Judge & Jury - James Patterson [82]
He glanced at the chess book. “I believe that’s mine.”
I handed it over to him.
“And my son,” he added as if we were talking merchandise.
“Cavello,” I replied.
“You’ve come a long way on the premise I know where he is.” He smiled.
“You’re wasting time that could be very valuable. I leave here in two minutes.”
“Two minutes.” He pursed his thin lips. “I’ll take my chances. Neither of us wants to walk away empty-handed. You surprised me today. Surprise is a reaction I’ve grown used to doing without. I’d take it as a courtesy if you told me how you found me.”
“The business in New York or your real name?”
“Any order.” He shrugged back politely.
I glanced toward the ground. Then I looked back at him with a slight smile. “Your shoes.” He was still wearing them. “Not very high-tech, I’m afraid. But I hear they’re all the rage in this part of the world.”
“My shoes.” Remlikov snorted, at first with surprise, then with a roll of his eyes. He shifted on his bum left leg. “My feet kill me.” He shook his head. “Even now.”
“You might think about a change of brand, if you plan to continue work.”
“No more,” he said, “I’m finished.”
“Wise. You’re a family man. Now, you have something for me?”
“You didn’t finish.” Remlikov continued to look at me. “Though I have the feeling I can take it from here. If you were able to identify my shoes, you must have seen some kind of security tape of what took place. To link that to me, my history, and find me here, that would take a lot of help. Resources. Governmental resources, I’m quite sure. Homeland Security? FBI?”
“Those are a lot of assumptions,” I said with a deferential nod, “for a man who only has one minute.”
“Not so high-tech also.” Remlikov smiled. “I recognize you as the person who shot at us in the courthouse during our escape.”
I took off my glasses. Now we were staring at each other face to face. “Paid good money for these suckers, too.”
“But more important, I’m wondering why an American law enforcement agent in Haifa has to kidnap my son instead of breaking down my door with a warrant if he knew my whereabouts. And more to the point—for purely selfish reasons—how many other people you might be associated with know as well.”
“All good questions,” I said, deciding to indulge him a few seconds longer. “And what have you come up with?”
“That you must somehow be a very desperate man. Or, at the very least, extremely passionate in your work.”
“Chat’s over. Now you have to convince me why I should give you back your boy and not shoot you on the spot for what you did in New York.”
A wistful smile creased Remlikov’s lips. “Because I have something very valuable for you. Something that could get us both killed, and very probably will one day.”
“And what if that isn’t enough?” This man had done such horrible things. He deserved to die or at least to rot for the rest of his life in prison. An urge rose up in me, to take out my gun and do to him what he deserved—after he gave me what I needed.
Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing.
“Then, because you’re not me.” Remlikov shrugged. “How is that?”
I wanted to get this done with. Andie was probably dying with anxiety, wondering what was going on here. “Clock’s on,” I said.
“What you are looking for is in South America,” he said. “Argentina, I believe. Or Chile. At the very bottom, near the tip. Cavello has a ranch there. Sheep, I think.”
“Keep going,” I prodded. I knew he was holding back.
“How do I know you will not turn my name over to the authorities the minute you have Cavello?”
“How do I know you won’t alert him as soon as you have your boy?”
We stood there facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes. Remlikov smiled. “My son is a chess player. He has a natural gift for avoiding stalemates. But of course, you already know that.”
“I don’t play chess.” I shrugged. “But I was thinking, since we both know something about the other that would be best not to get out, it would probably be a good thing if we never set eyes on each