Cyrus Thorne was on the couch. He was leaning back with one foot propped on the corner of the table in front of him. He had his glasses on and was reading the top page of a stack that was in his lap. On the table in front of him were a big, black, large-caliber semiautomatic handgun and the leather portfolio that held Lyle’s notes. There was also a bag of cherry cough drops. He was sucking on one, rolling it around in his mouth.
Harvey was there, still in his wheelchair. His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair.
Cyrus pointed to the stack of Lyle’s notes and smiled. “Are you writing a book?”
“Someone gave that to me. I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet.”
“There are taped interviews, too.” Without changing position, he reached out for one of the cassettes and managed to snag it with just the tips of his fingers. “Do you know who’s on this tape? My late partner, Mr. Tony Blackmon.”
“No kidding.” I kept my eye on his weapon and tried to look around casually. I knew he wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t see anyone else. “I guess you didn’t believe me when I told you I needed more time.”
“That’s because you were lying.” He got up and came toward me. “Mr. Kraft is on his way.”
I looked at Harvey. “How would you know something like that?”
He reached around my waist, and the sweet smell of his cherry cough drop was right in my face. I could hear it clacking around his molars. He found the key in my back pocket. “He’s coming for this.” While he was back there, he took the Glock. “He’ll call you for location, and as long as you don’t say the word quiet, he will feel safe to meet you.”
He smiled, and I had a deflating feeling that only flattened me more when he took my phone from my hand, held it up next to his ear, and whispered, “We’ve been listening.”
35
I WAS CONFUSED FOR ABOUT TWO SECONDS, AND THEN I was mortified by my own stupidity. While I was on the Blackthorne plane, Thorne and Tatiana had had access to my cell phone, my computer, and everything else I’d had with me. And they were spooks. Of course they’d been listening. Probably tracking me, too. No wonder I had never seen anyone tailing me.
Here was one of the problems with being in so far over your head. You didn’t even know what you didn’t know.
Thorne’s gaze shifted to a spot over my right shoulder. “Red.”
I thought he was talking in code, but then a voice came from behind me. “Sir?”
I turned to find one of Cyrus’s soldiers. He looked very young, and he wasn’t called Red because of his hair. It was dark and cut close to his scalp.
“Did you clear the house?”
“Upstairs and down, sir.”
“Excellent. Take care of her, then make sure we stay clear in the back. I don’t want any surprises.”
“You got it, sir.” Either Thorne’s men had learned not to argue with the boss, or he really commanded their respect.
There was a tense moment when I could feel Red behind me and I didn’t know what “take care of her” meant. But all he did was pull my wrists together and secure them with plastic cuffs. He took me over toward Harvey and put me on the ottoman next to him.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“Yes. Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
He glanced at Thorne and lowered his voice to lip-reading volume. “Did you get her off?”
I nodded, and he slumped in his chair. It almost seemed as if his concern for Rachel had been the only thing keeping him upright.
An unfamiliar ring tone called out. Cyrus answered a phone he pulled from his gear bag and launched into a conversation in a different language. It was hard and guttural and sounded something like Bo when he spoke to Timon or Radik. Thinking about Bo reminded me that he wasn’t coming and that Thorne knew that, too. As he’d said, he’d been listening. I leaned over to talk to Harvey. “Did you ever reach Radik?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I don’t suppose you left a message?” Harvey wasn’t big on those. He shook his head.
No one was coming.
Harvey nodded toward Thorne. “He is here to intercept Mr. Kraft and likely kill him. Once he has accomplished that, he will very likely kill us as well.”
That summed it up.
“What do you think will happen to the video of Rachel’s incident?” he asked.
“It’s not on my list of things to worry about right now.”
“She will not know. Drazen will come for her, and she will not know to run.”
“Rachel takes pretty good care of herself. Right now, I’m worried about our own situation.” Thorne was still on the phone. He’d left my cell sitting on the table next to the portfolio. “He’s been listening to all my calls, so he knows about the money files. He took the key, so he must plan on taking the money, too. That will make a nice and unexpected bonus.”
“Indeed.” Harvey’s chin dropped to his chest, and he looked the way he did when he’d taken too much medication. But after a minute or so, he seemed to wake up. “Yes. He will want the money. That is undoubtedly true.”
“Who wouldn’t want a billion dollars free and clear? He can plow it back into his company.”
“But he must get to it first.”
“He’s got the key. All he needs is the computer, and it’s on the way.”
“Listen to me.” Harvey turned as far as he could toward me, given that his arms were lashed to the chair. “Before she left, Rachel and I talked. I will tell you what I told her.” He took a difficult breath, but one that seemed to calm him. “I am through being afraid. I am through being manipulated. I will do what I think is right, what I think is best.”
He was remarkably composed. It always freaked me out when Harvey was less nervous and more measured than I was. I was desperate to hear more, but my cell phone rang.
Thorne finished his call and radioed for Red. Then he came over, grabbed me, and pulled me over to the couch. The ringing seemed louder than normal. He put a second cell down next to mine, and I understood why. The two of them were ringing, but not exactly together, which made for almost continuous bleating.
“It’s a clone,” he said, “and it’s been most helpful. If you don’t follow the plan, your partner will become another casualty of war.”
The private war of Cyrus Thorne.
Red showed up, and Thorne nodded to him. He walked over and put the barrel of his rifle against the back of Harvey’s skull. The phone kept ringing. I looked at Harvey’s face. He wouldn’t look at me. I could tell he was trying not to be scared, but his chin was trembling. He closed his eyes, and pretty soon, urine started dribbling down the struts of his wheelchair.
“If it’s not Kraft, get rid of the call. If it is, you know what to do.”
Thorne flipped open both phones at the same time, and the incessant ringing stopped. He put one to my ear and the other to his.
“Alex Shanahan.”
“Max Kraft.”
It was a relief to hear his voice. I needed something to be easy.
“I’m glad to hear from you,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”
I gave him the address and directions from the turnpike, which was how he was coming into town. “How far out are you?”
“Half an hour.”
He waited a beat, and I knew he was giving me a chance to warn him off.
“Park a couple of blocks away,” I said. “And come to the back door and knock. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Thirty minutes seemed like thirty hours. I didn’t want Harvey soaking in his own piss, but the most they would let me do for him was get towels from the bathroom and try to clean him up. Red cut off our restraints. Harvey held out his arms, and I pulled him up.