Chasing the Night - Iris Johansen [61]
“We think Catherine Ling has left Atlanta,” Russo said as he came into the study. “Or, at least, Duncan’s lake cottage. Our agent was able to get close again earlier today, and the cottage appears to be deserted.”
Rakovac leaned back in his chair. “No Duncan either?”
Russo shook his head. “And he checked with the ATLPD, and Joe Quinn has taken a leave of absence.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “Then I believe we can assume that Catherine has taken the bait and jerked Eve Duncan into the whirlpool with her. We should be hearing something from our Catherine shortly.” And that meant that the final stage of his personal game had been put in place. But it had to coincide with the grand scheme with Dabala for the timing to be perfect. “Did you check the bank? Has Ali Dabala sent the first installment?”
Russo shook his head. “He said he and his group want to see proof of your efficiency. It’s a lot of money. How does he know that you won’t disappear and leave him looking the fool?”
Rakovac scowled. He’d known that Ali would balk at the down payment, but he’d hoped he was desperate enough to come through with it anyway. Evidently, that wasn’t going to happen.
“What are you going to do?” Russo asked.
“Give him what he wants. It’s not as if I’m not prepared.” He flipped open his desk drawer and pulled out the schedule. Ten positive hits. Three alternates if those didn’t come through. Two other cities far from the main target area.
One in Istanbul, Turkey.
One in Lima, Peru.
He pondered the two cities. It felt a little godlike to be able to lift his finger and decide if thousands of people were going to die.
Russo moistened his lips. “Which one?”
“Either would do. They’re both on different continents from the U.S. and wouldn’t arouse too much outrage. The Americans always claim to be horrified at another country’s disasters, but if it doesn’t touch them, they have a certain remoteness. They wouldn’t recognize it as a threat to them.”
“Venable would recognize it.”
“But he wouldn’t be able to convince anyone else.”
“So which one?”
His hand hesitated over the Istanbul page, then flipped open the Lima file.
The face in the photo was of a man his late forties, slightly plump, with silver frosting his temples.
“Pedro Gonzalez,” Rakovac said. “Gate agent. Vantaro Airlines. Wife and three children. Are we ready for him?”
“We’re ready.”
“Then tell Dabala to get one of his men down to Lima, and we’ll have his documents and his flight arranged. All he has to worry about is whether his man has the nerve to pull the trigger. Or, in this case, go to his precious paradise.” His lips tightened. “And the minute it happens, I want a wire in my bank account for the $3 million.”
Russo nodded and hurried from the room.
Rakovac closed the file, and his gaze shifted to the photo of Catherine Ling. “It’s starting,” he said softly. “I’d love to stretch our finale out to the limit, but I may be getting pushed. Do hurry along, won’t you?”
Joe’s eyes flicked open.
A car was starting outside the house.
He stared into the darkness, listening.
Unmistakable.
He checked his watch—3:05 A.M.
He slid silently and swiftly out of bed, careful not to wake Eve. He grabbed his gun from his case and moved out of the bedroom and through the living room.
No Kelsov on the couch. Only a carelessly thrown blanket on the floor beside it.
Joe was out of the house in seconds.
But the car was already moving down the road, and he could only see the red taillights.
His hand clenched on the handle of his gun.
“Where the hell are you going, Kelsov?” he muttered.
They had no other vehicle, so he couldn’t go after him, and again he felt that irritating sense of helplessness. It had to stop.
Was Kelsov betraying them?
He had no idea, and that made him even angrier. It was definitely a surreptitious and suspicious