The Last Minute

by Jeff Abbott

  Now I jerk a glance at him, fear a hot lump in my throat.

  “Did you know”—he blows out a plume of Dunhill smoke—“I’ve seen pictures of Zviman’s, um, tattered sausage. Most difficult to get. Did you know he didn’t dare go to a hospital to have your delightful mousetrap removed? Went to a very dodgy private clinic in Strasbourg, France, on a friend’s private plane. I’m sure it was the longest flight of his life. I had to pay quite a horribly sizable bribe to said clinic for a singularly unappealing photo.” The young man gave a delicate shudder.

  I don’t walk around Sydney with a gun but I still carry the telescoping baton in my jacket pocket. “You have me confused with someone else.”

  “No, Mila, I don’t.” He smiles. Not mocking. Friendly.

  A million on my head. So I say: “I didn’t steal all his money, then.”

  The young man clears his throat. “Zviman did more than sex slavery, love. He was, well, still is, one of the biggest smugglers in the Mediterranean. Ordnance, drugs, military surplus. Even flowers and fish. You bloodied his nose and of course you bloodied his privates, and smartly done, that, but he’s still operating. He runs with a dangerous crowd. You broke him, though, with the theft. It takes money to run smuggling routes. So he’s gone under the radar, as they say. I’ve heard now he’s trying to get into blackmail on a whole new scale, using computers to gather nasties about people. Blackmail’s all about information and we live in an information age, don’t we?”

  “He sent you?” If they can find me here, they can find me anywhere.

  “Ah, no. If his Tattered Dicklessness had sent me you’d be dead days ago and murking up the harbor, my sweet.”

  “I’m not your sweet.”

  “No, but a lad can dream.” He gives me a handsome smile.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you. I want you to do something constructive with all that grief and anger.”

  “I failed. My sister…”

  “Mila.”

  “I failed.”

  “Mila. You are a schoolteacher from a little slice of nowhere, and you destroyed a major trafficking operation. You killed them and you stole a huge chunk of their money. Do you know how rare honest daring has become in our overcautious world? I want to toss diamonds at your feet, woman. You are incredible.”

  I stare at him as though I would like to slap him. “My sister is dead. Your praise is smoke to me.” Then I look at the cold steel of the harbor.

  “What you did—”

  “What I did failed.” I watch him. “All I got was money. Is that why you’re here? You want money for your silence?”

  “No. Not everyone would have sent Rolling Stone magazine that database of trafficked girls, who their buyers were, and a bank account where Zviman’s illicit money was. You created quite a little tempest from the shadows there, love. Dictating that the cash go to the women who could be found. Very generous. But you don’t need to buy my silence, Mila. I mean you no harm. All I want is to buy you the best lunch in Sydney.”

  “And a drink,” I say. I can use a drink, I think.

  “Yes, love, what would you like to drink?”

  “I don’t have a favorite.”

  “You look like a Glenfiddich girl to me.”

  “That is what?”

  “Whisky.”

  I cross my arms. “I have never tried it.”

  “And after I have introduced you to the delights of a fine whisky, then I want to offer you a job.”

  “I am in Australia under a false name, I don’t have a work permit, nice man. Sorry.”

  “You don’t need a work permit. If I could find you, so can Zviman. And with a million dollars on that lovely pixie head of yours, it’s only a matter of time.” He leans forward. “We can hide your aunt and uncle better than you ever could. We can hide you. But I think you might go mad sitting around and reflecting about what happened to Nelly. You saved so many lives, Mila. You did good. You could do a lot more good. Or you can sit around with your aunt and uncle, watching Aussie TV to teach them English, and knowing that the man who destroyed your sister is still out there and is hunting you down.” He risks a smile. “If you keep moving you’ll be much harder to find.”

  “What I did was crazy.”

  “Decidedly.”

  “I am only crazy when helping my sister.”

  “On Zviman, did you see a tattoo? A sun, in the middle of a nine?”

  I close my eyes. Remembering seeing it on Zviman’s arm. “Yes. I saw it. It was ugly.”

  “You don’t know how ugly. I think that tattoo is a mark, one that says he owes allegiance to something more than his own criminal ring. Something bigger, badder, than him.”

  “That is not my problem.”

  “No, your problem is that with a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are going to have every scumball hired killer hunting for you. Dozens of them, Mila. I can help you. Hide your family where they will always be safe. But you can’t have a normal life, not until Zviman and his bosses are put down. They won’t let you have a normal life.”

  “Who are you with?”

  “We’re the opposite of Mr. Zviman and his friends.”

  “What are you? The police?”

  He smiles.

  “The CIA?”

  He smiles again, shakes his head.

  “The MI6?”

  “Oh, Mila, those are all so twentieth century.” He laughs, and I decide I like his smile. “The Round Table is so much more. Come to lunch with me. Let’s talk.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Jimmy. And I’m going to be your best friend.” He held out his hand. And I, after a careful moment of consideration, took it.

  71

  The Last Minute Bar, Manhattan

  I CLOSED THE FILE. Then I deleted it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to her.

  “I know you are,” Mila said.

  “Remind me never to anger you.”

  “I have better control of my temper now, Sam. Yoga has worked wonders for me.”

  “Zviman is Nine Suns. That’s why you fight them.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Jimmy brought you into the Round Table, same as you brought me.”

  She nodded. “Ivan was my first teacher; Jimmy my second. You’ll meet Jimmy one day. You and he will either like each other or kill each other.” She got up, walked to the window. “You can understand my feelings on what you’re going through with your son.”

  I stared at her back. “That you cannot save them.”

  “An innocent caught up in this world, the odds are not good. And for a while, I thought you were lost to us, Sam. I meant what I said. They can control you forever with Daniel. They tried to control me with Nelly and you see what it got her. Dead. I was going to save her, I had saved her, and I got her killed.”

  “You were alone. We have each other.”

  “I was stupid.”

  “But you had to try, Mila, same as I do. I can no more walk away from Daniel than you could from Nelly.”

  “You misunderstand me.” She turned back to me, arms crossed. “The man that shot Nelly? He wasn’t even a guard at the house. He worked at one of Zviman’s other brothels in Tel Aviv, heard about the shootings at Lucky Strike, came over to see if Zviman was okay. He sees a girl with a gun and he shoots her dead. He was what you call the anomaly that cannot be planned for. But such things always exist, they always come up. The unpredictable is what kills you. If I had been with her instead of stealing his money… if we had just left the moment I had her… she would be alive. But no. I couldn’t just save her. I had to ruin Zviman. Rescue and revenge, no. You cannot do both.” She swallowed. “You want to get Daniel and bring down Nine Suns. You cannot do both.”

  “If I don’t they’ll never let me be. I am going to do both.”

  She gave a long sigh. “And I thought I could still be your teacher. You know what? They are going to catch me one day. As long as the
million is hanging over my head, it will happen, Sam.” She sounded resigned.

  “Not on my watch.”

  “I might as well help you if you will listen to me.”

  “How?”

  “Zviman had a Nine Suns tattoo on him, although when I saw it I did not know what it is. He is part of it. We must draw in Zviman so he sees Jack is dead. We must convince him Jack is dead without killing Jack.”

  “What about the notebook?”

  “I find it fascinating that you never mentioned this red notebook when we first talked about the ransom.”

  “I didn’t know about it.”

  “But it makes no sense that you kill Jack but leave damaging evidence behind. What if he hid it, then you never knew it was there. You think they would ask you to bring it to them after you kill Jack?”

  “They didn’t ask.”

  “No,” Mila said, “they didn’t ask you.”

  I glanced at the bedroom door. “Leonie.”

  “Perhaps. Maybe they told her to handle the notebook, same as telling you to handle the kill. Because no way could they trust you with that notebook.”

  “She should have told me.”

  “It is only a theory.”

  The bedroom door opened. Leonie stood there. “I have an idea on how to find Jack Ming,” she said.

  “All right,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  “Then it’s her turn to go.”

  “I know I do not have a kidnapped child,” Mila said, “but maybe you let me into your super secret club.”

  “Don’t you dare make a joke.”

  “I wouldn’t. I am helping you. It is decided.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I stood.

  “We’re supposed to work together,” Leonie said. “Just us.”

  “I am curious as to your objection,” I said. “If she helps us kill Jack Ming, what do you care?”

  “Is that what she’s going to help us do? I thought your boss lady here wanted to bring Nine Suns down, just like you.”

  “The lives of your children trump my sense of revenge,” Mila said.

  “Yes. We’re sticking to the letter of what was demanded to us.” I glanced at Mila; she didn’t look at me.

  Leonie and she stared at each other, taking the measure. “I am not comfortable with this, but, Sam, if you can control her and make her useful to us, that is fine with me.”

  “Warmest greeting ever,” Mila said. “I tingle.”

  “Two guns are better than one, Leonie,” I said.

  She looked at us both. “All right. Thank you, Mila. If we get Taylor and Daniel back I will be eternally grateful.”

  “You said you had an idea on finding Jack?” I said.

  “His phone number is the first step,” she said. “If I can get that I can get his call log. I can start on that right now. Maybe I can find a way to see if any new numbers are calling anyone he knows, via his Facebook network or any of his family or other contacts.”

  “All right.” I got up, somewhat painfully.

  “Where are you going?” Mila said.

  “I’m going to see if I can use an old friend.”

  “Everyone can use a friend,” Leonie said.

  “I mean literally use him, God forgive me.”

  I walked downstairs, and I noticed the older, elegant, spare man in the corner drinking a pint. I noticed everyone but everyone else at a table was in a group. He was the only one flying solo. Someone who might want to observe the bar but garner less attention would not sit at the bar. You are kind of front and center sitting at the bar; everyone can see you and you craning your neck around to watch the rest of the room is noticeable. This may sound paranoid but this is how my mind works, especially with the thought that August might be watching the bar to see if I turned up here. I didn’t like the look of him. He watched me, but in the mirrored back of the bar.

  When I left The Last Minute, I waited at the next corner for him to exit. Five minutes. Ten minutes. He didn’t. He wasn’t tailing me.

  I called Bertrand. “The guy in the corner drinking his beer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything odd about him?”

  “No.”

  “Have you seen him before?”

  “No, never. He has ordered one Harp and he drinks it slowly. He’s not stirred from his table since you left.”

  Well, then if… Mila. “Did Mila get here before or after he did?”

  “Before.”

  “We need to be very cautious of anyone alone watching for Mila or for me.”

  “Go do what you need to do,” Bertrand said. “Mila and I can handle any trouble that arises.”

  “Well,” I said, “are you sure?”

  “Did she tell you about when we had the bathroom soundproofed?”

  “Uh, sort of. All right. I’ll be back soon.”

  I walked into the night.

  PART FOUR

  THE NURSERY

  72

  Ollie’s Bar, Brooklyn

  I SAT ON THE CRATES OF beer and when Ollie came in and switched on the light and saw me, he nearly had a heart attack.

  “Jesus and Mary!” he yelled. Then he stared at me. “You! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I owe you a gun.”

  “Christ almighty. You could have given me notice when you left.” A few months ago, when the Company decided to take me out of their private prison in Poland and dangle me as bait for Nine Suns, they’d gotten me a job bartending here at Ollie’s. My decision to slip the Company’s leash to go hunt for my wife necessitated I give Ollie no notice when I left my job. I had also stolen the gun from his safe, but, to my credit, I left an IOU.

  “You know it hurts. It hurts to lose my only good bartender.” Ollie was famous for bemoaning the sad quality of his hired help. “And for you to be a thief.”

  “I left an IOU.”

  “Which I believed, oddly,” Ollie said. “I didn’t call the cops on you.”

  “The gun wasn’t registered anyway, Ollie,” I said dryly. “I lost it but I brought you a better one.” I handed him a sleek Beretta and a box of ammo I’d taken from The Last Minute.

  “This is fancy,” he said. “I’ll never learn to shoot it.”

  “You never learned to shoot the other one,” I said.

  “True. Where did you go?”

  “I went to go find my wife and my son.” For some reason I was done lying with Ollie. I’d answer a direct question as much as I could. He was a good man. Mila adored him, had wanted to buy his bar for years. She and I had first met here; she was scouting me as a possible recruit.

  This confession made Ollie blink. “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m trying to find August without using a phone,” I said. “I thought you might be willing to pass him a message for me.”

  “Are you allergic to phones?”

  “No.”

  “I hear they might cause brain cancer.” Ollie was happiest when worrying. “He’s out front and he’s had a bit much.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “Yes, although there’s a good-looking lady eyeing him up four stools down.”

  “I am not one to interfere with the course of true love but do you think you could get him back here to talk to me without anyone knowing?”

  “Why should I do you a favor, Sam? After how you treated me?”

  “Ollie, do you want to retire?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will buy this bar from you when you retire. You don’t have to worry about that, I’ll pay a more than fair price.”

  He blinked. “Quit your joshing.”

  “How many guys would come back and make stealing a gun right?”

  “Not many, but could I get that in writing?”

  “Like the IOU I was good for?”

  “Yep.”

  I tore a label off a case of Newcastle Brown Ale and wrote on the back:
I promise to buy Ollie’s Bar at a fair price when he’s ready to retire. Samuel Clemens Capra.

  “That’s your full name? You poor kid.” Ollie inspected my handwriting for legibility and legal loopholes. “Huh. I thought your answer would be because I’m a nice guy.”

  “Well, that too.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell him I need him to help me move a beer keg. He’s drunk enough it might work.”

  “Thank you, Ollie.”

  Two minutes later August came into the backroom. “Oh, hell,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  He regarded me with a shake of his head and sat down on a stack of cases of Heineken. “What the hell are you thinking? Well, taking you in with a broken arm should be easier.”

  “You’re not taking me in. We’re not going to fight. We have to figure out a way to work together. Are you okay? I’m sorry I hit you.”

  “I had to have three stitches.” He pointed at the back of his head. “The Kumbaya approach is a little late, Sam. You cost me my job today.”

  I let ten seconds tick away. I couldn’t tell if he was furious or numb. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, that happens when you are supposed to pick up an untrained asset, who tells you to lose your tails because he’s hacked the camera system following you, and you and your team can’t subdue one ex-agent and you lose your asset.” His voice rose in anger. “I’m sorry. I know you are doing this for your kid but, hell, you can’t do this, Sam. You’re in my custody.”

  “August. If you want your job back listen to me.”

  “I think bringing you in will get me my job back.”

  “It won’t. Because something inside Special Projects is broken, and you know it.”

  August frowned at me.

  “You know Special Projects has been compromised. Either you have a mole, or your communications or networks are being monitored.”

  “We’ve found nothing.”

  “Jack Ming, in his old New York hacker days, his specialty was getting computer systems, as in copiers, to send him information secretly. Tiny little sneaky bits of code that hide in other programs and harvest him what he needs. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he wrote for Nine Suns, and they’ve been using these software spies to extort and control people in key positions in business and in government.”