No Survivors

63

Last thing at night, Carver called Grantham in London.

“It’s going down tomorrow,” he said. “Sometime in the afternoon.”

“Do you have any idea yet what you’re after?”

“Not yet. All the client told me was he was hoping to retrieve some kind of document in a sealed envelope. He didn’t tell me what was in the document that was so valuable. He just said, and I quote, that it was ‘vital to the future peace of the world.’ ”

“He what…?”

Whatever Grantham was expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Yeah, I know,” said Carver. “I thought it sounded pretty crazy, too. And that wasn’t the half of it. He’s got this obsession that we’re like the Romans, just as the empire was collapsing, with barbarians at the gate. Only the barbarians aren’t Huns and Vandals; they’re Islamic terrorists, trying to take over the world.”

“You’re joking.” Grantham gave a short, irritable sigh.

“Well, you can argue that out with him. All I know is, I’ll be aiming to make the handover sometime in the early evening. The location is the Hotel du Cap, same as our lunch. I’ll give you the precise time tomorrow. Within fifteen minutes of that time, I aim to be walking out of the hotel with the woman and, if possible, the document. I told Vermulen I didn’t want any of his men there when the deal went down, but I can’t believe he’ll keep to that. He’ll want to protect his investment. So I’m going to need extraction-a car, maybe even a driver, someone good-and a safe house for the night.”

Grantham gave a snort of disbelief. “Would you like me to lay on a private jet as well? You seemed to like those, as I recall.”

“Or I could just give Vermulen’s goons the document in exchange for Alix…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”