“Give me your mobile phone number—I’ll contact you within an hour. Drive down the hill. Wait for my call. The meet will be quick. And Kolya, I think we both know what a tragedy it would be if the police were involved.”
“You’ve got a lot of balls,” Nordeshenko said. “Whoever you are.” But he gave the man his number.
“That’s quite a statement, Kolya, after what I’ve seen you do.”
The line went dead. Nordeshenko gave Mira a reassuring nod. Then he signaled to the South African.
“Come on, Reichardt. There’s work to do.”
Chapter 99
WE DROVE THE CAR to an abandoned tobacco warehouse I had scouted in the seedy Hadar section of town. And waited. The boy was sleeping peacefully. I gave him a breath of fresh ether every time he stirred.
Over the years, in the course of my job, I’d done a few things I wasn’t proud of. None like this. The boy was innocent, whatever his father had done. We watched him sleep in the backseat. Andie was sitting next to him, calming him. Once or twice she brushed his light-brown hair.
The exchange couldn’t come too quickly for either of us.
“Where are we going to meet?” Andie asked, the boy’s head resting on her thigh.
“You mean, where am I going to meet him? In the Baha’i Gardens. Six o’clock. There’s an outdoor concert going on an hour later. The place should be jammed.”
Andie nodded.
“I’ll need to tape his mouth and bind his hands, Andie. It’s necessary. He’ll be awake. I want him in the car with you. You can reassure him he’s going to see his father in a few minutes. When it’s time, I’ll call you. You drive up, look for my signal, then you let him go. And you get the hell out of there—you understand? I don’t want you anywhere around after it’s done.”
“Where?”
“Back to the hotel.” We’d changed lodgings this morning, out of the fancy Panorama to a smaller pension in the Old Town, where we didn’t even have to leave our passports. “We’re leaving for Tel Aviv tonight.”
“Where are we heading?”
“Paris. Late flight out. Assuming all goes well.”
“And after that?”
I opened the car door. “That part of the itinerary is yet to be determined.”
The boy stirred. The anesthetic was wearing off. Soon, I would let him wake. I glanced at my watch for about the fiftieth time. The hour had passed. “Time.”
Andie smiled bravely.
I got out and called Remlikov on his mobile. I told him the location where we were going to meet. I didn’t want Andie to hear what I had to say.
I came back to the car and sat in the front seat. “It’s done.” I nodded, leaning back with a sick expression, as if I’d been chewing rancid meat.
“You know, I’m okay with this, Nick. I am. There’s just one thing that doesn’t seem right.”
“What’s that?”
“Remlikov. And the blond guy. They’re the ones who killed Jarrod. They get off free?”
“We knew that coming over here, Andie. We came for Cavello. He’s the one who ordered it done.”
Suddenly, I heard the sound of the boy stirring. “Father?”
I got out of the car and opened the rear door. “Here.” I tossed Andie a baseball cap. “I want you wearing this at all times. And the sunglasses. The boy cannot see your face. This is when it starts to get dicey, Andie. I want you to be very careful from this point on.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Andie nodded flatly.
I took the rope and some duct tape. She stroked the boy, as if she were comforting Jarrod. “Sshh . . . it’s going to be all right.”
“And one more thing.” Our eyes met, as close as I could come in this moment to an embrace. “After the exchange, you wait an hour, that’s all. If I don’t come back to the hotel, you drive to Tel Aviv. You make that flight.”
“Assuming things go wrong.”
“You won’t know. You just take off. Okay?”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Believe me, if I’m not back in an hour, you won’t have to worry about that.”
Chapter 100
I’M NOT SURE who first decided to build the vast, multiterraced gardens that climb steeply up the slope of Mount Carmel and are dedicated to the Baha’i faith, but whoever it was had perfect insight into the art of the clandestine exchange.
The grounds were public enough to get lost in and open enough to spot any unwanted accomplices hanging around. It had multiple exits leading to heavily trafficked thoroughfares. Tours were constantly going around, and that Thursday, late in the afternoon, the gardens were as crowded as the lawn at a Tanglewood concert.
If this goes well, I told myself, trying to calm my nerves, I might even give some thought to converting.
I got there at 6:45 p.m., a few minutes early, and stood around the statue of someone named Sayyid Ali Muhammad, or the Bab, on the lowest level of the gardens, where I told Remlikov we would meet. I had given him only thirty minutes’ warning, not much time to prepare. The elaborate park had eighteen different terraces. He didn’t know whether I was at the upper or lower gardens. And with Ben Gurion Street only meters away, it would be easy for Andie to drop the boy and escape.
Me—that could be an entirely different story.
I’d done secret meets dozens of times, but always with the confidence that someone with a listening device and a sniper’s rifle was watching my back. Never naked, on unprotected turf—and with the slight complication of having kidnapped some cold-blooded killer’s kid.
Crowds were starting to form. Some Israeli folksinger was performing two levels up. The setting couldn’t be better. I told myself, just think like it’s Madison Square Garden. All I had to do, once the exchange was made, was blend in with the crowd and get away.
At five of six, I took out my cell in front of the statue and gave Remlikov our final call. “Are you here?”
“I’m here. What about my son?”
“Walk to the statue of Ali Muhammad off Ben Gurion Street. You know it?”
“I know it. How will I know you?”
“I’ll be the one holding the twelve-year-old with tape over his mouth. Don’t worry, I’ll know you.”
Remlikov sniffed, unamused. “It will take me a few minutes. I’m on the upper level.”
“Don’t bother, then. In five minutes, I’ll be gone.” I punched off the line. He’d be here. I didn’t want to give him a single extra moment to prepare.
Chapter 101
I HAVE TO ADMIT, the following couple of minutes were as tense and heart-stopping as any in my life. I tried to focus on the crowds, mostly young people and families heading up to the higher terraces. An occasional policeman wandered by, dangling the ubiquitous Uzi.
I checked my Glock one last time. I adjusted my sunglasses. I tried to calm the riot in my gut.
5:59 p.m. Come on, Remlikov. This has to happen now!
Then I spotted him coming out of the crowd. He was wearing an open-collar print shirt and a black leather jacket. A few people passed in front of us, but he focused directly on me. Must’ve been the chess book I was holding prominently. He walked right up to me. He removed his sunglasses and took a long look into my eyes. I had seen the faces of many professional killers. There was always a dull glaze in the eye, even when they smiled. Remlikov had it in spades.
“Stand in front of me,” I said, shifting my back to the statue. I didn’t want any sudden ambush taking me by surprise.
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 other again.”
“I was thinking that, too.” Remlikov nodded. “I believe it’s near a town called Ushuaia. Close to the tip. The weather is not so good, I am told, but the isolation is worth every penny. Even the name is telling.”
He told me the name of Cavello’s ranch. Hearing it, I smiled. I knew his information was true.
“Now, I think you have something for me.” Remlikov put his sunglasses back on, our business complete.
Chapter 102
I TOOK OUT MY PHONE and pressed the Send button. Andie answered quickly.
“You can bring him now.”
I tried not to glance in any direction. I didn’t want to alert anyone, Remlikov or a possible accomplice, as to how this was going to take place. My hands were moist, and sweat trickled down my collar. There was nothing to do but wait, and stare at each other.
“So, who was it, if I can ask?”
“Who was who?” I shrugged. I figured he was talking about Andie.
“Who was on that bus? The reason you want Cavello so bad?”
“Consider yourself lucky I don’t kill you right here for what you’ve done.”
“Interesting,” he said, snorting. “I was thinking the very same thing about you.”
I saw him rub the tips of his fingers. I knew this killer wouldn’t just let me get away. I looked around. I needed cover. A group of young people were passing by. I spotted two policemen, meandering our way.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw our white Ford pull up on Ben Gurion Street at one of the entrances to the park. Andie held there, just as I told her, waiting for my signal. I shot another glance at the policemen, my insurance.
“My son?” Remlikov pressed. “The minute is up, no?”
Chapter 103
“I WANT YOU TO KNOW, Remlikov, if Cavello’s not where you say he is, every law enforcement agency in the world is going to have your name and fingerprints. It’s a hard way to raise a family.”
“And you should know, if there’s as much as a scratch on my son, I’ll be looking through employment rosters of the FBI for as long as it takes.”
I raised my left arm. The signal.
The rear door of the car opened. I saw the boy emerge. Andie would’ve been pointing him toward us. He shielded his eyes through the waning sun.
Remlikov waved at him. “Pavel, over here!”
The boy started to run to him. The killer looked at me. Andie’s car started up, then disappeared into traffic.
“I meant what I said, Remlikov. I wish I could shoot you dead,” I said.
Then I cut around the statue—in front of the unsuspecting policemen. Without drawing any attention to myself, I started to jog, fast enough to put as much distance as I could between me and Remlikov.
I hunched into a stream of people heading for the upper terraces. The path was hilly and crowded. I didn’t notice anyone following me.
I left the path and started up a small hill, using trees and low branches as cover. I spotted another exit down below. Allenby Street.
That’s where I decided to head. Catch a cab. In minutes I’d meet Andie back at the hotel. We had what we needed. Within the hour, we’d be gone.
I never looked back until I’d zigzagged to the top of the knoll. When I did, Remlikov was kneeling with his arms held out. His son ran into his embrace. He peppered the boy’s face with grateful kisses.
Then he looked up the hill in my direction. I didn’t know if he could see me. Trees obstructed the view. But it felt like it.
For the first time in minutes, my heart rate finally started to calm. I had what I needed. Andie had gotten away safely. I knew where Cavello was.
I almost felt like cheering. We had pulled it off! We were winning this time.
Only then did I feel my neck roughly wrenched backward, and the knife blade digging deeply into my ribs.
“Sorry, mate, it doesn’t quite work like that.”
My blood froze.
“Now, I’m going to ask you this once,” the voice said in a heavy South African accent, “and if you have any hope of living more than the next few seconds, you’ll be telling me the answer. Who dropped off that kid?”
&n
bsp; He dug the blade in deeper; the air gushed out of my lungs. I managed to get one look at him, and I knew I was in terrible trouble.
The hair that fell across his face was blond.
Chapter 104
THE TRUTH WAS, I’d been in the FBI thirteen years and had been in a real dogfight only a couple of times. Those were more like takedowns, and not with some professionally trained killer twice my size who had me gagging in a choke hold, with a knife jammed into my ribs.
The guy’s grip had me helpless. I couldn’t scream. What good would that do? I could barely think. The blade edged into my rib cage so sharply, I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t already in my chest.
“I can break your neck cleanly, friend, and all you’ll do is drift off into la-la land, which I recommend as the way to go. Or, I can play with you a bit.”
Oh, Christ!
“Do yourself a favor, mate. Who was the woman in that car?”
A thought came to me. It was from some self-defense course I’d taken at the Bureau years ago. The natural urge in this situation is to struggle harder, to pull away, but to someone who is adept at crushing your windpipe in a second, it only tightens the choke.
Step into him, I was told. Go with his momentum. So I figured, what the hell? I wasn’t giving up Andie.
So I leaned my weight into Blondie. It threw him off, maybe a step. He didn’t release me, just shuffled backward.
It freed my hand enough to reach inside my jacket. I groped for the grip of my Glock. I didn’t know if I had it pointed toward him or me. Only that if I didn’t fire quickly, it didn’t much matter.
The blond killer sighed. “Your choice, asshole.”
I jerked the trigger. Once, twice! The recoil spun us both back, the closeness muffling the sound. I didn’t know if I’d hit something. Or whether it was him or me. But I didn’t feel the knife. Or pain shooting through my abdomen. I pulled the trigger two more times.
“Fuck!” The blond guy yelped and staggered backward.
I spun away just as he lashed out savagely with the knife. I rolled on my torso and saw a bloody hole in his thigh, red oozing through his ripped jeans.
Judge & Jury Page 20
