“Sounds like personal experience.”
“A couple of months ago I helped a journalist from Washington, D.C., with her local arrangements. I have a private security license. My number is listed in all the national directories. I don’t know what her story was going to be about. She wouldn’t tell me. Organized crime, I supposed, because that was what she seemed to be interested in. The Albanians and the Ukrainians both. More the Ukrainians, to be honest. That was my impression. But somehow she said the wrong thing east of Center and her first encounter was with the Albanians. They had a face to face discussion. A handful of them, and just her, on her own, in the back room of a restaurant. She came out and had me drive her straight to the airport. Not even her hotel first. She didn’t want to stop and get her stuff. She was terrified. Deep down scared. She was acting like an automaton. She took the first flight out and never came back. If they could make that happen just by talking to her, you better believe they can make a whole bunch of people keep their eyes peeled for a pair of strangers. Sheer intimidation. That’s how they get their information.”
“That’s not good either,” Reacher said. “I don’t want to bring bad luck to this household.”
Neither Barton nor Hogan had a comment, one way or the other.
“We can’t use hotels,” Abby said.
“Maybe we can,” Reacher said. “Maybe we should. It might be a way of accelerating the process.”
“You’re not ready,” Hogan said.
Barton said, “Stay the night. You’re already here. The neighbors don’t have X-ray vision. We have a lunchtime gig tomorrow. If you need to get going, you can ride along in the van. No one will see.”
“Where is the gig?”
“At a lounge west of Center. Closer to Trulenko than you are now.”
“Does the lounge have a guy on the door?”
“Always. Probably best to get out around the corner.”
“Or not, if we wanted to accelerate the process.”
“We have to work there, man. It’s a good gig for us. Do us a favor and accelerate the process someplace else. If you need to. Which I hope you don’t. Because it’s crazy.”
“Deal,” Reacher said. “We’ll ride with you tomorrow. Thank you very much. And for your hospitality tonight.”
Vantresca left ten minutes later. Barton locked the doors. Hogan put headphones on and lit a blunt the size of Reacher’s thumb. Reacher and Abby went upstairs, to the room with the tipped-up guitar amplifier for a nightstand. Three blocks away a brand new text message failed to reach the Albanian phone in the abandoned metal mailbox. A minute later the same thing happened with the Ukrainian phone.
Chapter 29
Dino’s right-hand man had the given name Shkumbin, which was a beautiful river deep in the heart of his beautiful homeland. But it was not an easy name to use in English. At first most people said it Scum Bin, some of them tauntingly, but those only once. When they could speak again, after months of dental procedures, they seemed very willing to try very hard with the sound of his name’s initial syllable. Although that could have been less than perfect reconstructive work. But eventually Shkumbin got tired of hurting his knuckles, and he took his dead brother’s name, partly as a convenience, and partly as a tribute. Not his elder dead brother’s name, which had been Fatbardh, which meant may he be the fortunate one, which was another beautiful name, but again, hard to use in English. Instead Shkumbin now went by his younger dead brother’s name, which was Jetmir, one who will live a good life, another warm sentiment, and this time easy to say in English, and memorable, quite flashy and futuristic, even if really a traditional blessing, and even if a bit communist-sounding, like a Red Army test pilot in a Soviet comic book, or a hero cosmonaut on a propaganda billboard. Not that Americans seemed to care about that stuff anymore. Ancient history.
Jetmir got to the conference room in back of the lumber yard office and found the rest of the inner council already assembled. Apart from Dino himself, of course. Dino had not been informed. Not yet. It was their second meeting without him. A big step. One meeting might be explained away. To explain two was exponentially harder.
To explain three would be impossible.
Jetmir said, “The missing phone came back on line for almost twenty minutes. It sent nothing and received nothing. Then it went dark again. Like they’re hiding out deep in a basement or something, or an underground cellar, but then they came up to the street, just for a short time, maybe to walk to the corner store and back.”
“Did we get a location?” someone asked.
“We got a pretty good triangulation, but it’s a densely populated area. Every corner has a store. But it’s right where we thought they would be. Close to the center of the shape we marked out.”
“How close?”
“I say we forget the twelve blocks we figured before. We can squeeze it down to the middle four. Maybe the middle six, to be certain.”
“In a basement?”
“Or somewhere there’s no signal.”
“Maybe they took the battery out. And then put it back in.”
“To do what? I told you, they didn’t make or receive a call.”
“OK, a basement.”
“Or a building with a thick iron frame. Somewhere like that. Keep an open mind. Tell everyone to squeeze in tight. Really flood the area. Look for lights behind drapes. Look for cars and pedestrians. Knock on doors and ask questions if necessary.”
—
At that same moment Jetmir’s opposite number on the other side of Center Street was also in a meeting, also of his inner council, in the room in back of the taxi company, across from the pawn shop, next to the bail bond operation. But in his case his boss was present. Gregory was right there, as always, at the head of the table, presiding. He had called the meeting himself, right after he heard about one of his downtown guys getting stuck up by Aaron Shevick.
He said, “This latest incident feels completely different to me. There was no attempt at deception. He wasn’t expecting us to blame the Albanians for it. It was completely blatant, face to face. Apparently he has been instructed to abandon his earlier tactics. In favor of a new phase. I think a mistake. They have revealed more about themselves than they will discover about us.”
“The phone,” his right-hand man said.
“Precisely,” Gregory said. “Taking the gun was to be expected. Anyone would. But why the instruction to take the phone?”
“It’s a necessary component of their new strategy. They’re going to attempt to inflict electronic damage. To weaken us further. They’re going to try to get inside our operating system through our phones.”
“Who in the whole wide world would have the skills and the experience and the sheer confidence and the deluded arrogance to even hope to succeed with that?”
“Only the Russians,” his right-hand man said.
“Precisely,” Gregory said again. “Their new tactic has revealed their identity. Now we know. The Russians are moving in on us.”
“Not good.”
“I wonder if they took an Albanian phone, too.”
“Probably. The Russians don’t like sharing territory. I’m sure they plan to replace us both. This is going to be very tough. There are a lot of them.”
There was silence for a long moment.
Then Gregory asked, “Can we beat them?”
His right-hand man said, “They won’t get inside our operating system.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Well, whatever we bring to the fight, they bring twice the men, twice the money, and twice the material.”