The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(75)

“Not better, necessarily. Different.”

“By all means, then, let’s try. What sort of gear would you need?”

Nicholas said, “I need the brand and age of the sat phone, and a computer line.”

“You know, if this works, you may have to share the protocol with us. Ah, in the spirit of national security. Now, be at the Mont Verdun Air Base in an hour. I’ll have everything you need waiting. Now, may I speak to Vince?”

Nicholas turned on the speaker. “Talk away.”

Grace said, “Privately, Drummond.”

“Sorry, Mr. Grace.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” Grace changed to Arabic, had a short, terse conversation with Mills. Nicholas caught a few words—he was by no means fluent but he’d spent enough time in the Middle East to understand a bit—help, trust, and a highly idiomatic version of don’t cock it up.

Then there was a click. Grace was gone.

“Might we dispense with the handcuffs now, Drummond? We need to get to the airbase pronto.”

“You have a plan for waltzing past the Lyon police, do you?”

“Waltzing, no.” He gestured toward the window, thought a moment, then grinned. “But I assume there might be a few gurneys and body bags out there, don’t you?”





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


Boise, Idaho

November 2015

Nevaeh stood near Paulie’s diner, freezing rain striking her like pellets of glass. She was wearing a low-brimmed hat and sunglasses, but no raincoat, and it was getting colder. No matter, she was here to do a job and there was nothing that could stop her.

She glanced at her watch. Three minutes late.

Is he going to bail on us? After all the work, the planning? No, no way. Kiera has his wife tied up and gagged, her life depends on him showing up.

There. A light blue Ford pickup pulled into the lot. Nevaeh took a last glance around the diner, stepped from the shadows, and got into the passenger seat, slammed the door.

She never looked at him, only said, “All right. Let’s go.”

“No way, not until I know my wife is all right.”

Nevaeh turned, leveled a look at him. “She’ll be dead within the minute if you don’t start driving. Now.”

He put the truck in gear.

“Drive faster. The sooner we finish this exchange the sooner you get to see your wife. You shouldn’t have tried to back out, it was a serious mistake on your part.”

He was quiet, driving carefully, maddeningly slow. “How much do you know about plutonium?”

“Enough to know I’ve paid you handsomely to bring it to me. And that’s all you need to know.”

“I’m going to lose my job if they ever find out I’ve stolen the plutonium. Maybe even go to jail.”

“Really? You’re worried about losing your job now? Going to jail? It didn’t seem to bother you when I paid you one hundred thousand dollars.”

“How are you planning to get this on a plane? Unless you have a private jet—oh, of course, you do.” He sighed deeply, kept driving. Slow, too slow. She wanted to slam her fist into his skinny jaw, get his attention.

His hands were white on the wheel. The wipers slapped against the windshield, merely spreading the intense rain over the glass instead of clearing it away.

“You’re going to build a nuke, aren’t you?”

She heard the fear in his voice, the awful knowledge that he would be responsible. “Yes, but rest assured, it’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s a deterrent, nothing more. We can’t have these yahoo countries threatening the United States and Europe with their own versions. And our governments can’t be openly building deterrents, or else it would seem like an open threat. They’ve hired us to go this back route. You’ve done your country a great service, Eddie. Anyone tries to strike us, you’ll be a hero.”

“But my wife—”

“Your wife will be fine if you give me the plutonium and keep your mouth shut.”

“But if someone gets a hold of the plutonium, builds a nuke, then—you’re talking about a lot of life. This much plutonium—the yield of the bomb could take out the population of Brooklyn if it’s mishandled.”

Nevaeh smiled sweetly. “You’re a gambler, Eddie. It’s how we found you in the first place. You made yourself a target. Your debts have grown so large there is no recovering from it, and you knew this, so you agreed to sell us the plutonium to get yourself out of debt. And so far, you’ve been doing everything right, and if you keep it up, you’re going to get the money to wipe your slate clean, and see your wife.

“This is all you need to know. Keep driving.”

Finally, Dr. Edward Linton turned off the divided highway into what looked like an endless field of corn. After bumping a mile up the road, Nevaeh saw a small barn. He pulled to the front.

He said, “Wait here,” but she ignored him, got out of the car, ducked her head to keep the rain out of her eyes. He slid open the barn door. The space was long empty but still smelled of old hay and manure. Inside, a four-foot by three-foot lead-lined box rested on top of a roughhewn table. It was surprisingly small, considering. Small, but heavy.

“This is it? The plutonium?”

“It is.”