“Yeah.” She nodded. “You?”
“Yeah,” he said, exhaling, “now.”
Something inside made him almost want to reach over and give her a hug-they had both been through hell-and, in his hesitation, he could see Naomi felt the same way.
Instead, he just asked, “Did you find something?”
She looked back, eyes wide. “Yeah. Enough to tie him to Hassani.”
“Then we better get out of here.” Hauck threw the car back in gear. “Thibault made me. You don’t want to know the details. I’ll tell you about it on the way. I was lucky to even get away. The point is, he knows we’re onto him.”
“Then I have to go back in,” Naomi said, putting her hand on his arm to stop him. “I have to take his computer.”
Hauck shook his head. “No way. He could be on our tail right now. No time.”
He flipped a U-turn, careful not to drive off the embankment, and headed back toward the main road, lights dimmed, praying they wouldn’t run headfirst into Thibault, who might have been heading back to the house.
“Give me the gun,” Hauck said.
“What?” Naomi hesitated, as if this was another veiled slight.
“I don’t want to argue.” His tone was charged with urgency. “Please, just give me the gun.”
Naomi stared, for a second angry, then took it out of her belt and placed it in the cup holder between them. Hauck took it, checking the bolt while he drove. He placed it next to him on the driver’s seat. He proceeded down the rocky road with caution, fearful Thibault might turn in at any time. To his relief, they made it back to the turnoff to Novi Pazar without any sight of him.
Hauck swung a left back toward town. He was starting to feel better now.
For the first time in an hour his heart rate came back to something approximating its normal pace. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. He looked at her and gave her a teasing wink. “I hear these old ladies around here can be pretty tough.”
“I got what I went in for,” Naomi said. “You’re the one who seemed to have the trouble.” Then, seeing he wasn’t amused, she asked, “What happened?”
“Thibault recognized me from New York.” Keeping an eye out for Thibault’s Audi, Hauck took her through how the Serb seemed to catch sight of him in the bar, how he had waited outside, suckered Hauck in the alley.
Then everything after.
Naomi’s eyes widened in horror. There was also a measure of concern in them.
“My God, are you alright?”
“Yeah, I guess I’m alright.” In truth, his adrenaline had stopped and now Hauck’s ribs were aching and the back of his head felt like one big, throbbing knot.
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
Hauck breathed in and focused on the road as it climbed the pass. “I know.”
For a while, they drove on in silence. Naomi seemed stunned by his tale, how close he had come to death.
Finally she said, “I found a business card with an e-mail address for Hassani among Thibault’s things. I don’t know what’s behind these killings, but it’s clear Thibault was just the point man who carried them out. They were part of a larger plan. I’m gonna call in when we get back. I’m certain now they’ll issue a warrant through the right channels to pick up Thibault. He may have more in his computer. We know the name he’s using for himself and what car he’s driving. He can’t get far…
“More than that,” Naomi, said, looking at him, “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”
He looked back at her and saw something in her eyes. “Me too.”
They sped back to the outskirts of Novi Pazar. Maybe Thibault was already on the run. He could have gone back to his mother’s, Hauck surmised. He could have exchanged their cars. If so, they already had the license plate number of Maria Radisovic’s Opel. He wouldn’t get far. The guy was in a real bind now. He had to decide whether to stand trial in the U.S. for the murders of four people or waive extradition and be put on trial for war crimes here.
As they neared the city, Hauck noticed lights flashing up ahead. A bevy of police cars to the side of the road.
Hauck slowed as they approached. “What’s that?”
“Probably some drunk driver,” Naomi said. “You saw firsthand, these people here hit it pretty hard.”
“Yeah, they do.”
He tried to make out what was going on. A car had spun into a ditch. Half the police cars of Novi Pazar seemed to have been called in. A gray-clad uniformed policeman was on the road, waving traffic through. Hauck wished he could just lower the window and flash his credentials, like back home, ask what was going on.
Naomi said, “Looks bad.”
As they inched closer, Hauck caught a glimpse of the color of the disabled car, which was pitched forward. Black. Then he saw the make.
Audi.
He turned to meet Naomi’s frozen gaze.
It was Thibault’s car.
He slowed to a virtual stop. Hauck made out the figure of a man slumped over the wheel.
The thick head of black hair. The black leather jacket.
It was Thibault. No doubt.
Naomi uttered, “Oh, my God…”
There seemed to be no visible damage to the car, but a blotch of blood oozed from the side of the lifeless Serb’s head.
This didn’t have the feel of any automobile accident.
As they passed, Hauck saw that two words had been scrawled on the Audi’s rear windshield. In large, bold letters that looked like smeared blood. Thibault’s blood, Hauck realized. Normally he wouldn’t have been able to make out anything written in Serbian, but these two words needed no translation.
DONJE VELKE, the letters read.
The Bosnian town where the massacre Thibault had been accused of overseeing had taken place.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
They drove on past Thibault’s car in silence. Naomi was ashen faced, numb. Even Hauck felt a hole in the pit of his stomach.
Thibault had been executed for what he had done.
Who was responsible? Who had pegged Thibault for Kostavic? What flashed through Hauck’s mind was the scene back at the river, the two drunks who had seemingly wandered up at the right time. They had spoken to him in English. As if they knew.
Donje Velke.
“Who the hell were those people?”
Hauck pulled the car over to the side of the road. He racked his mind to recall exactly how everything had taken place.
“Retribution? The BIA?” Naomi thought out loud. The Serbian secret police.
“I don’t know. They seemed to be drunk. But one of them spoke to me in English. Like he had an idea who I was. But why would Serbs have done this? What happened in Donje Velke took place in Bosnia. To ethnic Albanians. And Kostavic has been “dead” around here for fifteen years. How the hell would anyone have figured out who he was? We only stumbled on it by accident. Thibault kept pushing me: ‘Who sent you?’ He was definitely scared of someone…”
“Hassani?” Naomi said.
“Maybe.” Hauck nodded. “Covering his tracks.”
“If it was Hassani, we’d better get the hell out of here. Now.”
“No.” Hauck shook his head. “I don’t think we’re in any danger. If that was so, they definitely had the chance to eliminate us both. They didn’t seem to have much of a problem sending me on my way.”
“I’m not talking about us, Ty,” Naomi said. “If Hassani was behind these hits-Glassman and Donovan, now this-Thibault’s gone. But there’s someone else who was involved. Someone who’s now become our only link. Who put this whole thing in motion.”
“That guy in London.” Hauck looked at her. “‘The planes are in the air.’”
Naomi nodded. “Marty al-Bashir. If Hassani knows we’re onto him, no way he’s going to let him live.”
Hauck nodded. Without this al-Bashir, who was at the heart of all that had happened, there was nothing they could prove. The conspiracy ended here. With Thibault.
“I need to make some calls,” Naomi said. “I have to set a few things up.”