Betrayal

Chapter 33

The difference between Washington and Zurich was striking, although the weather was largely the same — cold, with snow threatening. Customs was straightforward with no search of her bags, the diplomatic passport working its little miracle again in a town where the officers were accustomed to diplomats arriving by private jet at all hours of the day or night. The experience at the cab line was completely different, though, having to stand in line in the wind chill for ten minutes, and when she told the driver to take her to the Four Seasons, he practically sneered at her.

The hotel was gorgeous, the service impeccable, and the room nosebleed expensive, but she’d decided that it was better to hide right out in the open than skulking around in motels — especially with the payload she was carrying.

Once she was settled, she went downstairs to the business center and booked a rental car online, and then took a cab to the rental yard to collect the keys to her new Ford Focus. First stop was Walmart, where she chose four disposable phones, and then a superstore where she selected a laptop computer, paying cash. She went to an internet cafe and activated all four of the phones and then placed a call on the first to Matt’s satellite phone, which just rang unanswered.

They’d agreed that she should try him every three hours at thirty minutes past, Pacific Time, so she resolved to call later.

She’d thought about both Matt and Lawan a lot on the flight over, forging their way through the jungle while she was flying on a lavish private jet, and had sent a silent prayer that they would get to their destination safely.

A web search showed a list of gun shows taking place over the next few days in nearby Virginia, and a cursory perusal of the laws told her that she could buy whatever she needed, within reason, without a permit or any kind of background check. That would save her the trouble of having to source weapons on the street. There was one at the fairgrounds the following day in Richmond, Virginia, a hundred miles south. She calculated it would take two hours to drive there — perfect — far enough away so that she’d never be remembered if any questions were ever asked.

Evening came without her reaching Matt. She called his phone every three hours at the appointed time, but he never picked up, and by ten, she decided to call it a night and resume her efforts in the morning.

“I’ve only fired it maybe twenty times,” the heavyset man assured Jet, beaming a boozy smile, beer on his breath. “A nice ladies gun.” He pronounced ladies: ladeeeeees.

Jet hefted the Beretta and then regarded the owner; an orange T-shirt with a silhouette of a man shooting a pistol strained in vain to contain his substantial belly.

The gun appeared brand new, and experience had taught her that Berettas could take a substantial amount of abuse and still perform. She cocked the slide and peered down the barrel. It had a thin film of oil and looked unused.

“Kind of pricey for a used one, don’t you think?”

“Not hardly. That gun’s a winner. One of the most popular in the world.”

“Really.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. But, tell you what. Seeing as you’re interested and you seem to know your way around a weapon, I’ll knock twenty-five bucks off, assuming it’s cash.”

She considered the proposition.

“I had my heart set on getting a spare clip or two as well. You know anyone selling those?”

“Seem to recall old Clovis over on the end of this row had a few. He’s a character, but he knows his stuff. Might want to look there.”

“All right. I’ll take it. Where can I get some ammo for it?”

“’Bout a million sporting goods places in town. Should be able to get a box of shells.”

“Shame you don’t have any. That would be a lot more convenient.” Jet winked as she pulled a small wad of hundreds out of her pocket. The seller almost salivated when he saw the money and rubbed the stubble on his face with a grimy hand.

“Didn’t say I don’t have any shells, did I? Got a carton out in my truck.”

“Want to meet me out there in fifteen minutes? In the meantime, I’ll go see if I can find another clip.”

“Sure thing, little lady. I’ll see if one of these trailer trash will watch my gear for a few minutes. Hey, Marty!” he bellowed, and an old man wearing a battered Hooters baseball cap looked over at him. “Gotta hit the can in a few. You watch my stuff?”

“Lemme know when. Won’t be hardly any stealing going on while you’re gone.”

Both men had a good laugh, and then she handed him the money.

“I’m supposed to check your driver’s license, but for another fifty I could sorta skip that part.”

“You drive a hard bargain. How about fifty including the bullets?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll give you the money when you give me the shells.”

“Seems the right way to do it,” he agreed. “I’ll meet up with you out by the bathrooms in fifteen, okay?”

“I’ll be looking for you.”

Clovis had one extra clip as well as a shoulder holster for the Beretta, and a quick turn around the booths located one more — more than sufficient for her purposes. She slipped everything into her purse and then went out to meet her new admirer.

He was waiting by the bathrooms, as promised, and she proffered a smile as she approached him. He had a plastic bag with a box in it in one hand and a beer in the other. She took the bag from him and peered inside, then slipped him the fifty and moved off, his eyes burning holes through the back of her jeans as she walked to her car. She fished her cell out of her pocket as she unlocked the door and dialed Matt’s number again, and was surprised when he picked up. He sounded exhausted and got straight to the point.

“My contact couldn’t find anything obvious on likely sites for your daughter, but was able to discover Arthur’s home address. You got a pen?”

“I’ll remember it.”

He rattled off the address, and she repeated it back to him.

“If my contact doesn’t find out anything more in the next twenty-four hours, you should plan to do this the hard way. And she’s working on the other two who run the show with him. Hopefully, she’ll have those soon as well. Oh, and before I forget, she was able to arrange to get you the chemical breakdown of the drugs you asked for. She’ll leave it at a dead drop we arranged.” He recited the location and details of the drop.

“Okay. Got it. I’ll swing by now. I’ll call you again at this time tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine. We made it to one of my camps okay. No drama. Lawan says she misses you. I’m hiring a woman to help out with her and recruiting some new guards from the local warlord. Everything fine on your end?”

“Never better.”

“Good luck with the drug manufacturing.”

“Thanks. Talk tomorrow.” The line went dead.

Now she knew where Arthur lived.

Which was probably his worst nightmare come true. If not, it soon would be.

Her next stop was at a hardware store, where she bought a vise, a padlock and some welding gear, and then a machine shop supply store where she paid cash for several pieces of specialized machinery and sundry odds and ends that she loaded into the trunk, along with a collapsible work bench. When she was within an hour of Washington, she pulled over at a monthly storage facility and rented their biggest stall for six months, and then unloaded her gear into the unit and locked it. She would be back tomorrow to start her project — it would take a day, two on the outside.

Jet drove to the drop — an office supply superstore — and retrieved the single page document that had been left for Elyse. On it were two strings of chemical sequences only a chemist would be able to make sense out of, and a name and address. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting with the director of R amp;D for the company — a pharmaceutical manufacturer. She passed the slip of paper to him and waited for a price.

He seemed agitated, but after a number of admonitions about how difficult it would be to synthesize the drug, he named a number. Six figures. She agreed to it without hesitation, and he assured her that he could have it ready within two days. They shook hands, and when she promised to have him half the money within the hour, his demeanor relaxed. He would probably blend the cocktail himself that night, she figured, and wake up tomorrow a hundred grand richer.

She hummed along with the radio as she drove back to the city, tapping her fingers with the beat, and realized that her spirits were better than they had been for some time. She was finally doing something, preparing for the encounter that would get her daughter back and rid the world of a dangerous parasite.

Now it was just a matter of time.