One of the policeman was holding an RPG launcher. Why the hell had they blown up the SUV?
Oh shit.
“I’m going to check the prisoner,” said Nuri as calmly as he could. He began walking back up the road. As soon as he was out of earshot of the others, he asked MY-PID to review the Moldovan captain’s conversation.
“I need a translation,” he told the computer. “Word for word.”
“ ‘Unit 32,’ ” said the computer, reciting what it had heard in the background of Nuri’s earlier transmission. “ ‘Unit 32—are you reading me? Reading you. Blow up the SUV. There must be no survivors. Set it on fire. Destroy it completely.’ ”
“That’s what I thought,” mumbled Nuri.
“Command disregarded.”
“Now you’re learning.”
Nuri went back over to the woman who’d been stopped, already sure she wasn’t involved. Her head was bandaged and she gave him a dazed look, not sure what was going on.
“She claims she was on her way to work,” said one of the policemen in Moldovan.
“Maybe she was,” said Nuri. “Did you check with her employer?”
They were doing that right now. Meanwhile the car had been searched. There was no sign of the box.
Nuri wasn’t surprised. Most likely it had been in the SUV.
Although there was one other place where it might be.
He walked back down the road to the captain’s car. The fire was out now. The policemen were standing around the truck’s charred remains, looking at the smoldering metal and melted glass. The stench from the fire was incredible, a mixture of barbecued formaldehyde and pulverized iron.
The captain and his driver were with the others around the SUV. Nuri pulled open the driver’s side door, reached down and pulled the latch for the car trunk.
It didn’t open.
Nuri closed the door gently, trying not to make a sound. Then he walked over to the back of the captain’s car and took out his small lock pick. Cars were generally no more difficult to open than house doors, and the lock on this one proved ridiculously easy; he flicked and prodded, and felt the tumblers give within a few seconds.
Dropping to his knees, he pushed the lid of the car up slowly.
“You are a very clever man,” said the captain behind him. His English was vastly improved.
Nuri let go of the trunk and spread his arms, rising slowly.
“When did they approach you?” Nuri asked. “Were you always on their payroll?”
“Turn around and be quiet.”
Nuri turned slowly.
“Get away from the car. Go to the side.”
“You going to shoot me or arrest me?” asked Nuri.
The other policemen were all watching.
“Put your hands on the hood of the car,” said the captain. He turned to one of his men. “Handcuff him,” he said in Moldovan.
“They’re not all in on it, are they?” said Nuri loudly. “They must not be, because you would have shot me already. At least one of them must speak English. They’ll understand. Are you going to kill them, too?”
The captain told the man with the handcuffs to get them on.
“MY-PID, take him,” whispered Nuri.
“Target required.”
“The captain, the captain.”
Nuri threw himself to the ground. For a moment there was only silence, and he worried that he had miscalculated, that MY-PID didn’t have enough data or that somehow the Moldovan officer had managed to disable the Rattlesnake.
Then the aircraft began firing. Bullets crashed into the dirt, the 20mm shells tearing the Moldovan officer into pieces. The other policemen nearby dove for cover.
The policemen would have no compunction against killing him now. Nuri jumped up and grabbed a pistol that had been dropped by one of the policemen as they dove for cover. Then he turned back to the trunk for the strongbox. He grabbed the handle—it was heavier than he thought, and he needed both hands to carry it.
Which meant he couldn’t use the gun.
“MY-PID, I need the helicopter to pick me up,” he said.
“Rephrase.”
“Have Snake Two descend—I’m going to grab the skid. It has to lift me down the road.”
“Command accepted.”
“Get Snake One over here—intimidate these guys.”
“Unknown command.”
“Scare them.”
“Unknown command.”
“Circle the area, damn it. With Snake One. Lay down covering fire. Don’t hit them.”
“Command accepted.”
One of the policemen raised his head, then pulled up his weapon to fire. Snake Two fired first, sending bullets into the road only a few meters from him. The policeman quickly ducked back down.
The wash from the rotating blades nearly knocked Nuri over. He pitched his body to the side, then pulled his arm up over the skid, grabbing the box handle again.
“Go! Go! Go!” he yelled.
The robot helicopter practically tore his arm off as it lifted straight up.
“Just down the road! Not too far! Not too far!” Nuri yelled.
His arm hurt incredibly—it felt as if his shoulder had been dislocated. He glanced down. He seemed to be miles from the ground.
“Get me down safe. Safely!” he yelled as the robot helicopter flew southward. “Put me down in one piece. One fucking piece!”
“Unknown command.”
“Put me down!” yelled Nuri. “And learn how to understand profanity, you goddamned son of a bitch!”
74
Old State Castle
The Black Wolf looked at the screen on the phone he had just answered. Instead of numbers, the call displayed as a series of D’s, something he’d never seen before.
Obviously an encryption.
The voice had been American. And it had asked for Zen.
Zen.
The word was familiar in a strange way. Of course he knew the word and what it meant, but there was something else. The association with a person…
Zen.
A memory nagged at him from behind the wall that closed off the present from the past.
Zen.
The man in the wheelchair.
“One of the prisoners claims to need the bathroom,” said Blue over the radio.
“Too bad.”
“The minister is late,” said Gray from out in the hall. “Has there been a problem?”
“His plane has landed,” said the Black Wolf. “We must have patience.”
He felt himself shaking. His energy running down. He reached into his pocket for another vial of the drug. It was his last. Ordinarily he would save it for the end of the mission, to carry him through, but he suddenly felt cold.
He broke off the top and drank.
Zen pounded on the door.
“Hey, I gotta go!” he said.
“Shut up in there or I will shoot you,” said the man outside.
“I don’t think they’re going to play,” said Lynch. “We need a new idea.”
“The idea is fine—we just have to push it further.” Zen turned to the girl. “You know what to do, right?”
She nodded.
“You’re not scared?”
“Scared, yes,” she said. “But we do it.”
Zen wheeled himself closer to the door.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Tell your boss out in the cafeteria there that Zen Stockard wants to talk to him. Major Stockard. Tell him we used to work together.”