Текст книги "Revolution"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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The driver stopped in front of the house. Locusta got out, taking his briefcase with him. A man in a heavy overcoat watched him from the front steps. He was a bodyguard, though his weapon was concealed under his coat. In accordance with Voda’s wishes, only the president’s personal security team was stationed at the house. Locusta had a company of men a half mile down the road, ready to respond in an emergency.

Or not, as the case might be.

“The president is waiting in the den,” said Paul Sergi, meeting the general outside the door of the house.

“Very good,” said Locusta, ignoring the aide’s arrogant tone. Sergi, Voda’s chief assistant and secretary, had never gotten along with anyone in the military.

Inside the house, Locusta turned to the left instead of the right. As he corrected his mistake, he caught a glimpse of REVOLUTION

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Voda’s son, Julian, constructing some sort of contraption out of a set of Lego blocks. The boy whipped it upward—obviously it was meant to be some sort of airplane or spaceship, for he made whooshing noises as he moved it through the air.

Locusta smiled at the boy, then felt his conscience twinge.

He hadn’t realized the child would be here.

It was a brief twinge. These were the fortunes of war.

Sergi knocked on the study door, then pushed it open. The president was working at his desk, his wife standing next to him. Locusta gave her a feigned smile—he would have no qualms about her death; her record as an antipatriot was very clear.

“General, thank you for coming,” said Voda, rising. He glanced at his wife as he extended his hand to shake.

“I’ll leave you men to talk,” said Mircea. She gave Locusta a patently phony smile as she left.

Voda sat in one of the chairs at the side, gesturing for Locusta to take the other. The seat was old, its leather well worn, but it was very comfortable.

“What do we have?” said Voda.

“As I said last night, the American agent has given us a general area, and promises precise locations once we are ready to strike,” said Locusta. He opened his briefcase and took out a map. “I believe the information will be good, but of course it is a matter of trust. If we trust the Americans.”

“Do you?”

“The agent seems knowledgeable. So far the Americans have been helpful. In these matters, there is always the possibility of error. We do have to accept that.”

“Yes,” said Voda.

He looked at the map. Locusta’s staff had highlighted about a dozen possible areas, all about fifty miles from the border. The plans to attack were general, and had they not fit so well with Locusta’s real goal, he would have demanded wholesale revisions.

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“We will compensate for the uncertainty by adding force,”

said Locusta. “I have commandeered every available helicopter.”

That did not amount to much—there was a total of thirty-two at last count. A good portion of the force would have to sneak in by truck.

Voda put down the map. “I have been speaking to the American ambassador this morning,” he said. “He indicated they would have no problem with our going over the border against these targets. He also warned again of secret Russian involvement, and mentioned the incident with the plane.”

“Will they send their aircraft over the border?”

Voda shook his head.

“They are not afraid to risk our lives,” said Locusta, “but not their own. Very brave of them.”

“Why would the Russians fire at the Americans, then blow up their missiles?” asked Voda.

“Because they are children.” Locusta shrugged. “With airmen, it is a strange thing, Mr. President.” He got up, anxious to work off some of his energy. “Fighting, for them is very … theoretical, I guess we would say. They almost see it as a game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“Very true. But they must display their feathers, like a prize rooster. They want to convince the Americans they are not afraid.”

“Will they attack us?”

“No,” said Locusta quickly. He had not considered that possibility.

“If Russian commandos were responsible for the attack on the pipeline, then perhaps they will be at the camps when we attack.”

Ah, so that was where this was going. Voda was looking for a reason to call off the attack.

“Who said the Russians attacked the pipeline?” asked Locusta.

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“The ambassador suggested it was a possibility.”

Locusta made a face. “Absurd. If the Russians had attacked, we would not have been able to repair it so quickly.”

Voda nodded. Everyone believed in the invincibility of the Russian army, notwithstanding evidence to the contrary, like Afghanistan and Chechnya.

“The Russians—and the Americans as well—act like children. The top commanders cannot keep control of their men. That is the problem with too much democracy,” Locusta added. “There is a lack of discipline even where it should be steel.”

Voda looked at the plans. Even if he did not approve them, Locusta would move against him. But the general preferred to strike this blow against the guerrillas now, just before the coup. Not only would it set them back for weeks, if not months, but he could easily disavow it if there were too many diplomatic repercussions.

“How many civilian casualties will there be?” asked Voda.

“We can’t worry about that.”

“There will be casualties.”

“Every precaution will be taken.”

“Proceed,” said Voda.

“Thank you. I will return when the mission is complete, and deliver my report in person. Assuming you will still be here.”

“Yes. We’ll be here for a few days. Mircea loves the mountains. And so do I. The pace is quieter.”

Locusta smiled. He knew that once here, the president would be reluctant to leave.

“Will you stay for lunch?” asked Voda. “It should be ready by now.”

The invitation took Locusta by surprise, and for a moment he was actually touched.

It was a very brief moment.

“I’m afraid that there are details to be seen to,” Locusta said. “With regrets.”

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“Another time,” said Voda. He extended his hand. “Good luck.”

“We will eliminate the criminals,” replied the general. “I will return before dawn.”

Iasi Airfield, Romania

1521

THE FLIGHT FROM DREAMLAND TO ROMANIA WAS UNEVENT-ful, but Samson still felt drained as he came down the B-1B/L’s ladder.

Too bad, he thought. There were a million things to do.

“Ready for some chow, General?” asked Breanna Stockard, coming down the ladder behind him.

“Microwaved hash wasn’t good enough for you?”

Breanna made a face. Among Boomer’s newfangled amenities was a microwave oven and a refrigerator. Samson had liked the hash, though clearly his copilot hadn’t.

“Back in my day, Ms. Stockard, we would have killed for a hot meal in the cockpit.”

Breanna made another face. “This is your day, General.”

Damn, I like that woman, he thought as he headed toward the Dreamland Command trailer.

Bacau, Romania

1540

DOG NODDED AT STONER AS HE WALKED INTO THE CONference room at the Romanian Second Army Corps headquarters. The CIA officer stood with his arms folded, watching as two of Locusta’s colonels took turns jabbing their fingers at a map spread over the table at the front of the room. They were debating some point or other about the mission.

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“Colonel, would you like some tea?” asked a lieutenant in English.

“Coffee, maybe.”

“Very good.”

Dog edged toward Stoner. Nearly three dozen officers were crowded into the room. Dog remembered a few from the other day, but it was difficult to put names with faces.

“Danny’s all right,” Dog told Stoner. He’d spoken to the captain just before leaving to come to the meeting.

Stoner nodded.

“You sure you’re going to get the truth?” Dog asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

GENERAL LOCUSTA PUSHED THE DOOR OF HIS STAFF CAR

open as it pulled in front of the building, springing out before the car stopped. He was ready to do battle—not just against the criminals and murderers, but against the political regime that made it possible for the criminals and thieves to thrive.

Everything was in motion.

He hadn’t felt this sort of energy since he was a very young man. The day seemed more vivid, the air crackling. Even the building had a glow to it.

The guards snapped to attention. Locusta smiled at them—there was no suppressing the grin he felt.

“Gentlemen, today is an historic day,” he said as he entered the meeting room. His officers stepped back to clear his path as he continued toward the front, speaking as he went. “Tonight we will strike the criminals where they live. I expect nothing less than a full victory. We must be bold, we must be swift, and we must be resolute.”

The general turned the meeting over to Colonel Brasov, who would have charge of the mission. Brasov, nodding at the American CIA officer, said the attack area had been narrowed to two ten-mile swatches fifty-seven miles from the border. Each camp was small, housing from one hundred to three hundred guerrillas.

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Brasov’s attack plan called for strikes by six companies on each hideout, giving them at worst a two-to-one advantage against the rebels. They would be ferried across the border in helicopters that had come up from southern Romania earlier that day, and in trucks that would cross into Moldava between two border stations to lessen the chance of detection.

There would be no direct air support, but the Americans would be able to use their sensors to monitor the attack areas from Romanian territory.

Locusta watched the hollow-eyed CIA officer as Colonel Brasov spoke. Stoner stared as if his face were rock, betraying no emotion; not fatigue, not excitement, not boredom.

Locusta thought it was possible that he was being used and the troops would find no guerrilla hideout. Possibly they would even be ambushed, though Brasov’s preparations were designed to meet that possibility and turn the tables on the guerrillas if it occurred.

Whatever happened, thought Locusta, the path was set. By this time tomorrow he would control Romania.

STONER STUDIED THE TOPO MAP, EXAMINING THE AREAS

where Sorina Viorica had said the attacks should be concentrated. He could make a pretty good guess where the camps were within those squares, and suspected that Brasov had as well. One was centered around a mine abandoned sometime in the 1920s. The other, less obvious, was a farm isolated from the nearby settlements.

“Did you want to add anything, Mr. Stoner?” asked Colonel Brasov.

“You were very thorough. There should be evidence of Russian involvement at these camps. There may even be a few Russian agents or soldiers,” added Stoner. “So I would be prepared. Very, very prepared.”

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Dreamland Command Trailer,

Iasi, Romania

1700

GENERAL SAMSON HAD ARRIVED BY THE TIME DOG REturned to Iasi. He’d told Dog he was coming, of course, and Dog tried hard not to interpret Samson’s arrival as yet the latest example of his distrust.

It was hard, though.

“So, what are the Romanians doing?” Samson asked without other preliminaries when Dog reported to him at the Command trailer.

Dog outlined the overall Romanian plan as well as their role in it. The EB-52s would give advance warning of any large troop movements without going over the border, though of course real-time video from the Flighthawks would be impossible.

“You think they’ll pull it off?” Samson asked.

“If they can handle the logistics side. They only have about thirty helicopters, and they’re fairly old. The problem will be getting enough men in the field quickly.”

“I’d feel better if we could go over the border and support them directly,” said the general.

Samson’s remark caught Dog by surprise. “I agree with you, General. Maybe we should make that point to Washington.”

Samson seemed to consider it, but then reverted to his career officer mentality, anxious to protect his stars. “No.

We’ll carry on as is. I’ve brought two B-1B/Ls with me.”

“Yes, sir, you explained that.”

“They can get into the mix as soon as it’s appropriate.

We’ll fly them in tandem with a Megafortress. If you think that’s a good idea.”

Now Dog was really surprised. Was Samson asking for his opinion?

“They may be useful,” said Dog. “Depending on the circumstances. If they were able to pinpoint a target on the ground—”

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“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” said Samson. “I want to see if these fancy lasers are really as good as they’re advertised.”

“If we were supporting the Romanians, they’d have a real role,” suggested Dog, taking one more shot at encouraging the general to argue with Washington about the absurd restriction in their orders.

“No. No. That will come in time,” said Samson. “I’m sure there will be plenty of changes in the future.”

Aboard Dreamland Osprey,

above the Black Sea

1900

THE SUN HAD ALREADY SET BY THE TIME THE OSPREY NEARED

its rendezvous north of the Bosporus Strait at the southern edge of the Black Sea. The Bosporus was like a funnel, sending a never-ending flow of ships down from the lake, past Istanbul on their way to the Sea of Marmara, and from there to the Mediterranean, the Suez, the Atlantic.

Ideally, Stoner would have found an American warship for Danny and his “companion” to transfer to, but the U.S. Navy rarely found it necessary to enter the Black Sea, and no ship could be diverted in time. Instead, the CIA had arranged for Danny, Boston, and Sorina Viorica to be disembarked on a tanker sailing south toward Istanbul; they’d ride south and slip off near the city.

“That’s our ship there, Captain,” said the Osprey copilot, pointing toward a small collection of dim lights in the distance. “We’ll be over her in a minute.”

“Thanks.”

Danny turned to Boston and motioned with his head.

Sorina was sitting in the middle of the bench on the starboard side of the aircraft. She was so light her body barely made an impression in the stretched fabric sling that formed the seat.

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“We’ll be going down,” Danny told her. “Can you fast-rope?”

He pointed to the side. Besides the rear ramp, the Dreamland Osprey had a side door that slid open like a traditional rescue helicopter, allowing a boom to be swung out so passengers or cargo could be lowered.

“Rope?” asked Sorina Viorica.

“Can you slide down the rope to the ship, or should we lower you by harness?”

Sorina looked dubious.

“It’s all right. We’ll winch you down,” said Danny. He had to yell to make himself heard over the engines, which roared loudly as the aircraft settled into hover mode. “We’ll put you in a sling. Boston, you hear me? We’ll get her in a sling.”

“That’s what I figured you’d want to do, Cap.”

Danny got a harness for her and held it out. Sorina didn’t look scared, exactly, but clearly she didn’t like the idea.

“It’s either this or we fly into the airport,” said Danny. “We can do that.”

She’d already vetoed that idea. Still, she made a face as she pulled the safety harness on. The harness provided more protection than a standard sling.

Meanwhile, the flight engineer—the only crewman on the flight besides the two pilots—came back and punched the automatic door opener. A red light came on and the door began sliding toward the rear of the aircraft. Wind swirled through the cabin.

“You going first or last, Cap?” asked Boston. Like Danny, he was dressed in civilian clothes: jeans, a heavy sweater, and a dark down vest.

“I go first. Then send Sorina. You come down behind her.”

“Gotcha.”

“Wait till I make sure everything’s kosher.”

Though the ship had only its normal navigational lights on, it stood out clearly against the darkness of the sea. A small 282

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flashlight began blinking on the forward deck near the bow.

The Osprey dipped slightly to the left, then corrected, leveling itself about twenty feet from the deck, moving sideways to keep pace with the ship.

Twenty feet wasn’t much for an aircraft, but it was a long fall for a man. The Osprey tucked a few feet lower, nudging toward fifteen. Danny grabbed the rope, then pushed off, shifting his weight as he quickly dropped to the deck.

The dim yellow glow of the ship flashed around him; rather than falling, Danny felt as if the tanker was coming up to get him. He landed with both feet, picture perfect, though this was more a matter of luck than skill on the tanker’s rolling deck. He took a half step to his right, steadied himself, then spotted one of the crewmen coming toward him.

The man looked as if he had a gun in his hand. As Danny started to reach for the Beretta hidden below his vest, his eyes focused and he realized the man was only carrying a walkie-talkie.

Boston had already started lowering Sorina. The sling spun slowly as it descended, and though the journey wasn’t very long, Sorina looked dizzy when she stepped onto the deck. As soon as Danny released her from the harness, she slipped down, and needed the sailor’s help to get back to her feet. It was the first time since they’d met that she seemed vulnerable—or maybe not vulnerable, but at least human.

Boston shot down the line after her, bouncing away from the rope as easily as if he were doing a dance routine. He had a small rucksack with him; inside were two MP5 submachine guns in waterproof plastic sacks.

Not that they should need them. But …

The sailor led them back toward the superstructure of the ship, located near the stern. The first mate was waiting on the starboard side, in front of a closed door.

“You have to stay outside,” he told Danny. “The crew should not see.”

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the crew had seen the Osprey hanging over the bow—but he was in no position to argue. The mate led them along the railing to a coiled rope ladder.

“When the signal is given, you can descend,” the mate told him. “We will be two kilometers from Istanbul.” The mate was Indian, and between the wind, the engines, and the retreating Osprey, his words were difficult to understand.

“How long?” asked Danny.

“Thirty minutes. Sometimes there are patrols,” added the mate. “If this happens, you must get off the ship immediately.”

Boston shot him a look that said no way. With assorted adjectives.

“Not a problem,” Danny lied.

The mate left them, walking around the front of the superstructure, perhaps to emphasize that the door nearby was locked. Danny led the others toward the stern, stopping just aft of the superstructure in a darkened spot where he could see across to both sides of the channel.

“Why’d he say we had to jump?” Boston asked. “Are we being set up?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Danny.

“I don’t like this bullshit,” said Boston. “It’s cold, Cap.”

“Not too much I can do about the weather, Boston. Don’t tell me you haven’t had worse.”

“Oh, I’ve had worse.” He leaned on the rail. Sorina was standing a few feet away, gazing at the water. “I don’t trust her either, Cap. She’s got to be planning something.”

“Like what?”

“Something.”

They’d run a metal detector around her back at Iasi before boarding the Osprey; she didn’t have any weapons.

“Maybe she has second thoughts,” said Boston. “I would if were her. And third and fourth. She’s giving up her own people.”

“Boston, shut your mouth,” said Danny.

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“Just sayin’ the truth, Cap.”

Danny walked over to Sorina Viorica. She’d raised the direction of her stare somewhat, and was now gazing at the dark outline of shore as the ship entered the channel.

There was a small Turkish warship tied up near the cliff; from this distance, it looked as if everyone aboard were asleep.

“You ready to talk?” Danny asked.

“At the train station.” Sorina continued to stare at the opposite bank.

“It’s going to take a while. Why don’t we just get it over with?”

“So you can arrest me?”

She flung her head around. Her eyes shone with fierce anger.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Danny said. “I’m going to let you go. That’s the deal. You tell me where the targets are, I put you on the train.”

“I put myself on the train.”

“However you want to do it.”

She turned back to the water.

The ship had been alone on the Black Sea, but once in the strait, company was plentiful. Several ships sat just outside the navigation channel, stopped for one reason or another. A large, well-lit ferry was just pulling out from a town on the eastern side of the passage. It had obviously been rented for a party, and the sound of music wafted across the water. Danny watched the passengers dance in what seemed like slow motion, their world a million miles from his.

“Another navy ship over there, Cap,” said Boston. “Moving.”

Danny looked at the eastern shore to their south, following the sergeant’s finger. A 150-foot patrol craft was moving out from the shadows, curving in their direction. A 72mm gun turret dominated the front deck.

“Think the Romanians sold us out?” asked Boston.

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“They don’t know where we are.”

Danny looked toward the western shore. It was under a mile away. Both he and Boston could swim that distance, but maybe not Sorina.

And the water would be very, very cold.

“Worse case, that’s a life raft up there,” said Boston, pointing to a rigid-sided inflatable raft lashed to the side of the superstructure a deck above them. “Or should we take that thing there?”

“That thing” was a lifeboat, which would have to be swung out on its davits. The raft would be easier and less noticeable.

Damn, Danny thought.

Damn. Who the hell gave us away?

A searchlight from the patrol boat cut across the waves, heading toward the hull of the tanker. Danny motioned for the others to move behind the superstructure, where they couldn’t be seen. He kept his post, watching the searchlight move in a slow arc back and forth across the water, cursing to himself and considering his next move.

He’d use the tanker as a shield. Would the patrol boat come up alongside? Or would it put down its own boats to board them?

Not very long ago he had worked with a Navy boarding team. Danny tried to remember their procedures. They’d used only one boat, but they had air support to watch in case anyone tried to run away.

The patrol boat continued toward them, its search beam growing stronger. There must be a place to hide inside the ship, he thought. But what sense would that make if the crew was ready to give them up?

Sorina stood near the rail, her expression as stoic as ever.

“How well do you swim?” Danny asked her.

She shook her head.

“You understand the words?”

“I understand,” she told him. “I cannot swim.”

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The searchlight arced upward, sweeping the bow and then the superstructure.

“All right, get the raft,” Danny told Boston. “See if there’s some sort of rope with it, something we can use to lower her.”

“This is part of your plan?” asked Sorina.

“We’re ad-libbing.”

Boston climbed up over the catwalk above them, examining the raft and how it was held to the ship.

“Don’t throw it over yet,” Danny told him. “Wait until I tell you.”

He trotted aft, planning—once the patrol boat closed in, it would be harder to see them going over.

The boat’s searchlight caught the corner of his eye as he cleared the end of the superstructure. It seemed brighter than any light he’d ever seen, a star exploding in his face.

The searchlight swung upward. Danny thought for a moment that it had somehow caught Boston working on the raft, but of course he was out of view. The light moved to the north, toward another ship.

The patrol boat was headed toward that ship, not theirs.

Danny watched for another minute, making sure.

“All right. We don’t need the raft,” he yelled to Boston.

“Not yet, anyway.”

THE TANKER MOVED MORE SLOWLY THAN THE MATE HAD

predicted, and it was nearly an hour before they got close enough to the city to see its lights. The Blue Mosque sat on a hill at the tip of the oldest quarter, glowing yellow in the distance, spotlights illuminating its dome and minarets.

A long string of ships sat in the water to the east of the mosque, some resting before moving northward or to the west, others waiting to unload cargo at the docks, which were out of sight beyond the jutting land. A train poked along the shore, heading in the direction of the sultan’s palace and the ruins beyond, ferrying workers to their late night jobs and returning others home.

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The Indian mate appeared from inside the ship, popping out on deck as if sprung there.

“Time,” he said loudly. “Time. You must go.”

Boston climbed up and undid the raft, lowering it from a pulley set on the stanchion.

“You are taking our raft?” asked the mate.

“You didn’t expect us to swim, did you?” asked Boston.

“Our raft.”

Danny stepped over to the mate. “Is this a problem?”

“Yes.”

“How much?” said Danny.

“Big.”

“That wasn’t what I mean.” He reached into his pocket and took out a roll of American bills. Quickly, he peeled off five hundred dollar bills and gave them to the mate. “That makes it a small problem, right?”

The man looked embarrassed. “No, big problem. You cannot have the raft. It belongs to the ship. Big trouble if you take it.”

The mate tried to give the money back but Danny wouldn’t take it. Finally he dropped the bills and they scattered over the deck.

Boston had already gotten the raft into the water. Sorina Viorica was standing nearby, watching the bills flutter away in the wind but saying nothing.

“No—you cannot. No.”

“I’m taking the raft,” Danny told him.

The mate shook his head.

Enough, thought Danny. He pulled out his pistol.

The Indian moved back, shocked.

“I’m sorry, but I’m taking the raft,” Danny told him. “There is no F-ing way we’re swimming. Sorina, Boston—go.”

The Romanian took hold of one of the ropes and climbed over the rail. Boston followed. The Indian mate continued to stare at Danny, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Thanks for your help,” Danny told him, reaching over and grabbing the line. “We appreciate it.”

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He tucked the pistol into his belt and started down. He hadn’t had a chance to put his gloves back on, and the wet rope cut into his palms. After a few feet he considered dropping but stuck with it, hands burning. He felt a hand on his leg and lowered himself into the raft, which bobbed beneath his weight but remained afloat.

“Did you shoot him?” asked Sorina as Danny settled in.

“No, I didn’t shoot him.”

“You cannot corrupt everyone,” she told him.

“I didn’t want to corrupt him. I just didn’t want you to freeze to death in the water.”

Boston started the small outboard at the stern of the raft.

The high-pitched sound was so loud, the sides of Danny’s head began to vibrate.

Istanbul straddled the Bosporus, its eastern and western precincts connected by bridges and ferries. The train station where they were headed was on the eastern bank.

Boston circled to the north, crossing behind the tanker and then heading toward the shore. But as they approached, blue lights appeared on the highway above the water. A police car flashed southward. A moment later another one came north, then pulled off the road almost directly opposite them.

Boston cut the engine. “What do you think, Cap?”

It was unlikely that they were waiting for them, but Danny didn’t want to take any chances.

“Let’s land on the other side,” he said.

“You got it, Cap.”

Boston spun the boat around, starting out slowly and then picking up speed. A large cruise ship sat docked to the north on Danny’s right as they came across, its deck and cabins a yellow glow against the pale black of the night.

“Bring it into that marina?” Boston asked, leaning forward and shouting in Danny’s ear.

“No. Somebody might be watching in there. Go up the shoreline a bit, to my right. That way.” Danny pointed.

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“Probably have some sort of security near that cruise ship.”

“Don’t get that close. The marina will probably have somebody there too. We want to be in the middle.”

Boston found a clump of rocks near what looked like an abandoned field, but that Danny realized was a park when they were about five yards from shore. Despite the cold, a pair of teenage lovers huddled together on one of the benches, oblivious not only to the boat but to the rest of the world.

Sorina hopped out as the raft began to slide sideways back toward the water. Danny jumped out behind her, trotting forward and grabbing her arm.

“I’m not running away,” she said. Though she kept her voice soft, she managed to make it sound like a hawk’s warning hiss.

“I didn’t think you were,” Danny told her.

“You don’t have to lie, Captain. It doesn’t suit you.”

Boston, ruck over his back, joined them. By now the two teenagers had broken their embrace and stared at them as they walked past.

“We have to get across,” said Danny. “There’s a bridge this way.”

They began walking, Sorina and Danny in the lead, Boston trailing nonchalantly, the pack over his shoulder.

The area mixed small apartment buildings with clusters of commercial buildings in between. They picked their way uphill, following a side street that veered away from their destination, then found themselves in a tangle of streets that were so narrow they would barely rate as alleys back home.

A taxi passed on the boulevard just as they reached it.

Danny started to hail it, then remembered he hadn’t gotten any local money yet. It was too late anyway—the driver was already past.

“This way,” he said, pointing to the left.

He checked his watch. It was 2105—five minutes past nine.

They were supposed to call at 2130.

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A block later he spotted a bank. Stoner had given him a credit card to use for a cash advance or whatever incidentals he needed; Danny slipped his hand into his pocket to make sure it was still there.

“Let’s see if there’s an ATM,” he told the others, nudging Sorina toward the street.

Sorina hesitated.

“They have cameras in the machines,” she said. “I don’t want to get close.”

“Right.” He hadn’t thought of that. “You stay here with Boston.”

Inside the bank’s vestibule, he slid the card into the machine and began punching the PIN number. Just as he hit Enter he realized he’d used his PIN, not the one Stoner had given him. He cursed himself, then waited for the machine to tell him he had made a mistake.

The screen stayed blank. It seemed to have eaten his card.