“How much time?”
“A week.”
“You have four days.”
“And when do I get my money?”
“Once I have the decoded data, you will put Nightingale on a plane bound for Athens. When she’s in the air, headed back to me, I’ll transfer twenty million dollars into your Austrian account. I’ll be in touch.”
The Chameleon hung up the phone. A surprise ambush. He didn’t like the sound of that. Or the fact that he’d been forced to deal with Filip after Yurii’s unfortunate death. There were reasons why Filip had always come in second behind his brother.
“Am I interrupting?”
The Chameleon turned. “What is it, Barinski?”
“I thought you would like to know that Nightingale checked in. She wanted to know what your instructions are. She sounded a bit anxious. She said Nescosto was destroyed and that she’s in Budapest with Filip. That he’s been shot, but alive.”
“Old news.”
“She wants to know what your orders are. She’s going to call back.”
The Chameleon puffed on his cigar. “When she calls again, tell her she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. Tell her to be patient.”
Barinski nodded, but didn’t leave.
“Is there something else?”
“Her sonar chip is registering some irregular vibrations.”
“What does that mean?”
Barinski shoved his black-rimmed glasses up on his forehead. “It’s her progesterone level.”
“What about it?”
“It’s elevated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…ah… It means she’s…”
“Out with it.”
“It means she’s horny, and perhaps doing something about it.”
“She’s what?”
“She’s aroused.”
“How the hell could that happen? Petrov is gay.”
“I don’t know.”
The Chameleon swore. “Stay on top of it.”
“Sir?”
“You know what I mean. Keep an eye on her…levels.” When Barinski didn’t leave, the Chameleon asked, “Now what?”
It looked as if Barinski was chewing on his thoughts and they had gotten stuck in his throat.
“Spit it out. What else don’t I want to hear?”
“It’s about Melita.”
“Now that’s a cheery subject. What about my daughter?”
“I was wondering if I could ask her to dinner?”
The question was as unexpected as it was ridiculous. The Chameleon studied Barinski’s Frankenstein face to see if he was serious.
He was.
The man wanted to spend an evening with his beautiful daughter. Did he plan on wearing a bag on his head? The combination of food and Barinski’s puke face would make anyone lose their appetite.
“Horny, too, Barinski?”
“No. Never. Well, not never, just… As friends. It gets lonely here on the island eating alone night after night.”
Friends. The Chameleon thought a moment. Melita could use a friend. A friend she could confide in. A friend who was loyal to him. There could be nothing else, of course. He didn’t need to worry about Melita’s progesterone levels around Barinski. He could turn a lizard inside out.
“Why not? You have my permission to ask her to dinner. A friendship would be good for her.”
Barinski left smiling—that goofy clown smile that could make a toad vomit. When he was gone, the Chameleon’s thoughts returned to Nightingale. He couldn’t afford to let anything to go wrong at this late date. There had already been too many setbacks.
A surprise ambush, progesterone levels… What the hell next?
He called Filip back, and asked him some pointed questions.
“I’m not screwing her if that’s what you’re asking. My guess is she’s banging Toriago.”
Toriago…
A few more questions, and the Chameleon was sitting down, listening with a curious ear, wearing a frown.
“So he saved your ass when you were ambushed?”
“That’s about it.”
“Not quite. Now it appears he’s interested in someone else’s ass, and I own that ass. Get Nightingale out of that hotel, and back on track.”
When the Chameleon hung up the phone, he turned to look out the window. He saw Melita on the rocky path that led down to the shore. She was playing with those damn goats again.
For almost a year he’d kept the truth about Simon from her. She wasn’t going to take the news well when she found out the fate of her brother. But as he’d told her, Simon had made his choice, as she had made hers.
There was really no need to tell her yet. She wasn’t going anywhere. And there would be no surprise visit from her brother. Not ever.
Simon was dead.
Chapter 7
“Ash? Did you hear me? I said, Jazmin Grant was missing for three months the first time.”
“The first time?”
Ash blinked out of his fog. He’d risen early, had left his suite while Filip and Allegra were still asleep, and had taken the elevator down to Sly’s room.
“That’s right. The first time she went missing was six months ago, and she was gone three months. Stillman’s report claims she was taken hostage on assignment. Then suddenly she was back at the SDECE, but there’s no mention of how they were able to recover her, or who had captured her. Two weeks after she returned she disappeared again. Only this time, she vanished for good. I was able to find this out by tapping into Felton Chanler’s computer. That’s a little strange, too. He was keeping an in-depth file on her outside the agency.”
“That’s odd.”
“I agree. He had this, too.” Sly handed Ash a photocopied picture. “I recognize the Cathedral. It’s in Munich.”
Ash stared at the picture of Jazmin Grant seated on a bench. There was a man with his back to the camera walking away from her. “Who is that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I wonder if Stillman knows about it?” Ash mused out loud.
“I doubt it. It’s part of Chanler’s private collection.”
“Stillman said he wasn’t sure who she was working for. I wish we could identify that guy.”
Sly handed Ash more data he’d collected. Ash thumbed through it. “Where’s the medical report? They should have done a medical profile on her after she returned to the SDECE. At Onyxx we’re run through the wringer.”
Sly leaned back in the desk chair and stacked his hands behind his head. “There’s no record of her ever being hospitalized for physical or emotional analysis. If she was, those records were buried, or destroyed.”
Ash sat down on the couch. “Why would Stillman put her back in the line-up only a week after she returned?”
“Good question.”
“If he was negligent, that would explain why he went to Merrick under the radar with that story about Chanler and Grant dying at Nescosto.” Ash continued to read the data Sly had lifted. When he picked up the picture again, he said, “She’s wearing a trench coat.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Ash glanced out the window, feeling exhausted and frustrated. He hadn’t slept all night. In fact he’d spent half the night in the bar. No, he hadn’t ordered a drink, though Naldo had had a few too many—his excuse, he was drinking for both of them, as well as bragging about getting a hotel maid in the shower with him.
At least someone had gotten some action.
He’d gone back up to his suite around three in the morning. He’d checked in on Petrov, then had slipped into his bedroom. Allegra was sleeping on her side, and he’d stood there and watched her for close to a half hour.
“You all right?”
Ash sat forward and tossed the data on the coffee table. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Anything in particular keeping you awake?”
Ash pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got an
automatic record on this phone Stillman gave me. Listen to this.”
He punched a button on his phone panel and Allegra’s voice filled the room. “This is Nightingale. Yurii’s dead, and Filip and I are in Budapest. I need instructions. I’ll call back. Don’t call this number.”
Sly dropped his hands from behind his head and sat up. “Allegra?”
“It’s her.”
“Did you trace the call?”
“I tried. Whoever received it must be able to block any attempt to trace.” Ash let out a frustrated sigh and reached for his cigarettes. “Dammit, I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”
He stood and started to pace.
“How did she get your phone?”
Ash took a drag off his cigarette. He didn’t want to mention what happened after he’d showered and entered the bedroom last night, but Sly was there to help, and he couldn’t do that blindfolded.
“Last night while Filip was asleep she came into my bedroom. I keep my phone in my jacket pocket. She used the phone while I was in the shower. When I came into the bedroom she was there.”
“And how did you know she had used the phone?”
“I didn’t at first. Then she made a move on me. I…countered it.” Ash shook his head. “She’s a beautiful woman. I’ve been out of circulation for a year. I—”
“You don’t have to explain it. I’ve seen her.”
“I thought, what the hell. One night, right? I went to my jacket, took my phone out to shut it off. I had told Naldo to check in before he turned in for the night.” Ash looked up. “I didn’t want anyone interrupting us. That’s when I noticed the phone was in the left pocket. I always keep it in the right. I noticed the record button was lit up and I knew someone had used my phone.”
“Did you sleep with her? Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”
Ash sat back down. “No. But I would have.”
“And she was willing because she was determined to cover her tracks.”
“Looks that way.”
“A woman who makes sacrifices.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel better.”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“It’s okay. I’ve already went over all the angles. Whoever she’s working for, she’s used to giving her all.”
Sly grinned. “Loyalty is an admirable trait.”
“Ain’t it though.”
“Maybe you should play her game. If she’s still willing, get her back in the bedroom. Two can play that game.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“We need to know who she is. Get me a fingerprint, DNA, something I can run with.”
Ash considered Sly’s suggestion. “Okay. I’ll get you what you need. But I’ll do it my way.”
When he left Sly’s suite, he headed back to his own room. When he stepped inside he heard the shower running. He looked in on Filip and found him still sleeping. That explained who was in the shower.
He stepped out on the balcony, smoked another cigarette. Fifteen minutes later he stepped back into the living room to call Casso Salavich to reschedule their meeting, but a knock at the door interrupted him.
With his gun in his pocket, he answered the door. To his surprise, it was Salavich and six bodyguards.
“Casso Salavich, Mr. Toriago. I don’t blame you for avoiding Ballvaro after what happened yesterday, so I’ve come to you.”
That Salavich had taken the first step was a good sign. “Did you find yesterday’s shooter?” Ash asked.
“Not yet. But my men are still looking. We will find him, and before he dies, we will know who he was working for.”
Ash didn’t correct him on the gender mistake. He still believed it was Grant. He was glad to hear that Salavich hadn’t found her. He needed her alive, and it sounded as if that wasn’t part of Salavich’s agenda.
“Are you going to invite us in, Mr. Toriago?”
Ash stepped aside to allow Salavich to enter. Three guards remained in the hall, and three followed Salavich inside—all of them big brutes with football shoulders, thick sideburns, and size twenty shoes.
Ash walked back into the living room. “Can I get you something, Señor Salavich?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
One of the brutes lifted Salavich’s coat from his shoulders and the bald-headed don walked into the suite as if he owned stock in the hotel, which he well might.
“So, Mr. Toriago, we will sit and discuss the particulars of your new venture, and what I can do for you.”
Ash played it cool. He kept his face stone serious, the face of a man who was used to dealing with disreputable criminals.
Although Stillman thought Ash was a shoe-in to entice Salavich into a partnership as Marco Toriago, his family had been out of circulation a long time. His father might have left a legacy behind, but his son had been tagged a wild renegade with too much money and too much libido.
The question Salavich would be asking himself today was if Marco Toriago had tamed his reckless nature and was following in his father’s cunning footsteps, or if there was a weakness in the bloodline.
Salavich made himself comfortable on a stuffed chair. He wore a shiny suit worth over two grand, and a gold chain around his thick neck. He was a fat man, whose obvious passion had become excess. No doubt gluttony would kill him before a bullet.
He glanced around Ash’s suite.
“Nice place.”
“It’ll do, but I prefer home.”
“And where is home these days?”
“Villahermosa.” It was true. His family still owned a home in Mexico. A little hacienda where he could hide away from the world a few weeks out of the year. After this, he would no doubt have to sell it.
Ash relaxed on the couch, reached for his cigarettes, and lit up.
“Explain this business deal you think I would be interested in, Mr. Toriago. I must tell you I rarely do business with someone younger than me. Experience breeds longevity. So you’ll have to convince me that your father’s wisdom is hereditary.”
Bingo.
Ash blew smoke. “I’m not here to sell myself. I have merchandise and I’m looking for a distributor. If you aren’t interested, I can find someone who will be.”
“We all must sell ourselves, Mr. Toriago. As I recall mistakes were made years ago. Critical mistakes that sent you to prison. Your father killed himself there. My condolences on his passing, but you can see my problem.”
How his father had died was not something Ash wanted to remember, although he had lived with the guilt of it since. Being penned up in a Mexican prison had been humiliating for Estabon. Stripped and flogged day after day had been too much for a proud man. He’d succumbed to the humiliation, a humiliation Estabon chose to check out of one night after six months of broken pride and disgrace.
His body was found the next morning hanging from a pipe in his cell.
“I’m curious why after so many years you’ve decided to go back into business.”
“I was never out of business. Just clearing the way. Litigation can take time.”
That brought a smile to Salavich’s face. “Let’s talk merchandise and money.”
Ash took a drag off his cigarette. Blowing more smoke. “Ice. A billion to start. A shipment each month after that.”
“That’s quite a promise. Of course, I’ll need proof of quality, and that you will be able to sustain such a commitment.”
“That won’t be a problem. Of course, I’ll need to ease my mind as well.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m told you’re the man here in Europe. But if you can’t find one lone shooter, it makes me wonder if that’s simply a rumor.”
“You push hard, Toriago. Filip Petrov was my friend. He did not deserve to die yesterday. I will find his killer.”
“Then if and when you settle this shooter business, we’ll get down to settling ours. It would be reckless of me to get caught in the cross fire of an old war with Petrov’s
enemies when it has nothing to do with what I’m about.”
“A wise decision. We will earn each others’ trust, and go from there. Going into business with someone is much like climbing into bed with a woman. Talk is cheap, the action speaks volumes. Come to dinner tonight at Ballvaro.”
“I can’t. I’m babysitting an under-the-weather friend.”
“I wasn’t aware you had friends in Budapest.”
“Actually he is a friend of yours, too.”
“This friend. Does he have a name?”
“Filip Petrov.”
“Filip is here? I thought you said he was dead?”
“No, you said that. He survived yesterday with my help.”
“That is good news!”
“He was shot. But he’s alive.”
“Where can I reach him?”
“He’s here.”
“Here?”
Ash glanced up to see Allegra lingering in the hall. She was staring at Salavich. He glanced at her, but he made sure he didn’t show her too much interest. He was under a microscope at the moment and a wrong move could put him out in the cold before he got through Salavich’s front door.
It was obvious that she’d been eavesdropping on the conversation. He asked, “Is Filip awake?”
“Yes.”
Casso turned, saw Allegra and immediately stood. “I would like to see him.”
“He’s battling a high fever at the moment. I don’t think he’s up to company.”
“He’ll want to see me, my dear. You are?”
“Allegra.”
Casso made eye contact with Ash. “Your woman is lovely, Mr. Toriago.”
“She’s not my woman.” Ash offered her a flat smile. “She’s Filip’s…playmate.”
Salavich stood and crossed the room to where Allegra stood. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Kissing it, he said, “Casso Salavich, Miss…”
“Nightingale. Allegra Nightingale.”
“Nightingale… Yes, I seem to remember him mentioning your name. Yesterday’s ambush at Ballvaro was unfortunate, my dear, but rest assured I will find those responsible. Now, what can I do to help Filip?”
She glanced at Ash as if she expected him to intervene. He stubbed out his cigarette and came to his feet.
Undercover Nightingale Page 9
