“What do you mean?”
“You heard me. What’s Dattar’s plan?”
Manhar shook his head. “I don’t know exactly. He has some sort of weapon that he’s going to use against the US. He’s proud of it. Says it’s unbeatable.”
Howell and Beckmann exchanged a glance. Manhar was trembling in pain. He’d told all he was able to tell, and he hoped they believed him.
“A bomb?”
Manhar groaned. “That’s all I know. You said you’d let me go.”
“Is it a bomb? Answer that question and we’ll let you go.”
Manhar shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’s a bomb. It’s something else. Not a bomb.”
“When?” Beckmann said.
“What time is it?” Manhar whispered the question. Howell looked at his phone.
“Ten thirty.”
“In twenty-four hours,” Manhar said.
26
SMITH DIDN’T WANT TO CALL Marty and ask him yet again to track down Nolan, but it was the most efficient way to locate her, so he swallowed his pride and dialed.
“Let me guess, you lost her again,” Marty said. Smith felt his irritation rise, but he wasn’t sure if it was at Marty’s assumption or his own incompetence when it came to Nolan.
“How did you know?”
“She’s trading. I figured you wouldn’t let her.”
“I take it Japan opened?”
“It did. But there’s something else. She moved millions of dollars out of one account in the Cayman Islands to another, connected account in Antigua.”
“Connected? To whom?”
“It’s numbered only, so I can’t be sure. I can tell you that it’s fairly new. The first transaction was from a month ago and it came from an account of a wealthy individual in Pakistan.”
Dattar’s money, Smith thought. “Where is she?”
“Restaurant.” Marty rattled off an address close to the Redding penthouse.
“I’m there. Call me if she moves.”
The restaurant Nolan had chosen was a large eatery and marketplace that sold individual dishes, deli meats, and Italian food and was located in the Flatiron District across from Madison Square Park. He entered off Fifth Avenue and paused.
It was an ideal place for a hit.
The space was the size of a large warehouse and looked like a massive grocery store. The various locations sold produce and meat, and there were several restaurant sections. People, many of them tourists, were everywhere, and all were jostling to get near the section they desired. Smith could hear children crying, dining with their parents despite the late hour, and he cataloged the fact. An attacker could materialize out of the crowd, shoot, and disappear back into the masses of people. Smith wouldn’t be able to fire back for fear of hitting a civilian, and the presence of children made any retaliation a greater risk. He scanned the bedlam, looking for Nolan. To his right was a small coffee area that contained red bar-height tables and stools and he saw her there, sipping from a coffee cup with a wine chaser while watching her computer. She still wore the navy sweater and dark jeans. He took a quick tally of the other diners. All looked unremarkable, and he relaxed a bit. He reached the table and when he sat opposite her, Nolan flashed him a small smile, which was unexpected. She slid the wine glass toward him.
“It’s for you,” she said. “I took the liberty of ordering a heavy red. You don’t seem like a white wine type.”
“Depends on the meal. I generally drink whiskey neat, but this is fine. You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
She shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I seem to be unable to shake you. How’s the arm?”
“Better. Sorry for passing out.”
She grimaced. “It was just as well. What a horrendous job. When I removed it, blood spurted from the wound. For a moment I thought the bullet was plugging an artery and I’d opened it by pulling it out.”
“If I’d been conscious, I’d have told you that it wasn’t at an artery.”
She gave him an amused look. “It was brutal. If you’d been conscious, I doubt you would have been capable of rational conversation.” He tipped his glass to acknowledge her, took a sip and then put it down.
“Remember Russell? The CIA agent you spoke with at your office?”
Nolan nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. “I do.”
“She’s in the hospital. Seriously ill. I think it has something to do with Dattar. You need to tell me everything. Now and quickly, because we have to leave. This place is a security disaster. You can start by explaining why you stole the money.”
Nolan stared into her cup. She inhaled and exhaled slowly.
“Actually, I was stealing it back. The money belonged to my family. It was the proceeds of our holdings in Dattar’s region. Five years ago he confiscated everything my family had spent years amassing, including a possible new sapphire mine, three utility stations, and a research facility. He claimed that the land and buildings were actually owned by the government, despite the fact that my family had been there for generations when the borderlands region was still considered part of India. We built the roads, train lines, utilities, you name it. Practically the entire infrastructure of the region was the result of the blood, sweat, and tears of generations of Reddings.”
Smith refrained from pointing out that the Reddings had made their fortune from the land as well. Some in the early part of the nineteenth century were considered robber barons because they had amassed vast tracts of acreage in India and Africa while crushing any competition. Even so, there was no denying that the family had worked for their wealth and developed the area around their holdings.
“When one of our scientists at the research facility went missing and his papers were stolen, I suspected Dattar or one of his henchmen was involved. Dattar was already making noises that he would confiscate the Redding facilities, and that’s when I decided to take the money.”
“What scientist? What was he working on?”
Before Nolan could respond, a man slid into the chair next to them. He looked to be in his early twenties, with a backpack hanging off one shoulder and wearing jeans and a light sweatshirt. He shrugged the strap off his shoulder, shook off the pack, and set it on the table. He pulled out a laptop computer followed by a chemistry workbook and placed both next to the pack. Duct tape held the worn textbook’s spine together, and when the man opened the book Smith could see yellow marks made by a highlighter pen. Smith relaxed a bit.
“He’d discovered a form of electrical bacteria,” Nolan said.
The coolers, Smith thought. He dredged the name of the electric bacteria from his memory.
“Shewanella MR-1?”
“So you’ve heard of it. Not surprising. I read about you online. Impressive résumé.”
“What was this scientist doing with the bacteria?”
Nolan shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. He had an idea that it could be used as both an alternative fuel source and an efficient delivery system for healthy microbes. Apparently the bacteria communicate with electrical sources and both conduct and create electricity. The utility arm of Grayson Electric was funding the research.” Nolan’s gaze hardened. “It was after the scientist’s body was found that I realized Dattar had to be stopped. I discovered that he had several aliases that he used to hide the money that he extorted from anyone doing legitimate business in the area. A big chunk of it was held by Landon Investments. I moved it out. It was income that he’d derived from Redding holdings and so rightfully ours, anyway. Without his cash he won’t be able to hire his killers.”
Smith shook his head. “You’re wrong. He’s hired one of the best to get us. I presume you had an idea that he’d come after you once you took his money?”