Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(59)

The first killing Henry had ordered them to commit was a programmer who’d stolen some of Henry’s ideas and applied them to businesses in his native Canada. They had flown first class to Toronto, rented a car, and driven for what seemed like days, just to shoot the young man in the head at his parents’ house.

Now it was absolutely personal for Christoph. He didn’t care if Henry even paid them for these killings. They were going to happen.

Ollie said, “What happens once we catch them?”

Christoph tried not to show his anger in his voice. “We’ve already spent too much time and blood on this. Once we find the cop and the girl, I know exactly what I want to do. We take them to our favorite dumping ground in Kopli Liinid. With all the new construction there, no one will notice a couple of bodies stuck in the foundation of one of the new houses.”

Ollie was quiet. Finally he said, “Maybe we let this one go. We can find other jobs.”

Christoph flared. “No way. Not these two.”

“Perhaps we should talk to Henry first.”

“He’s busy. He’s got other problems.”

Ollie said, “I’m worried about the fat guy who escaped. He has details about us.”

“You worry about things too far ahead of time. We need to live for today. And today we’re going to kill Bennett and Natalie.”

“That’s the kind of shit Janos used to say. Look where it got him and Alice. I like looking into the future. I enjoy life too much to waste it. The fat guy could give the police everything. Maybe we’d be better off to end this and head back to Amsterdam right now.”

Before Christoph could rebut his partner’s logic, Ollie’s phone rang. It was Henry. Ollie put it on speaker.

Henry’s agitated voice was scratchy on the tiny phone speaker. He said, “Looks like Natalie accessed her email on a Wi-Fi network.”

Ollie asked, “Do you know where the network is physically located?”

“St. Laszlo’s Church.”

Christoph said, “Damn. We followed him there yesterday. He must be friends with the priest. We’ll call you when we’re done.” He ended the phone call before Henry could say anything else, just in case their fearless leader had second thoughts about his girlfriend.





CHAPTER 82





I CAME AWAKE suddenly when a hand gently shook me. Father Marty and Natalie were standing over me, smiling. The giant chair still felt like a wide, soft pillow, and the remnants of a dream stuck in my head. I was marrying Mary Catherine. My grandfather was officiating, and Brian was with us. Pretty nice dream, but now it was back to a rougher reality.

Father Marty said, “It’s impressive you can fall asleep so quickly.”

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour. Your car is out front. Natalie told her mother she’s safe, and my colleagues in Latvia are expecting you.”

I said, “Thanks. Sorry we’re tying up one of your people.”

Father Marty waved me off. “Latki was driving to Riga anyway. He’s our IT manager for the entire region.” The Orthodox priest smiled. “It’s an old church with new ways. We find that social media keeps us up-to-date on what people are worried about.”

A red Volkswagen sedan sat in front of the church. The young man standing next to it smiled and introduced himself. He was tall and a little awkward, with thick glasses and shaggy hair. He couldn’t look Natalie in the eye. He looked like an IT character in a TV show, only a lot taller.

A box of files sat on the front passenger seat. Natalie and I slid into the comfortable back seat.

We made our good-byes, and our driver waved to Father Marty. He looked over his shoulder and said in accented English, “Make sure of seat belts. We are going on some bigger roads. If police check, the fine is unbelievable.”

Natalie said, “You make this drive often?”

He hesitated. It looked like he was screwing up his courage. It must’ve worked, as he turned and looked directly at Natalie. “Once every two weeks. How do you say in English? Semi-weekly?”

I had to think about that one for a moment. I was pretty sure he was looking for biweekly.

I wanted to get moving. I needed to know Natalie was safe and then I needed to check on Bill Fiore. The longer we waited, the more anxious I felt.

As I sat there, thinking about it for a moment, I saw a flash in the corner of my eye. Another car was barreling directly toward us. It had hopped a curb and was cutting across the stretch of park across the street from the church like a missile.

The crash was tremendous. It was as if sound faded away, then my whole world spun in every crazy direction. Our car flew across the sidewalk, spinning 180 degrees before plowing into the bushes in front of the church. The driver’s soda, which I learned that moment was called Lumivalgeke, floated into the air and seemed to freeze in space as gravity worked its magic on everything else.

It felt as if the laws of time had been suspended. Everything happened in slow motion. Until it didn’t.

The engine creaked and shifted under the crumpled hood as the car came to a stop. The windshield crackled, then tumbled into the car, a spider-webbed mass of glass.

Our driver was moving. Slowly. He called out, “Are you injured?”

I was relieved. If he was asking, it meant he wasn’t too badly hurt.