yours. Perhaps they can work it out.”
The officer nodded. “You do that. I’d be interested to hear the details of that conversation.” He directed his attention to Smith.
“You together?”
Smith hesitated. Something in the officer’s demeanor made him wary. “Why do you ask?”
“Just heard on the radio that we’re looking for a man named Jon Smith in connection with a shooting.” The officer stared at Smith. “You look a lot like the photo.”
“What shooting?” Russell said.
The officer tore his gaze from Smith’s face long enough to address Russell. “Landon Investments. Receptionist shot. Video shows that this Jon Smith was the last one who spoke to her before she died.” He returned his gaze to Smith. “You have any identification?”
Smith stilled. “I do not.”
The officer raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have a license on you?”