Death Echo

13

DAY TWO

ROSARIO

11:34 A.M.

The vibration of a cell phone against his ribs woke Demidov from his doze. Without moving anything but his eyelids, he looked around. It was hard to see out through the smoked windows in the front of the van, and the rear door windows were even darker. Demidov approved. People had an even harder time looking in than he did looking out.

The parking lot had tourists and boat owners coming and going. At the moment, nobody was walking nearby.

Most important, Blackbird was still at the dock.

People were still busy ripping things out of the yacht and putting other things in. Binoculars had told him that everything being installed on the boat came from a legitimate commercial source.

The bug in Blue Water Marine Group’s office had told him the same thing. Even so, he’d checked every name on the boxes. His computer told him that each was a common supplier for Blue Water boats.

His ribs vibrated again.

Demidov reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone. Since only one man had this number, he knew who he would be talking to.

“Yes?” he said in quiet Russian.

“I need more time. Get it for me.”

“How much?”

“The boat can’t leave until after tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“Nothing of interest has been put on board yet,” Demidov said. “Even at night, when you would expect it. They have the ship lit up like a stage. It would take a fool or a very, very clever man to sneak by while anyone could be watching. Temuri is not that clever.”

“My source tells me the exchange will be made in Canada.”

“Where?”

“If I knew that, fool, I wouldn’t need you to follow the ship. Make sure Blackbird does not leave until Thursday. Friday would be better.”

Demidov bit back a curse. He was safer working alone-no one to betray him-but being alone on a job this complex wasn’t easy.

“Then I will sabotage the boat so-”

“No! Too unpredictable. Blackbird must fly. Later than Saturday isn’t acceptable. Earlier than Thursday isn’t acceptable.”

The connection ended, leaving Demidov alone in the sun-struck, stinking van. He didn’t notice the smell or the heat or the random Blue Water Marine Group office noise bleeding through his ear bug. Like a computer programmed to find certain words, he wouldn’t focus on the bug until it said something interesting.

Thinking of various ways to make certain the Blackbird didn’t leave the dock until Thursday, Demidov dozed, catlike, both resting and alert. For a man working alone, death was the most reliable way of carrying out a mission. The only question was whose death would get the job done.