Reamde

“This morning I was in the Vancouver airport, on my way to Prince George to go looking for Abdallah Jones, when I was made aware that your friend’s house had been placed under surveillance.”

“Because stupid idiot went to apartment of Peter and was seen on video camera.”

“Exactly. And then I was made aware that someone named Sokolov had just made a surprise visit.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. I felt a bit responsible.”

He turned his head to look at her; she kept her eyes dutifully on the road. “How responsible?” he asked.

“The video files were encrypted, you see. No one could open them. Then, because of some things I did this morning, the encryption key was found.”

“Found where?”

“In Peter’s wallet.”

“Peter is dead though?”

“Yes, Peter is dead. Turns out Ivanov shot him in Xiamen. Then Jones shot Ivanov and ran off with Zula.”

“So where is wallet of Peter?”

“Csongor took it to Manila.”

“Csongor is in Manila!?”

“As of a few hours ago, yes, he should be. Along with Yuxia and Marlon.”

“Who is Marlon?”

“The hacker who created the virus.”

A bit of silent driving, now, as Sokolov took all of this in.

“Anyway,” Olivia continued, when Sokolov’s body language suggested he was ready to hear more, “I sort of got everyone talking to one another. Dodge supplied the video file—”

“Dodge?”

“Richard Forthrast.”

“Rich uncle of Zula.”

“I hadn’t pegged you for a T’Rain fan.”

“I read about her in newspapers, magazines, this morning at bookstore. I am not surprised that a man of this type would have obtained video file. So. He supplied file, Csongor supplied key…”

“And then lots of cops and spies were looking at video of Igor stealing that.” Olivia gave her head a little toss, indicating the rifle case in the backseat. “Why did you bring it, by the way?”

“I shoot moose. We have barbecue.”

“I would love to have a moose barbecue with you. But we should probably be figuring out our next move.”

“Our? We are together? Partners?” Sokolov’s tone was rough and skeptical.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

Her phone went off. She answered it and spent the next couple of minutes getting an earful from someone on the other end of the line. “All right,” she finally said, “I’ll check in with you when I’m north of the border.” She hung up and handed the device to Sokolov. “Could you destroy that for me?”

“With pleasure.” Sokolov began by figuring out how to eject the battery. In case it had some residual power source, he then laid it out on the dashboard, drew out his Makarov, verified that it was in a safe condition, and raised its butt like a hammer.

“Belay that,” Olivia said. “I need to send one last message.”

Sokolov set the Makarov down on the floor between his feet and slid the battery back into its socket.

Olivia was navigating an especially curvy part of the mountain pass, so she talked Sokolov through the process of getting the phone turned on and navigating its menus. “In ‘Recent Calls,’ you should see one, early this morning, to someone named Seamus.”

“Yes, I have it,” he said after a few moments.

“If you would be so good as to send a text to that number. ‘Blown and going dark.’ Something like that.”

Sokolov looked at her incredulously.

“Exactly like that,” she corrected herself.

Sokolov spent a few moments thumbing it out and sending it. Then he removed the battery again, placed the device on the dashboard, and picked up the Makarov. He looked at her.

“Go for it.”

The butt of the Makarov came down on the black plastic puck, producing a nice splintering noise. Sokolov hit it a few more times and then began to sift through the resultant debris, looking for anything that might possibly be still alive. “Someone mad at you?”

“My boss in London,” Olivia said, sounding a little tense. “People are talking.”

“You were seen at house of Igor?”

“No. But my presence in the States is a bit of an open secret. I’ve been collaborating with local FBI on the search for Zula and for Jones. They know the name I’m using—the name on my passport. This morning, after I heard that you had showed up at Igor’s house, I walked right across the concourse and got on the next plane for Seattle. It is a fifty-minute flight. I was there in no time. Walked out, grabbed a rental car, drove to Igor’s.”

“How did you know address of Igor?”

“I accessed a PDF of the court order using that.” She nodded at the wreckage of the phone, which Sokolov was now primly scooping into a litter bag. “As you know, Igor’s house is less than a kilometer from the airport. Elapsed time, from me getting the news in Vancouver to me showing up on the front stoop of Igor’s house, less than two hours.”

“Why?”

She gave him a look. “What do you mean, why?”

“Is crazy thing to do. Blowing the operation of the FBI.”

“They would have gotten everything. All the stuff that went down in that apartment—kidnapping, murder—it all would have come to light and you’d have spent the rest of your life in prison.”

“Maybe it will happen anyway,” Sokolov said, thinking of Vlad, cringing on the floor.