“The provenance is impressive,” Akram says in an overtly doubtful tone that suggests he believes the Harmodius paperwork has been forged.
“It is indeed,” Knox says, playing it as if he missed the man’s implication.
“You will explain please Victoria’s participation.”
Knox works to keep surprise off his face. “There were complications in Amman. You would have heard this from your man, Shamir. Yes? It wasn’t me who used Victoria’s Skype account to try to cloak our conversation. You and Shamir brought her into this and apparently I’m stuck with her and her demand of a commission.” John Knox the occasional gray market art dealer would play up the unfairness of the payout and little more. “Which brings us to the deposits due in the escrow account.”
“We have lost our joy, my friend, you and I. And while it is true I trust Victoria’s judgment and expertise when it comes to the world of art, this is not for her.”
“Feel free to tell her that. Seems as if you two know each other well enough.”
“I will accept her participation,” Akram says, backing down quickly, not wanting to tackle the woman any more than Knox, “but I must make clear she is in no way associated with me in this transaction. Any commission is between the two of you.” Back to business; he doesn’t want Victoria costing his brother.
Knox spots movement in the reflection off the man’s eyeglasses. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’ve been followed.” He feels Akram stiffen.
“Impossible.” Equally soft.
“Move your head slowly to your right as I shake you.” Knox bumps Akram against the wall, then pins him at a slight angle. Knox uses the man’s glasses as his eyes.
“There’s a second,” Knox says. “A shadow showing from an arch. The other is in this side of the building to your left.” He bangs him again. “Straight up! Are they yours?”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
“Your brother’s?”
Akram snaps his head up to face Knox.
“Did you or your brother arrange the kidnapping of my accountant?”
The resulting silence is slowly replaced by a loud whine in his right ear. It’s a sensation Knox has experienced only rarely since his truck-driving days; they ended abruptly when a vehicular IED took out a stretch of his convoy and nearly killed Dulwich four years ago. Knox was rendered partially deaf for two months following. He lived with the intermittent whine for the next six months. Its return frightens him; it’s loud enough to make him deaf in that ear, is occasionally accompanied by sharp pain, and leaves him off balance and sound-blind. He has to turn in the man’s direction to clearly hear Akram.
“I know nothing of this kidnapping,” Akram says.
“Your brother’s doing, then. Same as these two.”
“We are done.”
Before Akram can take a step, Knox has him by the arm.
“We are not done, my friend.” Knox holds the man against the stone wall. Akram does not fight back, but looks paralyzed, a man unaccustomed to physical violence; it speaks volumes to Knox. Akram is more of a fish out of water than Knox. “I have gone to great trouble in order to offer you this piece. You walk away and you will have much explaining to do.”
Akram leans back and looks up at the night sky. “The deposit has been made. You only must check.”
“I will,” Knox says. He wishes Grace were awake to handle this for him. He’s not great with the iPhone, but he manages to access the correct site. Akram inputs the account number and a password. The screen shows 250,000 USD. The figure swims in Knox’s head, distracting him. It’s not an amount either man can walk away from, and they both know it.
“I don’t know who your brother is, and I don’t care. But I don’t appreciate people kidnapping and interrogating my accountant.” He hopes to confirm what Grace purposely allowed during her interrogation in the back of the van. It has become an unsolvable 3-D puzzle for Knox. One he can’t seem to get through and from which he sees no way out. “I don’t appreciate your allowing people to follow you—”
“But I swear—”
“Yeah, yeah. Enough of that, my friend. Clean up the way you do business or the Harmodius is gone.”
“That is surely why these men exist, is it not?” Akram sounds legitimately convinced. “So that you do not cut and run — I believe that is the expression.”
“We all have much to lose,” Knox says. “Advise your brother that any finalization of the deal must now involve him. And no babysitters. The next phase is verification.”
“Dr. Adjani,” Akram says. “Victoria is able to arrange this. These two have met.”
“We’ll see about that,” Knox says. “Following verification I will expect the remainder of funds to be transferred within six hours.”
Akram sucks air through his teeth but does not counter.
“Upon full deposit, you, your brother, me and my accountant will meet at a mutually agreed-upon location.”
“It will never get past verification.”
“If you believed that, we would not be here. Yet, here we are.” Knox manages to keep an eye on the shadow caused by a man in hiding in the next arch. Unless Akram is wearing a wire, the two cannot possibly hear the conversation, yet have made no move despite Knox’s roughing up Akram. It makes no sense, but Knox is not going to push his good fortune. He speaks quickly, “So let’s talk transfer of the remaining funds.”
“As to the funds, the primary investor,” Akram says, as if he’s pretending the person is not his blood relation, “never moves without security. Impossible.”
“You have wasted my time. I will not forget this.” Knox heads for the archway.
“Twenty-four hours,” Akram calls out, stopping him. “I must have this name of your financial analyst. I will have him checked out.”
“It’s a her. Grace Chu. Chinese national. Residence, Hong Kong.”
“If I cannot confirm her—”
“You can, and you will.” Knox crosses through the darkness of the arched tunnel to Itfaiye. He moves fast, taking the first of the routes he planned. The alley between two cafés is narrow enough to touch the walls by reaching out to both sides. He runs, pauses, reaches the end where a courtyard frames a trio of apartment houses. Cuts sharply to his left. Back to the wall. Pauses.
The whining in his right ear has reached a fever pitch. Why now?
The footfalls of a person running cough from the mouth of the alley. It’s how Knox would have done it: one on Akram; one on the meet, Knox. It’s the reason for him having positioned himself where he stands. He doesn’t want a confrontation, just the knowledge of what he’s up against. He remains in shadow as much as possible as he moves away from the alley and across the cobblestone courtyard. There’s a street entrance that’s too logical a choice; Knox doesn’t take it. Instead, he crouches alongside a foul-smelling plastic trash bin wedged between it and moss-covered stone steps that rise to a red door. It’s not looking good. In the realm of fight or flight, Knox never gives the options much thought. He’s wired a certain way. So sue me.
The man pursuing him is no longer running; he’s standing still. He’s onto Knox’s ruse.
The problem for Knox is that the guy knows his stuff. As did the Iranians who snatched Grace. As did the agent in the sandstorm in Amman. Knox can understand the Iranians keeping a short leash on Mashe’s brother. Taken together, the radiation-sensing ring Victoria discovered and Mashe’s PhD in nuclear physics explain why Mashe comes so well protected. Grace’s Iranian abductors wanted to determine who was attempting a background check on their nuclear expert. The Israelis have secretly assassinated a handful of such assets; in response, the Iranians are guarding Mashe “Okle” Melemet closely.
Yes, Knox can paste this much together. But who would be tailing Akram?