The gap-toothed smile came back. “Is that a yes?”
She clinked her gin against his brandy. “I’d say we’ve got us a deal, Minister.”
Eliot then turned toward the door, his entire body tensing.
“What is it, Spencer?” Sophie asked.
“Someone’s coming. A lot of someones.”
Mbenga frowned. “I’m not expecting—”
The living room had two entrances: the one Sophie and Eliot had used, from the foyer, and a door opposite it. Sophie had no idea where it led, but that door flew open now, and three soldiers burst in holding up large rifles at the same time that four more came in through the front door and moved into the living room.
In Portuguese, one of the soldiers cried, “Do not move!”
Sophie did not move.
SEVENTEEN
Nate Ford found Marney Brillinger at the wolf enclosure.
He’d spent the ninety-minute drive out to the Brillinger Zoo hoping to come up with a good way to tell Marney that her father had been all set to ruin her dream when the heart attack hit.
Ninety minutes later, he still didn’t have anything.
One of the many reasons why Nate had gone into insurance instead of, say, becoming a police officer was that he absolutely detested giving people bad news. When people received bad news, they became horribly emotional, and they became difficult, if not impossible, to read or to get information out of. Nate needed good information in order to figure out patterns and solve problems.
Insurance was perfect because by the time he got involved in a case, all the bad news had been delivered to all the parties. Grieving family members had already started to deal with the loss of their loved ones, victims of theft were already past the anger at the loss of their property, and so on.
Even now, by the time people came to him at John McRory’s Pub, they were at their wit’s end—not their wit’s beginning. Nate was a last resort, not a first one, so his clients were far more likely to be emotionally drained than all psyched up and messy. It was why he immediately called for Sophie when Walt Whitman Wellesley IV had broken down in the bar.
So when he walked up to Marney, who was resting her elbows on the fence around the wolf enclosure, he decided to stall with the same opening Hardison had used. “I have good news and bad news.”
“Y’know, it’s funny,” Marney said. “Everyone talks about how nasty wolves are. Wolves at the door, wolf in the fold, wolf in sheep’s clothing. ‘Let me in, it’s cold, and the wolves are after me!’ But have you ever actually watched wolves?”
Nate didn’t have the heart to observe that all of the wolves in the enclosure were asleep. There were five of them, with a large female sleeping in the middle, three smaller ones sleeping near her stomach, and the large male on the periphery, close enough to protect them.
Marney kept going. “They protect each other. They look out for each other, and if anyone tries to interfere with the pack, heaven help them—but mostly, they all make sure the rest of the pack is safe. It’s funny, in fiction, they always talk about these huge packs with alphas and omegas and big fights between packs—but that’s mostly only in captivity. In the wild, most packs are closer to nuclear families.” She shook her head and stood upright. “And yet they have this reputation for being evil. When the Kerrigans first talked about you, they were going on about how there are wolves in the world, but the more I think about it, the more I think you are the wolves. And you protect the pack. So do I get the good news first, or the bad news?”
Nate pulled a tablet out of his jacket pocket. “The good news is, we found your black rhinos.”
Her eyes widening, Marney said, “That’s amazing! God, you couldn’t lead with that? Who cares what the bad news is after that? When do I get them back?”
Wincing, Nate said, “We’re still working on that. And trust me, the bad news is pretty bad.” He activated the tablet, tapped on an icon that Hardison had conveniently called Marney, and then handed it to her.
As she scrolled through the collected e-mails that Hardison had put into a single file, the expression on her face slowly modulated from giddy to confused to angry.
When she got to the last one, she turned away and stared off into space, holding out the tablet for Nate to take back without looking at him.
After an uncomfortably long pause, Marney stopped staring at some indeterminate point to Nate’s right and looked at him. “I don’t suppose you obtained any of this legally?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s proof, but it’s not proof that will hold up in court.”
“Yeah.” Marney blinked a couple of times, then stared right at Nate. “I could use a drink, Mr. Ford. Would you like to join me?”
“Sure,” Nate said readily.
They walked in silence past an empty space that Nate suspected was where the black rhinos were supposed to go, Little Madagascar, and the Pink Flamingo Café before arriving at the administration building.
Marney’s office was a mess. Everywhere Nate turned, he saw piles of paper: on the floor, on her large metal desk, on the small bookcases, and stuffed in front of the books on the shelves. The two guest chairs had piles of papers and binders and such, and she lifted the pile from one and placed it on top of the pile on the other so Nate could sit. The walls were covered in posters from other zoos: the Bronx Zoo and Central Park Zoo in New York, the San Diego Zoo, the Dublin Zoo, the Taronga Zoo in Australia, and the Franklin Park Zoo in Boston. Staring at the latter, Nate said, “I remember going there when I was a kid.”
“Your father take you?”
“No,” he said emphatically. He took a seat in the cleaned-off desk chair as Marney sat opposite him. “It was a school trip. Right when Bird’s World opened up in the mid-seventies.”
Opening a desk drawer, Marney pulled out a bottle of Gentleman Jack, a premium version of Jack Daniel’s, and two glasses, both of which had the Brillinger Zoo logo and an animal design. Marney gave Nate the tiger, keeping the lion for herself.
As she handed over Nate’s drink, she said, “You know, they can’t actually drink this stuff where it’s made? The Jack distillery’s in Lynchburg, Tennessee, and that’s in a dry county.”
“Here’s to not living in a dry county, then.” Nate held up his glass, and she clinked it.
“You know what the worst part is?” Marney asked after she’d sipped her drink. “I’m not even a little bit surprised. My father hated running the zoo, but he kept insisting he loved it. He was always doing that—trying to protect me by not telling me things. I only found out about the bear attack because it was on the news and in the papers.” She shook her head. “And of course, he didn’t tell me about the cancer. Why tell your only daughter that you’re dying?” She sipped more of her drink.
“We all protect what we care about in different ways,” Nate said quietly. “Sometimes we help other people. Sometimes we lie to them because we think the truth will hurt more. And sometimes we lie down just outside the rest of the pack. Honestly, I might’ve been happier if my own father was a little less forthcoming about what was going on in his life.” He took a sip of his drink. The whiskey burned in his throat. “My old man was a gangster. Worked out of that same pub you found me in. Jimmy Ford was a fixer—anybody needed anything done on the sly in Boston, you went to Jimmy Ford.”
“And now you’re the fixer?”
“I guess so, yeah. It’s funny, a year ago—two—I would’ve denied it.” Nate gave her a wry smile. “Might’ve even thought about throwing this drink in your face.”
“Glad I didn’t meet you a year ago, then,” Marney said with a small smile that fell in short order. “Y’know what? I was wrong. The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t tell me. That was just him being him. No, it’s that those bastards played him. McAllister, I can see, but Sal? I mean, I know they went to schoo
l together, but I can’t believe that Sal would go for that.”
Nate leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“Well, McAllister’s a collector. He could give a damn about the animals, he just likes having exotic things. He doesn’t want to save anything, he just wants to have things so he can say he has them. He’s also a greedy bastard, so I can see him selling out to hunters. You know how much people would pay so they could say they bagged a polar bear or a tiger?”
“Quite a bit, I’d imagine.”
“Especially since it’s so incredibly illegal. I’d love to get Fish and Wildlife up there, but there’s no probable cause, is there? And he probably can fake up paperwork for all of it.”
Nate needed her to get back on track. He already knew McAllister was a lowlife. “You said Sal wouldn’t go for it?”
“He’s a lifetime member of PETA. These posters? He got them for me as a member of each one of these zoos. He’s a conservationist nut—the biggest one we have on the board, to be honest. I can’t believe he’s involved in trying to shut the zoo down.”
“Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t. McAllister lied to your father. Maybe he lied to Tartucci also.”
Marney frowned. “And if he did?”
“Well, the problem with working outside the law is that we can’t just report things to the police—at least, not always. But when two people are doing something illegal together, the trick is to get them to turn on each other.”
“How do you do that?”
Nate smiled. “Leave that to me.” He sipped the rest of his drink, and then placed the glass on a teetering pile of papers. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be in touch.” He got up and moved toward the door.
“Mr. Ford?”
He stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
“Thank you. You had no obligation to tell me any of that. And some people would’ve considered it cruel to let a daughter know that her dead father had feet of clay. But—well, it was one more lie, so what difference does it make? I found out about all the others in the end, so it’s only fitting that I found out about this one. And maybe now—” She sighed. “Maybe now I can finally feel sorry for him.”
“Maybe.”
“Is your father still alive?”
Nate didn’t want to get into his convoluted history with his father. “He’s back home in Ireland,” he said neutrally. “I haven’t seen him much lately.”
Marney laughed, then. “Well, that tone of voice sounds familiar.”
“What tone is that?” Nate tried and failed not to sound defensive.
Getting up from her chair and walking around to the other side of the desk, she said, “The tone of a child who loves his father—but doesn’t like him very much. My father made me crazy, and I hated him more often than I liked him. But he was still my father, and after what you told me, I like him even less—but I love him even more. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“Love never does,” was all Nate found himself capable of saying. “Thanks again for the drink.”
“Next time you see your father, tell him you love him. Even if you don’t like him.”
Nate just nodded, and then left the zoo office, heading toward the parking lot, suddenly desiring to get very far away from this place.
On some level, he knew that Marney was right. Jimmy Ford was his father.
But Jimmy Ford was also a criminal. Sure, Nate was, too, now, but there was a difference. Nate helped people who needed it. His dad would say he was helping people, too, facilitating deals, and loan-sharking and so on, but that was just a cover. Jimmy Ford only was in it to help himself. Nate’s purpose was more noble than that.
There were days when he even believed that. Days when he could admit that he wasn’t the same as his father, despite the fact that he used the same bar, despite the fact that he all but held court at McRory’s the same way as Jimmy had, despite the fact that the last thing his father said to him before getting on the boat to Ireland was that he was proud of his son because Nate had become as ruthless as Jimmy . . .
Getting into his car, Nate pulled out his smartphone and searched for the nearest bar. He needed another drink. Or two.
EIGHTEEN
Eliot tensed. By himself, he probably could take out seven guys, especially in a room full of furniture that he could use as shields and weapons.
But with Sophie here, he couldn’t risk it. She was standing right in the middle of the room, completely exposed. (As was Mbenga, but Eliot wasn’t concerned about his safety.)
So he stood his ground. For now.
The four men who were closer to Eliot were keeping their distance. Each had his MP5 trained on a different part of the room. So Eliot started slowly inching his way closer to one of them, not moving more than a millimeter or so per second.
Sophie, of course, had her own methods of dealing with such a development, but where Eliot’s were physical, hers were not. “Oi! What’s all this, then?”
Then an eighth figure walked in. Eliot recognized him right away, even though he’d never actually met the man on any of his visits to Malani. It was impossible not to know who he was, as his angular face, hawk nose, and red beret were pictured on every coin and mark note, portrayed in murals at the airport and throughout Malani City, and depicted in several portraits that hung throughout their hotel.
Though Eliot couldn’t help but notice that he seemed mighty short for someone named after a god.
“General!” Mbenga cried. “I—I don’t understand! What’s the meaning of this—”
Olorun Polonia held up a hand and spoke in a surprisingly soft tenor. “I would not speak if I were you, Aloysius. It will only make your position worse.” The general ambled slowly toward the center of the room. Eliot kept his eye on him at all times—the soldiers were going to take their cues from him—but continued to move ever so slowly closer to the nearest rifleman.
“General, please, I—”
Polonia shot Mbenga a look. “What did I just say?”
“Look, General,” Sophie said. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but—”
The general again held up a hand while regarding Sophie coolly. “Your name is Annie Kroy.” Polonia didn’t phrase it as a question. “You’re a money launderer, an arms dealer, and a criminal. And you’re trying to make a deal with my former minister of finance?”
Mbenga’s eyebrows raised, his eyes widening. “Former?”
Though still looking at Sophie, Polonia said, “Aloysius, you seem to be having an issue with following simple instructions. If you speak again, Tereza becomes a widow two and a half seconds later. Am I clear?”
In reply, Mbenga nodded silently, then gulped down some of his brandy.
“You were attempting to make a deal with a member of my government, one that was not sanctioned by the head of that government, to wit, me.”
Sophie held up both hands. “Look, I’m happy to give local politics a miss. I’m just tryin’ to get my mitts on some RPGs. I’ve got blokes back in Belfast waitin’ for these.”
“I’m sorry, but they’ll have to wait just a bit longer.” Polonia leaned back, still staring at Sophie but raising his voice. “Thank you, Agent Sterling, it seems your information was quite correct.”
Eliot balled his hands into fists, and the seven hundred and fourteen different methods of murdering James Sterling that he’d come up with over the last few years all went through his head even as the man himself walked into the living room—smirking, of course.
“My pleasure.”
“Who’s this geezer?” Sophie, naturally, stayed in character.
“Jim Sterling, Interpol.” Sterling walked into the center of the room, standing as the third point on a triangle that included Sophie and Polonia. “And you’re Annie Kroy. Quite a catch for me, this.”
Probably.
“Minister Mbenga, you have two choices right now. I can arrest you, or I can turn you over to General Polonia.”
“I dearly hope you take option number two,” Polonia said. “Captain Havrati has been so—so bored lately.”
Eliot winced. Havrati had been King Lionel’s chief torturer. Somehow, Eliot was not surprised to see that he had remained in his position with the new regime.
Mbenga started shaking. “I think I will submit myself to arrest, Agent Sterling.”
Sterling tilted his head quizzically. “Now, why would I let you do that?”
“I—” Mbenga opened his mouth, and shut it. Then: “I—I can make it worth your while! I have a contact in Interpol! He’s been providing me with files! I can give you everything.”
Nodding, Sterling seemed to consider the notion, even though Eliot knew damn well that it was what he was hoping for the entire time. “That’s actually a good answer. With your permission, General?”
Polonia held up both hands and moved toward the door. “I am grateful, Agent Sterling, for your exposure of this particular snake in my garden.”
And then Polonia made the biggest mistake he’d probably ever made in his life: he walked close by Eliot.
Eliot kicked downward at the area just below Polonia’s left knee, and the general stumbled. Reaching out with his right hand to grab at the 9mm Beretta holstered on Polonia’s belt, Eliot grabbed Polonia with his left into a choke hold that arrested his downward motion.
“I’d put your weight on the right leg, there, General,” he said as he thumbed off the safety and put the Beretta at Polonia’s temple.
All seven MP5s were now pointing at Eliot, but his back was to the wall, so any shot would have to get through Polonia.
“Some a’ you I know are sharpshooters,” Eliot said, “but I’ve got the safety off this weapon in my right hand. Even if you can shoot me and not the general, I guarantee my finger’ll spasm.”
The Zoo Job Page 18
