by Seeley James
“We saw twice that many today,” Pia said. “I’m not feeling good about the quality of information you’re giving us, Conor.”
“Well, I wasn’t counting them. He doesn’t bring them all in at once. Ten, fifteen maybe.”
“Where does he find them?”
“He was a NATO liaison for the last decade. He knows men all over the world, knows the ones that’ll bend his way. There’s plenty will work for what he’s paying. Latvians, Germans, Croats, Finns, Portugese, and more Filipinos than he could get rid of. Takes a couple from each country so they don’t gang up on him. Runs a ship off, sends ’em home. If they did well and he trusts them, he’ll call them back for the next one.”
“And the banker?”
Conor put his hands up as if he were blocking a punch. He said, “I wouldn’t know anything about that, ma’am. First thing I know, that twit Mustafa Ahmadi’s talking all over Limbe. Says after he does a favor for le Directeur he’s going to take over for Elgin Thomas. Like he had the brains to run the operation. He’s the one chopped the heads off them Malaysians. Just a cold-blooded killer, that one. Nothing more to him.”
“Mr. Wigan,” the Major said. “Pia said someone killed her friend. Then she said someone killed Clément Marot. Then she asked you about the banker. And you answered. If you’re just a poor working man from Limbe, how’d you know Clément Marot was a banker?”
Conor paled.
Pia leaned over the table and spoke quietly. “You can still redeem yourself, Conor. We need you to get le Directeur to meet you somewhere. How about the Kaffehandel?”
“You got it all wrong!” he said. “It’s Elgin who knows the guy. I can’t set up a meeting with him, don’t even have his number. Besides, he’d be bloody pissed to find out I know he exists.”
“He’s probably right,” Pia said. “I doubt Le Directeur would rely on a clown like this for anything important. We need to catch up with him and Conor can’t help us. Guess we give him the pills and turn him over.”
“Hold on,” the Major said. “I think he can tell us what Mustafa Ahmadi was bragging about when he was talking all over Limbe. Right, Conor?”
Conor’s gaze shifted to every corner of the room before settling back on Pia. “Yeah, yeah. He was bragging ’bout a snuff job. A banker. I put it together’s all.”
Pia rolled her hand: go on.
“Mustafa said le Director called him directly because Elgin was soft. Said he could get the job done. Said he was gonna show up Elgin and take over the operation after.”
“Were you surprised when he came back to Cameroon?” Pia asked.
“He’s gotta get paid, doesn’t he?”
“When’s payday?”
“Couple days out yet. Elgin’s meeting le Directeur tomorrow night.”
Pia said, “I just asked you to set up a meeting—”
The Major grabbed her arm. “OK, here’s the question that’ll get you into Swiss custody instead of Cameroon. Where is Elgin Thomas right now?”
“Hiding out until he can catch a plane to Vienna tomorrow, I’d imagine.”
“Where was he at nine this morning?”
“At sea, getting ready for the ambush.”
“And where was he yesterday?”
“Don’t know.”
The Major nodded toward the door and left. Pia followed her outside.
“So le Directeur is the one laundering the money in Geneva,” Pia said. “Elgin Thomas runs the pirate operation in Cameroon. Calixthe and Conor are what, lieutenants? Mustafa, al-Jabal, is bucking for promotion over Elgin. Do I have that right?”
“If he’s telling us the truth. Criminals are stupid. He knows he’s not bright enough to make up a whole lie covering everything, so most of what he told us is probably true. I’m guessing the only parts he altered were the ones he thought would save his skin. He’s a lot closer to the action than he claims.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Pia said. “Calixthe’s the brains. She led us to him in a way that would let her look like a hero no matter who won the fight. Should’ve brought her back with me. Anyway, we turn him over to the police and try to find Elgin Thomas. He’ll be heading to Vienna tomorrow or the day after. We can get him and maybe le Directeur.”
The Major nodded.
“But le Director will be harder to catch.” Pia paced the deck for ten steps, turned and came back. “Villeneuve should be ready to accept our offer to help by now. You and Miguel go to Geneva, watch the bankers. I’ll take Tania and find Kaffehandels in Vienna. If I don’t catch them both, you’ll at least know who’s missing from the banks in Geneva.”
The Major looked at her a long time. Then she said, “That’s a very good idea, Pia. If I take Miguel, that leaves you with Tania; you’re going to need more help. When the shooting starts, she’s the bravest. But she’s got a screw loose.”
Pia grinned.
The Major said, “OK, so you’re two peas in a pod. I’ll call our Berlin office, have them send a couple people. In the meantime, turn him over to the local police.”
“We just promised him a ride to Switzerland.”
“He’ll want us to turn him over here. I’m sure he set up a get-out-of-jail bribe in advance. He’ll be home before dawn. We put some trackers on him and we can find him if we need him.”
“Why would we want to see him again?”
Chapter 27
* * *
26-May, 6PM
Evening colored the city with dusty golds, cool blues, burnt orange. The day’s heat began to dissipate as Mt. Cameroon’s long shadow made its way down the slope into Limbe. Two tightly packed minivans cruised through the dirt streets, passing clapboard houses with corrugated tin roofs. Mud, splattered from passing cars, covered the lower third of every wall in sight. Some houses were whitewashed, some painted, a few had glass windows.
They arrived at the chartered plane and gathered around Ezra Goldstein’s coffin. Tania collapsed on the unfinished wooden box and wept. Major Jonelle Jackson stroked her back.
Everyone turned to Pia.
“A few words?” Miguel said.
The Major leaned close to her. “The ranking officer says a prayer or eulogy.”
Pia swallowed. A part of leadership she’d never given any thought. She straightened, looked at her agents, put a hand on the coffin and took a long deep breath.
“Ezra was a hero. The old-fashioned kind like Hercules and Theseus. The kind you see every day without knowing it. He was the kind of hero who when he saw wrong, tried to right it. When he saw suffering, tried to heal it. He told me when he went to war, he went to stop it. That’s what heroes do. We send Marty and Jacob home to bury him while the rest of us try to carry on in his place. We will carry Ezra’s heroism with us as our inspiration. We will find them, Ezra. We will bring down the conspirators and stop their war.”
Miguel said, “Amen,” and bumped his fist to the coffin.
The ground crew loaded the body in the hold while a bandaged Jacob limped up the airstair. Pia caught up with Marty, his arm in a sling, and walked him to the jet. He’d been in charge of her personal security team for three years. His wound was the slightest but she felt it the most.
“Oh, hey boss,” Marty said. “Can I have a day off? Just need a day to grow it back.”
He wiggled his sling. Pia smiled.
“Marty said, “Too bad they restrict women in combat roles because Tania would have cleared Kandahar all by herself. But she has a short attention span.”
“You think she lacks finesse?”
“That’s a nice way to put it.”
They walked a few steps in silence.
Pia said, “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Don’t blame yourself. We’re all adults and we signed up for this. You’re the CO, stand tall, keep your eye on the goal.” He stopped at the airstair and looked at her. “I remember one time you told your injured teammates ‘It hurts less if you win’. Well. Win it—bring those guys in and it’ll better for me than t
he best pain pill in the world.”
She gave him an awkward hug on his good side, then left.
Tania climbed into the minivan with her and they headed back into town. For a while Tania bounced up and down in her seat as if riding a pogo stick, humming. Then she stopped, dropped her head into her hands and cried. Pia reached out and patted her shoulder.
They disembarked at the convent next door to the cathedral. Both buildings dated from the late nineteenth century. The convent had twenty rooms but only four nuns lived there now, along with two high school girls who preferred the quiet to their dorm. Pia and Tania’s room had two beds, one against each wall on either side of the door, and a desk with a lamp and a chair. Above the desk was a window the size of a large book, above that a bare wooden cross. The whole place smelled fresh and clean, no mold or rot or mildew.
They did a security check of the grounds with the sexton. The convent had a central lobby where Bishop Mimboe had stationed a sleepy-looking guard. There was one entrance that led to the cathedral. Another more obscure doorway led to the school’s dining hall. Outside, three two-story buildings held classrooms. One had Sabel Hall written in stone above the door. Tania took a long slow look at it and whistled.
They ended the tour at the school’s entrance, a narrow passage between two of the buildings. A ten-foot wall surrounded the rest of the property.
Pia spotted two familiar figures across the street.
The boys from the beach.
She took off running. They saw her and sprinted around a corner. Tania followed as best she could. Pia rounded the corner only to run into a large mound of a man. She bounced off him and he bellowed in pidgin English. She landed on her butt and jack-knifed back to a standing position. As she did, the boys shot past her on a pale blue scooter. They turned on the main street and were gone. Tania caught up as the giant waddled over to Pia to scold her again.
“Step back, fat boy.” Tania drew a switchblade. “You heard me. That’s it. Back up, asshole. You know those boys?”
The man said, “Haba! Hear word! Yawa go gas—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Tania said. “Answer the question in regular English.”
Pia tugged Tania’s knife down, apologized to the fat man, turned Tania around and pushed her back toward the school. The big man yelled at them until they were around the corner.
Pia said, “If they’re here—”
“We’re in danger, yeah. But I don’t get it. Who’d hire those little meerkats? The pirates, or what’s left of them, would come themselves.”
“We should ask them again. Set a trap. If I stay out in the open tonight and they see me, can you catch them?”
“Might work.” Tania looked her over. “But the Major’s never going to go for it.”
Behind the school’s main buildings was a soccer field sculpted out of a hillside. The gentle slope above it formed natural bleachers. Four large lights on poles poured illumination onto the grass. People milled around the field, at one end of which a crowd of people danced to a native drum quartet. Others served themselves from a buffet table.
Pia and Tania stood in the school’s entrance. A low streetlight pushed their shadows far in front of them on the narrow walkway. Anyone coming through would be visible from anywhere on the field. They looked it over until they were satisfied.
“Let’s do it anyway,” Pia said. “You check this spot and I’ll stay out in the open. If they want to spy on me—or shoot at me—they have to come through here first.”
They joined the group and moved with the music, bouncing on their toes and swinging their hips. Tania kept an eye on the passageway between the buildings. Two slim boys could blend in easily if they made it past that point. So long as Tania kept sight of that passageway, they should be safe.
They filled banana leaf plates with Ndolé, a dish of stewed nuts, bitter leaves, fish, and prawns. They hiked partway up the hillside where they could see the school gate and passageway and sat to eat.
Bishop Mimboe, talking to a circle of people on the field, waved to them. They smiled and waved back.
“Thank you for saving my life,” Pia said. “I never thought I’d be that close to death, never. I’m glad you were there.”
“I saw you fall in, so I waited for you under the boats. Thought you’d come back up right away. Only you kept going down into the dark. I lost track of you, couldn’t see you anywhere and I panicked. I started swimming down, looking around. Had a helluva time finding you. When I did, I saw you struggling. Then you just stopped.” She shuddered. “No way was I going to lose you down there. It’s like Gimu, man.”
“Like what?”
“You know, Giri, On, Gimu, and Ninjo, the four corners of Japanese morality? No? OK, the Japanese have a code of loyalty and faith to those who help them in some way. It says that if you owe someone, like I owe you my life, you must be loyal until you can repay that debt of honor. So I had to save you.”
“OK, so now we’re even.”
“You saved me twice. I still owe you one.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t come up again anytime soon.”
They bumped fists and ate in silence for a long time.
Pia glanced at Tania and saw her struggling to hold back tears.
“Ezra was a good man,” Tania said. “I went clubbing with him sometimes. Got to know him a little. Hooked up, you know, when there was no one else.”
Pia put her arm around Tania’s shoulder. She said, “He told me soldiers figure they’re already dead.”
“Yeah, he told me that bullshit too.” Tania wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not me. I go into battle figuring three of them are already dead—I just have to pick out which ones.”
They chuckled nervously and watched the dancers for a while.
“How’d you end up in the Army?” Pia asked.
“My parents were divorced, living in small apartments in bad neighborhoods. Always struggling to stay afloat. My sister got into a gang, the Six Tre Folk Nation over in Flatbush. Seemed like someone beat her up or stabbed her every week. I didn’t want any of that, so I joined the Y, the swim team, anything to stay off the streets. When I graduated from high school, I had a choice. I could get shot in the head fighting to keep my country free or get shot in the head fighting to keep my ’hood safe. I figured if I died in the Army at least my mother would get a flag.”
Pia gave a little laugh. “Sorry, that just sounded funny.”
“Not funny then,” she said. “But I’m glad I can laugh now.”
The drums ended and the evening hushed around them. Everyone that came through the passageway moved straight into the crowd and seemed to have a school connection. No one unusual, nothing out of the ordinary.
The players took the field with much fanfare for the home team. The Anglican girls played well against their aggressive opponents, Yaoundé Catholic School. The Anglicans employed Pia’s favorite opening strategy: all players on defense, stripping the offensive drives and sending the ball deep into Catholic’s eighteen-yard box, then letting the Catholics bring it back, running themselves ragged. A solid defense. If the Anglicans were fit and strong, the strategy would pay off late in the second half.
A few minutes into the game, the Major and Agent Miguel walked up the slope. The Major scowled at the Castel Beer parked at Tania’s side and took a seat next to Pia. Agent Miguel kept watch near the field.
“The local police told me,” the Major said, “someone named Elgin Thomas is booked on the morning flight to Brussels. Since we don’t have any evidence he’s involved, they can’t do anything to stop him.”
“What time does the connecting flight land in Vienna?”
“No connecting flight. He could be doing planes, trains, and cars to keep us from tracking him.”
“He’s using a different alias to get to Austria.”
“If he’s going there,” the Major said. “Conor might have told us the truth, might not.”
“But it fits. Geneva
is an hour’s flight from Vienna. Easy for le Directeur to get back and forth without raising suspicions or being seen. I think Conor was telling the truth, it’s Vienna.”
“Everywhere in Europe is an hour’s flight.”
“Go to Geneva like we planned,” Pia said. “You can figure out who makes regular trips to Vienna and I’ll track him down. With what we’ve learned, Villeneuve will be dying to work with you.”
“I’d rather work with Alphonse,” the Major said.
“He’s going to meet me in Vienna.”
“What? Why?”
“I got a text from Alphonse earlier. Turns out Mme. Marot is an opera fan and spends a lot of time in Vienna.”
“Nine times out of ten the murderer is a family member—wait a second,” the Major said. “Have you been telling Alphonse about our operations?”
“We’ve been sharing information.”
The Major squeezed her eyes shut for a second. When she opened them she was glaring at Pia.
“Did you stop to think someone told al-Jabal—Mustafa—you were on that bridge? Did Alphonse know we were going to Lyon? How did Calixthe find out we were coming here?”
“No, or yes. I mean, no to Lyon, but … I don’t know. I might have told him about … you think?”
“Yes, I think it’s possible your boyfriend is trying to kill you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And he’d never do that! He’s … um.”
“Too handsome to lie to you? You’re thinking with your rosebud, not your head. He knew where you were every time, Pia. And so did Mustafa.”
Pia shook her head, and watched the game. After a while she said, “He doesn’t fit. What would he have to do with pirates and bankers? He spends his free time on ski patrol.”
“Have our people in DC check his background.”
“OK, but I still don’t think—”
“Doesn’t matter what you think. You don’t tell an outsider about our ideas, our plans, our travel. Nothing. The Cantonale is not our customer. We don’t owe Alphonse anything. Got that?”
Pia shook her head. “It’s not him. Can’t be.”
“Dammit, it could be. Don’t take risks with our lives. And you made plans to meet him in Vienna?”