“When they want to be,” said Gregor.
Nuri shot her a glare he hoped would laser a hole through the side of her head. He’d told her to say absolutely nothing.
A smile flickered in La Rota’s long, pale face, and the hairs in his thin goatee rustled. But his tone was almost scolding.
“Whatever you and I may think of the law,” he said, focusing on Nuri, “we must observe it.”
“True,” said Nuri. “Which is why the Libyan government filed its own indictments. The conversations were recorded in its jurisdiction.”
He unfolded a letter from the Libyan justice ministry indicating not only interest in the case, but promising that an arrest warrant would be issued by the appropriate authorities by the end of the day.
In Libyan time, “end of the day” meant within the next three months, a fact La Rota was clearly aware of.
“I have dealt with the Libyans before,” he told Nuri. “On several occasions.”
La Rota took off his glasses and began cleaning them.
“Still, this is very persuasive,” he told Nuri. “I believe I will be able to get my superiors to consider action on its basis.”
“I thought you were in charge,” said Nuri.
“Oh I am, of course.”
“Then can’t you authorize a raid?”
The magistrate blanched. “A raid?”
“A visit, I mean,” said Nuri. “An interview. To speak to Mr. Moreno?”
“You don’t understand the situation, I’m afraid. One does not simply speak to Mr. Moreno.”
“Arrest him, then.”
“Perhaps we will be able to do that,” said La Rota. “Once the commission reviews the evidence.”
“How long will this review last?” asked Gregor.
Nuri glared at Gregor again, even though he would have asked the question himself had she not interrupted.
“A while,” said La Rota indulgently.
“That’s how long?”
“It is very difficult to predict.”
“By the end of the day?” said Nuri, as suggestively as he could.
“A day? For something like this?” La Rota laughed.
“Not next week,” said Nuri hopefully.
“Oh no, not next week. Something like this — a case has to be made. The way must be prepared.”
“You’re talking months,” said Gregor.
La Rota held out his hands in a gesture that meant if that.
“Is there any way to speed up the process?” Nuri asked.
“Usually not.”
“What if he murdered someone?” asked Gregor.
“Oh, I’m sure a man like Alfredo Moreno has been responsible for murdering many people,” answered La Rota. “You would be surprised. These men are animals. They murder for pleasure, for business, for many reasons.”
“If it was an important murder, in a prominent case?” said Nuri, grasping at straws.
“In that case, perhaps by July.”
“I told you the Italians were impossible to deal with,” said Gregor as they walked out of the building. “It’s a complete waste of time.”
The FBI agent had said no such thing — just the opposite in fact: she’d expressed optimism that they would be inside Moreno’s compound by nightfall. But Nuri was in no mood to argue.
“We can interview him ourselves,” she continued. “I can get someone from the local office to act as a translator—”
“We’re not interviewing him,” said Nuri sharply.
“You’re just going to drop it?”
“It’s not my call,” said Nuri noncommittally.
He nodded at the Italian policeman at the foot of the steps of the justice building, then walked in the direction of their car. One thing he had to say for the Italians — they didn’t skimp when it came to police stations. The ministry was a veritable palace, with an exterior as grand as anything Nuri had ever seen in the States.
“We can arrest him on an American warrant,” said Gregor. “I can arrange—”
“You and what army?” said Nuri.
Gregor had made quite a lot of progress in less than eight hours — first she was a wet blanket, now she was Wyatt Earp.
Nuri had rented a small Fiat, which put him uncomfortably close to the FBI agent once they got inside the car. She smelled as if she’d had salami for lunch.
“I’ll drop you off at the airport,” he said, programming the GPS. “You want Euro C, right?”
“Let’s drive there,” said Gregor. “It will only take us a few hours. We can scout it out.”
“No, I have to get back to Berlin,” said Nuri. “There are a few more things to check out up there.”
“Drop me off at a rental place, then,” said Gregor.
Had she guessed what he was up to and called his bluff? Or was she really intending on going there herself?
Either way, he couldn’t take the chance of her interfering.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to just drive around the estate,” said Nuri. “Don’t you have to clear your activities with your Rome office?”
“Not on this. My boss gave me carte blanche.”
Nuri wracked his brain for ways to keep her at bay. He drew a blank.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Gregor. “I’ll go with you to the airport and rent the car there. You have to turn this one in, right?”
“What would you do?”
“I give them a credit card—”
“What would you do with Moreno?” snapped Nuri.
“I’ll just talk to him,” she said.
“No one will ever see you again,” said Nuri.
“I’ve dealt with these types of cases before,” said Gregor. “And with people like Moreno. They’re so full of themselves that they’re easy pickings. They think the law doesn’t apply to them, so they ignore the most basic precautions.”
“I’d figure a guy like this would have his guards shoot first and ask questions later,” said Nuri.
“They’re not going to shoot a lost tourist.”
“Maybe I will go,” he said, finally giving up. “Just to see what the hell his place looks like.”
“I thought you had a lot to do,” said Gregor with mock innocence. It wasn’t bad enough that she won — she had to rub it in.
“Yeah,” said Nuri. “See if you can program the address into the GPS so we can at least find out what highway to take.”
9
“Purpose of visit?”
“Tourism.”
“How long are you staying?”
“A week.”
The Ukrainian customs official inspected Danny’s passport, flipping it back and forth in his hand to make sure the holographic symbols were displayed. Danny and the others were traveling with standard passports rather than using diplomatic cover, trying to maintain as low a profile as possible.
Sally McEwen had warned him that their entry at Boryspil Airport, about eighteen miles east of Kiev, would almost surely be recorded by the Ukrainian secret service, which was still run like an offshoot of the KGB. A video camera above the passport control desk was undoubtedly taping him, while the clerk’s computer was running a check against his name. The Ukrainian technology was relatively old, however, and even if Danny was flagged as a suspicious American, it would take weeks for a file to be prepared with his photo. By then the operation would be over.
It was possible they would tell the Ukrainians that they were here. But for the moment the Ukrainians weren’t to be trusted. No one was. It was the old CIA prejudice — we don’t exist, and if we do exist, which we don’t, you never heard of us.