Thank Allah that Hamid knew people, and knew when something was missing, and knew when to push.
To his complete astonishment, Konal reached into his thobe and pulled out a flat black billfold, opened it, and thumbed out a card.
A business card.
It was blank on one side and on the other, just as Konal had described, was a black symbol. Nothing else.
Hamid had never seen anything like it before.
But he was certain that somewhere in the world, someone had. Where one murder happened, another followed … and may just as likely have been after a previous one.
He snatched the card from Konal and called for his assistant to take the absurd, thieving man from his office. Before he strangled him.
And then he got on his computer and started emailing every contact he had in every law enforcement precinct around the world.
Someone would know something about that symbol.
16
“Bergstrom isn’t one to make idle threats, but he’s also not one to make any threats at all if he doesn’t need to,” Gabe MacNeil said to Marina as he eased the government-issue Taurus down Main Street, Ann Arbor, where she lived. He’d never been to the university town himself, but had heard enough about it, and was enough of a Big Ten fan, to want to take a spin past Michigan Stadium. The Big House. It almost made it worth having to bring her home, if only temporarily.
“Idle threat or not, he made it. He’s eliminated any voluntary help I might have provided now or in the future. I’m not going to be going out of my way for Colin Bergstrom.”
Marina’s short, messy hair tossed in the breeze of the open window. She flattened it with the palm of her hand, smashing it down, apparently heedless of any formal style. Despite her black expression, she was a great package: with her pointed chin and wide, sensual mouth, round, apple-sized breasts and long, slender legs. Her features had a trace of the exotic, with almond-shaped eyes, high, slicing cheekbones, and faintly olive skin. More than once, he’d found his thoughts wandering to that shower she’d taken in the hotel room, and he had to catch himself and refocus — which pissed him the hell off. Even when he was on a case with Rebecca Ives, he’d been more focused.
Of course, they had been sleeping together at that point.
Irritation with himself came out in his response. “You won’t help Bergstrom even if it’s regarding a threat to our national security? That’s big of you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? The CIA’s got me for eighteen hours, and I’ll do what I can during that time, clearly under duress.” She returned her attention to the pedestrian-clogged street. Friday night on Main Street. It was hot in Ann Arbor, and it showed in the tank tops and short skirts clinging to the college kids that had stayed on for the summer.
Antipathy burned off Marina in the same way the sun beat down on the tall, awning-less buildings. It was too bad, because, as annoyed as he might be with the way Bergstrom had set this whole thing up, Gabe also recognized that the man didn’t make mistakes. His instinct was usually dead-on. Obviously, this operation was important enough to him to go out on a limb with not only a civilian, but also with Gabe, while working around the Agency’s protocols. Gabe trusted and respected his director. He didn’t always agree with him and his methods, but he trusted him.
“Why are you so sure my father’s in danger?”
He’d never said that Alexander was in danger. Instead, he turned her question back around. “What do you think? You know more about the Skaladeskas than any of us — which isn’t saying much, because we know very little. If he left them against their will years ago, why would they want him back? Are they such a close-knit group that they insist that no one venture to the outside? And if they do — are there consequences?”
Of course, the guy could be dead somewhere too, which would put a whole ‘nother spin on this situation.
The reality was, the Agency crowded too many other issues on its plate to be concerned about a tiny little tribe in the snowy mountains of Siberia. He and Bergstrom and their intelligence reports about Taymyria would never make it into the daily briefing for the President; in fact, their data was barely reviewed. If it didn’t have anything to do with al Qaeda, nuclear weapons, or drug trafficking, they were pretty much left alone.
That was good and bad. Good because Colin and Gabe would have little interference. Bad because they had fewer resources. Which was, of course, one of the reasons Bergstrom wanted a free ride with Marina Alexander. She could help, and she would be a cheap resource. Free.
One thing was sure: unlike Manning Browne, whose team had been taken unawares before the Kuala Pohr incident, Gabe was not about to be caught picking up the soap in the case of the Skaladeskas.
He didn’t care if he came across as hyper-vigilant or overly suspicious. He wasn’t going to have the deaths of innocent people on his conscience.
“So why would the Skaladeskas want your father back?” he asked again.
Marina shrugged. Despite her long legs, she had a small frame that made her appear delicate. Though from what he’d learned from his background check, she was anything but. The woman flew planes, explored caves, traveled to unsafe regions of Asia and parts of the Middle East to see first-hand the art treasures she taught about, and was training a rescue dog. She’d even made a trip down the Amazon in a little skiff for the pure adventure of it. And in her free time, volunteered for cave rescues.
No wonder she thought she was in charge.
“Until this morning, I believed that my father and I were the last of the Skaladeskas, that the line would end with me. I had no idea any others existed at all any more, so I don’t have any idea what to think. I tend to wonder if your team hasn’t jumped to conclusions that these people have taken my father. Maybe he just took a vacation.”
Gabe turned down the tree-lined street she indicated. He could already feel that it was cooler here. The houses were brick, the street curved, and the sidewalks were well-kept there under the shade of tall oaks and maples. Saabs, Volvos and BMWs of various ages and condition sat in many drives, and more than half of the houses sported mailboxes or garage doors with the big M for Michigan on them.
As he pulled into the driveway of her home, his attention focused on the tidy brick Cape Cod, the lush green lot, the well-tended flower gardens. When did she have time to do that, if she was always running off on rescue missions? “You ever fire a gun?”
“A gun? No, I’m generally trying to save lives, not take them. Why?”
“Just curious. You might have to some day.”
“I doubt that very much.”
He followed her up the brick walkway lined by some frilly pink flowers, listening for the rapturous barks of the dog he knew she had. When he heard nothing but the distant sound of cars, and the shift of wind, his instincts went on alert. “Wait a sec.”
“What is it? You think there’s a bomb waiting on the other side for us? It must be difficult living a life of suspicion.”
“I don’t hear Boris,” he replied. She had no idea what they might be dealing with, and he hoped she was able to keep herself out of it.
“He’s not here. He’s with my neighbor.” She turned back to inserting the key into the lock and Gabe didn’t try to stop her.
Inside, her home was stuffy from being closed up. He found it casually neat; not pristine, House-Beautiful-neat, but organized and cluttered in a charming way. There were stacks of catalogs on a square coffee table and a haphazard row of shoes and boots lining the floor in the foyer. Lived in. Not so different from his own condo, with his paints and canvases tucked into the same corner as the kitchen stuff his mother kept buying for him. He still had no idea what to do with the lemon zester.