“How you gonna keep ’em down on the farm once they’ve seen Par-ee? It’s our secret weapon. We pretty much brought down the Soviet Union with blue jeans. So, you’re looking to deal?”
“Let’s call this an exploratory meeting. I’m wondering if a deal is possible. I’ve already killed several Americans on your soil this week, and we both know they aren’t my first.”
“Blood under the bridge, old sport. You got a few things in your favor. First, there are maybe ten other people in the country who’ve seen your whole resume, and they’re all pretty pragmatic guys. The shit this week? Maybe your name’s been bandied about some, but it’s nothing we could take to court.”
“I’m not worried about court,” al Din said. “I’m worried about SEAL Team Six.”
“That’s my dog. It doesn’t bite unless I tell it to.”
“And Mossad? Do you hold their leash, too?”
Munroe smiled. “The Israelis can be a little intransigent, can’t they? But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“There’s not much they don’t know.”
“Yeah, but they’re willing to pretend they don’t know a lot of shit, as long as we keep sending them a few billion dollars of aid every year. I wouldn’t plan on vacationing in Jerusalem, but as long as you don’t go rubbing their nose in anything, we can reach an accommodation.”
“I’ve already been to Jerusalem,” said al Din.
“I know. Off the ol’ bucket list, eh? So, you ready to talk turkey?”
“Talk turkey? This phrase I do not know.”
“Cut to the chase, get down to business. If you’re looking to switch teams, then I’m gonna need some details.”
“Let’s say I’m ready to explore free agency. As I understand your American sports, switching teams comes down to money.”
“Yeah,” said Munroe. “And we’re the Yankees. We got more money than the rest of the league put together. Plus, if you’ve been studying free agency, you’ve heard of collusion. You start trying to get a bidding war going, we’re going to whisper in a few ears and dry up your market. You deal with us or you don’t deal with anybody. So unless someone from the farm team over in Tehran has put a big number on the table, you’re not in a great negotiating position.”
“The diamonds are worth $150 million. Hardin was looking to deal with Stein, so I suspect he’s now looking to deal with you. Ten percent on Hardin’s end, I imagine. Fifteen million dollars. I’ll take that.”
Munroe shrugged. “Hardin’s already offered us the diamonds. And he actually has them. We pay him, we get to turn those around anyway we want and we come out way ahead on the deal. You don’t have any diamonds.”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe not ever.”
“True. But I have something more valuable. I have what the diamonds were paying for. Your media tells me America has spent nearly $4 trillion to avenge the three thousand killed on 9/11. How much will it have to spend to avenge ten times that many? Or twenty? Or more? And how much cheaper would it be to spend a fraction of that amount now to prevent those deaths? And to be able to bring to justice those who planned them?”
Munroe just watched for a moment, tried to read al Din’s face, but he got nothing.
“We’d spend a pretty penny,” he said. “But we’d need some proof.”
Al Din smiled, nodded, sat quietly for a minute, then stood up. “I imagined so. Now that I know an accommodation is possible, I will provide some.”
Al Din pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I will call you on this when I am ready. Now, if you will turn the chair to the desk please, I’m afraid I need to take a minor precaution before I leave.”
Munroe turned the chair around, heard al Din close in behind him, thought for a second about making some kind of move, then thought again. Even when he was a kid, he hadn’t been in al Din’s league, not at the rough stuff.
“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Munroe asked.
“Not now,” al Din said. “But later, yes. I will offer some information for you to consider before our next conversation. A name. You may consider that name to be my bona fides. Bona fides, am I using the term correctly?”
“Depends on the name.”
“Dr Mark Heinz.”
Oh shit, Munroe thought, just before al Din hit him behind the ear with the butt of his pistol and the lights went out.
CHAPTER 68
Lynch was headed out of the squad room, headed home, when he heard the phone ring back at his desk.
“Slo-mo, wanna grab that? Let me know if I need to turn my ass around?”
Bernstein picked up the phone, listened for a moment, hung up.
“Woman down at the desk looking for you, Magnus?”
“From the shelter,” Lynch said. “I’ll talk to her on my way out.”
Kate Magnus was standing by the desk when Lynch came down, same windbreaker on over a heavy cable-knit sweater. Colder tonight.
“Ms Magnus,” Lynch said.
“I thought we’d settled on Kate to ease your confusion. At least you didn’t call me Sister this time.”
“I try not to make the same mistake three times,” Lynch said. “What can I do for you?”
“I talked to Momolu. A couple of times, actually, before he’d say anything. I lost your card, with the number, but I remembered the address. I live a few streets over. I was on my way home. So, it appears, are you.”
“Not a problem. I keep funny hours. Do you want to come upstairs and talk, or can I get buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?”
“Coffee detective? I’m Scottish. And I really am not a nun. If you want to buy me a real drink.”
“A real drink sounds good,” said Lynch.
“You’re a little famous, you know.” Magnus, with a double Laphroaig, neat.
“My girlfriend’s famous,” Lynch said.
“More famous maybe. But I remember all of that from last year. Right after I got here from Liberia. You were on the news several times. Your arm has healed?”
“Yeah,” Lynch said. “It’s fine.”
“You’re not happy with the famous part? Isn’t that the American ambition?”
“I’m a lousy American,” said Lynch. “I like ObamaCare. I think taxes are too low, even mine.”
Magnus made what passed for a smile, took a sip of her drink. “I’m not used to it here yet. Not sure I’m going to be.”
“Take some getting used to, I imagine, after Africa. Where was home originally? Scotland?”
“Aberdeen. Jesus seemed less complicated when I was a child. And the sisters were the only ones I knew that weren’t pregnant and married off to some drunk by 19. Thought I’d be one of them. Mostly am, I guess.”
Lynch took a pull on his bourbon, quiet for a minute. “I am sorry,” he said, “about Membe.”
She nodded.
“Momolu knew this al Din?” Lynch asked.
She nodded. “A gunman, an enforcer I suppose is the term. Some diamonds had been stolen. Not one or two by the miners, but a shipment of them. Al Din came and killed several people, Lebanese mostly. Men that Momolu thinks were responsible for moving the diamonds. Not just the men, their families too.”
“Killed a family here, too. Last night.”
“My God,” Magnus said. “Why?”
“Don’t know. Lawyer named Ringwald, his wife, their son and daughter. Ringwald was the mouthpiece for Tony Corsco. He’s the mob boss around here.”
“And he killed Membe? And that Stein man?”
“And a few others. It’s about diamonds somehow. Maybe something more. Some funny types from DC have horned in on things, using us as gofers, so there’s more going on. And whatever that is, they’re welcome to it. But al Din’s a killer, and he’s killing people here. Not gonna have that.”