Private Monaco

Chapter 21

Mo-bot was deep in concentration when Sci and I returned to the hotel. She was comparing a still from the convenience-store footage to a mugshot. She held a deep-fried chicken wing and was nibbling on it absently. When she realized we’d entered the suite, she used the wing to gesture at a room-service tray laden with food.

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be so I went ahead and ordered for you,” she said. “It should still be warm.”

Sci put down his holdall and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. I pulled up a chair next to Mo-bot, who’d connected her laptops to the large flat-panel screen hanging on the wall opposite. Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows, and she exuded tiredness, but I knew her well enough not to bother advising her to rest. She was obstinate and pushed through exhaustion whenever she was working a case. She’d do anything for Justine, who couldn’t have mattered more to her if she’d been a flesh and blood daughter.

“What have you got?” I asked, drawing closer.

“Dinara Orlova ran the stills through a contact in Moscow and got a possible match.” Mo-bot gestured to the mugshot on the big screen, which showed a man with a stubbled head who looked like the driver of the white van outside the hotel.

“It’s him,” Sci said, picking up a chicken wing from the basket on the food tray. “Fried food? It’s almost like being back at home.”

He took a bite of the chicken.

“I asked for tastes of America,” Mo-bot replied. “The waiter actually tutted when I placed the order, but I told him I wanted fried chicken, burgers, pizza.”

“I think pizza is Italian,” Sci scoffed.

“How do you know it’s him?” I asked, diverting them back to the job. “The image from the surveillance footage isn’t great quality.”

“The shape of the nose, mouth, but mostly it’s the eyes,” Sci replied. “The eyes always give a person away.”

I took another look at the man and understood what Sci meant.

“According to Russian authorities, his name is Nikolai Oborin,” Mo-bot revealed. “He’s served time for robbery, assault, wounding. Not a nice guy.”

“You think this is linked to what happened in Moscow?” Sci asked.

I sighed. I hoped not. “I don’t know.”

It was an honest answer. I thought I’d finally dealt with the blowback from the Moscow investigation while I was in Beijing, but we’d angered some pretty powerful people, so it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

“Eli Carver has said he’ll give us whatever we need. I thought he was making a throwaway remark when he first suggested it, but he just called again and told me to use him.”

Mo-bot gave a satisfied nod. “Department of Defense has a long reach. It would put our normal capabilities on steroids.”

“Right,” I responded. “Email these details and anything else you want checked out to this address.”

I wrote Carver’s secure DOD email address on a sheet of paper. “And send him a message to let him know what you want.”

“Speaking of what people want, what did they want with you in Nice?” she asked, gesturing at the package in my hands.

I shot Sci a hesitant glance, and he nodded. I wasn’t in the business of keeping secrets from the people I trusted, but I was ashamed of what was in the envelope. Slowly, I took out the resin gun and put it on the table. Mo-bot’s eyes widened when she registered what it was.

“I think they want me to kill someone,” I told her. “The price of Justine’s freedom is someone else’s life.”