End of Days (Pike Logan #16)(67)
The one who’d thought about challenging him said, “Like, how?”
“I’m seeing my ex-wife tonight, and her new boyfriend might show up. I don’t want that to happen.”
He pulled out a wad of euros and said, “You keep anyone from coming up these stairs for an hour, and this is yours.”
The man said, “Give it to us now, and we’ll do it.”
Garrett peeled off some bills and said, “This is half. When I leave here, you get the other half.”
The man took it and, like he was in charge, said, “Okay. Nobody up. Nobody down. You got an hour.”
Garrett smiled and said, “If you fuck me, I’ll kill you.”
The man saw the evil in his eyes and realized he’d made a deal with the devil. He nodded and said, “I got it, I got it. We’ll be here. I promise.”
Garrett went up the final steps, the landing ending at a single apartment. He rang the bell and waited, a pistol hidden under his jacket.
The door opened and he saw Lia Vairo in her street clothes, but the shirt untucked and not wearing a bra, her nipples prominent in the button-up shear blouse.
He showed his gun and said, “Inside. Inside.”
She didn’t show the fear he wanted, but she complied, backpedaling barefoot into her flat.
He sat her in a chair, the gun still on her. She said, “You’re the one, aren’t you?”
He waved the gun about and said, “Yes, I am. I’m the one you’re looking for, but you and I are connected, in more ways than one.”
He saw her confusion. She asked, “How?”
“You understood the red cord. You know what I’m trying to do.”
She shook her head and said, “I have no idea what you’re trying to do.”
He chuckled, saying, “Initially, I was just going to kill you to throw off the investigation, but I realized you could help me. Even if you didn’t want to.”
He heard a buzzing on the counter and turned toward it. He saw a phone about to vibrate itself off the table. He caught it, looked, and said, “Who is this?”
She said, “I don’t know. I’m a police officer. It could be anyone.”
“Answer it and tell them to get lost.”
She took the phone, saw the number, but showed no reaction. She said, “No, we can’t meet at this hour. I have guests.”
She listened, looking her killer in the eye, and said, “I told you to come at the end of the day. That’s what I said. The end of day. It’s too late now.”
Still looking at Garrett, she said, “I understand. It’s not like there are a lot of them. Only one.”
Chapter 44
I waited for the connection to go through its myriad of security protocols, ensuring the video was encrypted, knowing this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. I glanced behind me, seeing the rest of the team waiting. Well, the team we still had control of, anyway.
It hadn’t been a good day. We’d come up with nothing from our leads, and then some assholes had attempted to eliminate Knuckles and Brett, using the same tactics the Israelis employed against the nuclear scientists in Iran, and now they were in a heavy police interrogation with a cover that was so skinny it was anorexic.
Which told me we were on the right thread—even if we didn’t know what that was. But I knew the folks in DC wouldn’t see it that way.
The screen cleared and I saw an incredibly agitated George Wolffe. Before I could even talk, he said, “Jesus Christ, Pike—you have two Taskforce members under police control in Italy? After telling everyone they’re State Department? This is not what I would call a covert operation.”
I returned his fury, saying, “Are you shitting me? That’s the concern? Somebody tried to kill them with a limpet mine slapped on their vehicle. And that someone is tied into the Knights of Malta. The damn attempt itself tells us we’re on the right thread.”
“Pike, their cover won’t hold. Nobody in the U.S. mission in Italy has any idea about them. This is going to crack open, and we still have the threat out there.”
Having thought about it, I said, “It’ll hold if you get Amanda Croft on the case. She’s the SECSTATE. Get them backstopping and this will all go away.”
He said, “We’re already doing that, but the fact that it was a car bomb is going to draw attention.”
And I’d thought about this, too. I had a solution, even as it sickened me. I said, “Put out a press release saying that Keta’ib Hezbollah is responsible, just like happened with the other diplomat. Get the focus off the targets and on the perpetrators.”
He looked at me like I was nuts, then said, “You want me to do their work for them? Claim it was an Iraqi militia under the sway of Iran who tried to kill diplomats in Rome? Have you lost your mind?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, wondering if I wasn’t, in fact, nuts. I opened them and said, “Yes. Give them the credit. Get the press on that angle instead of who the two were. Right now, everyone’s talking about the bombing like it’s a possible mafia hit in a gang fight. The focus is on Brett and Knuckles. We need to short-circuit that.”
“Pike, if I do that, we might go to war. The pressure is becoming unbearable here. President Hannister can’t take another attack like that without responding.”