“From Ms. Russell at the CIA?”
Smith shook his head. “From a friend.” Klein had arranged for the vest.
He clipped the tiny microphone to the edge of her bra strap and ran the wire to the transmitter no larger than a deck of cards and attached that to her waistband. He held the vest open while she put her arms through the armholes. He stopped a moment and caught her looking at him intently.
“Don’t look so grim. He won’t kill me until he has access to the money.”
“So you say.”
“So I know. How did you get to this stage in life and not realize that it’s all about money?” There was a puzzled look in her eye. For a moment he felt the gulf between his experiences and those of the average person get even larger. He’d long ago lost confidence in the idea that money could solve the evils of the world.
“Because I’ve seen many whose ambitions revolve around power and righteousness and just plain craziness. You think it’s about money because you live on a small island and are surrounded by people in the pursuit of it. But Dattar and others like him don’t think the way you do. If he shows the first sign of killing you in a rage or before you’ve given up all of the accounts, I want you to say the code word and I’ll take him out.” Her face took on its usual set look.
“You can’t. Howell told me the truth.”
Smith frowned. “What did Howell tell you?”
“That if it came down to me or Dattar, your orders were to let me die. Dattar can’t be killed until he reveals his plan. Howell said that your superiors were clear on this.”
Smith wasn’t sure how to respond. He was given orders: One may have to be sacrificed to save many. He, Klein, and Howell agreed in a private conversation that the stakes were too high. Dattar had to be stopped before he used his weapon. While Smith knew this to be true, an image of them together from the night before flashed through his mind, and all his instincts recoiled against the idea of letting Dattar harm her.
“I don’t usually make love to a woman and then feed her to a dog like Dattar.” He focused on securing the straps on the vest. He could feel her eyes on him as he did and he didn’t raise his own until he was done.
“I stole his money and by doing so brought this on myself. I’ve told you time and again that I’ll take care of myself. What happened last night doesn’t change that.”
He felt himself getting angry with her. That she thought him so mercenary.
“I don’t use civilians as shields, no matter what my orders.”
She held his gaze a moment and then reached up and brought her lips to his in a soft kiss.
“Don’t worry. I’m right. This one’s about money. I’ll be fine.” Smith wished he could believe it, but in his experience everything and anything could go wrong. His only hope was that whatever occurred, it wouldn’t be something catastrophic. He picked up her sweater and helped lower it over her head, taking care not to touch her injuries.
“I’ll be happy when we have Dattar.”
Nolan nodded. “Let’s go.”
Smith followed her down the stairs past the kitchen. Howell was gone.
The plan was simple. Nolan would sit on a wooden bench that wrapped around the trunk of a tree with the bag of bullion next to her. Its weight ensured that whoever appeared and took the bag would be slowed; this was an added security measure to counteract any possible grab-and-run attempts. She’d negotiated by e-mail with Dattar and arranged a series of these drops every day over the course of a month, each physical drop to be followed by a million-dollar wire transfer from one of the hundreds of accounts that she’d set up to hide the money. In this way, they hoped to keep Dattar on the hook and returning time and again. If they missed taking him down on the first round, they’d get him on the second.
Dattar had insisted that she keep her computer on and ready to accept e-mails. None of them had liked that aspect of his demands, but he refused to appear unless she did, so they had Marty watching the data stream and prepared to relay any message that Dattar sent. For her part, Nolan had emphasized that she would give the account numbers and passwords to Dattar only. If an intermediary appeared, the deal was off. When Dattar appeared, they would close in.
They continued out the front door and down to the street where she headed to the bench where the bag was already arranged. He walked to the van, rapped twice and opened the doors. He found both Howell and Beckmann inside.
“She’s in place, I see,” Howell said.
“She told me that you gave her the worst-case scenario. I wish you hadn’t.”
Beckmann stopped fiddling with a walkie-talkie and glanced in Howell’s direction. Howell grabbed his gun with one hand, rose to a crouch and jumped off the back of the van, stopping to stand next to Smith.
“I thought she should know the parameters of our assistance. I’ve learned that it doesn’t pay to lie to a woman.”
Beckmann snorted and Howell shot him a quelling glance.
“I’m not going to let Dattar kill her.”
Howell didn’t look surprised at all by this statement.
“The orders were clear. If she were a man, would you go so far? If she were Russell?” That question gave Smith pause. He would go very far for Russell, but the two couldn’t be compared.
“Russell’s a soldier. She isn’t. And if she were a man, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because I wouldn’t have gotten so close.”
“Exactly,” Howell said. “You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your good sense.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of living on the fringes. Fighting animals like Dattar by crawling into the same pit.” He sighed. “I need to get into position.” He turned to go, and Howell put a hand on his arm.
“The fact that this is bothering you so much shows that you’re not the same. You’ve got me and Beckmann behind you. We’ll get him and do our best to keep her alive.”
Smith knew that there was nothing left to say on the subject. He headed back to the building and into the apartment. He opened the bay window and settled in, facing the street. He liked the high angle for viewing purposes, but it had the disadvantage of keeping him far from the action. If anything went awry, he would have to descend several sets of stairs to reach Nolan. As one of the youngest and most fit in the group — Beckmann’s smoking made him a poor choice for an extended sprint — Smith was stuck with the perch. Smith picked up a sniper rifle and settled in to wait.
Dattar reached the corner of the street near the rendezvous and stopped to check his weapon. In the next instant he felt the muzzle of a gun press against the back of his neck.
“I take half,” Khalil said. Dattar knocked the weapon away.
“We’ll talk about it once we have her. In the meantime, keep your threats to yourself.” Khalil’s eyes were hard, but Dattar noticed that he didn’t raise his weapon again.
“It’s an ambush. It must be,” Khalil said.
Dattar nodded. “Of course.” He handed Khalil a small set of binoculars. “We’re more than a block away. Take a look.”
Khalil looked through the lenses. “In the van. And probably from an upstairs window. It’s what I would do.” He returned the binoculars to Dattar.
“The bag at her feet contains a million in gold bullion.”
Khalil whistled. “Heavy. How do you intend to get your hands on it and her? They’ll shoot you the moment you get close.”
“I’m not going to get anywhere near her.”
“So how do you get the money?”
“I’m going to make her come to me,” Dattar said. He tapped on a smartphone. “I just sent her an e-mail.”
“What did it say?”