The Janus Reprisal

37

Smith walked with Nolan down the street in front of the apartment and crossed Broadway. Despite the early hour, they had passed bodegas with men sitting on flimsy wooden crates drinking from bottles kept in paper bags. They continued east of Broadway and to Smith it seemed like they’d entered an entirely different neighborhood. Instead of neat but dated buildings, they saw trash strewn across the sidewalks and collected against the curb. Closed storefronts were covered by protective grates secured with padlocks. A currency exchange on the corner offered legal services upstairs that advertised divorces for $500.

Smith indicated the sign.

“Beckmann should have hired this guy. Would have saved him some money.”

Nolan smiled. “It’s that cement building across the street.”

They were headed to a Pakistani gold merchant who Nolan said would gladly exchange her dollars for gold bullion. They expected Dattar to demand his money in full by wire transfer, but they needed him to appear in person for the plan to work. Also, she was hesitant to fire up her tablet and tip off whoever was watching her at the CIA. It was Nolan who had suggested tempting Dattar to appear in person with a good-faith offer of gold bullion.

“What’s a Pakistani doing in this neighborhood? Seems mostly Spanish.”

“Dominican, actually. But Bilal has been here for years.”

“Do they know that he trades in gold?”

Nolan smiled again. “Take a look.” She pointed to an ugly two-story square building with a neon sign with the word “Pawnbrokers” across the top and another, smaller neon tube light sign that said “We Buy Gold.” They stepped into the street and across to the other side. Nolan headed to a side door made of steel and guarded by a closed-circuit camera mounted at eave level. She pressed a button on the intercom, and Smith heard a buzzing sound somewhere deep in the center of the building. Within seconds the door gave an answering sound, and Nolan pushed it open and stepped inside. As Smith crossed the threshold, he heard a beeping noise and the door closed behind him with a decisive click. The only light came from an open door at the end of the hallway.

“Miss Rebecca, back here,” a man’s voice with a heavy accent called to them. Nolan stepped into the office. A Middle Eastern — looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and mustache and dark eyes, and dressed in a white T-shirt and faded jeans, stood behind an L-shaped green metal desk. He pointed a gun at Smith.

“Your friend here has a weapon,” the man said, then turned to Smith. “Put your hands in the air.”

“It’s all right. I’ll vouch for him,” Nolan said. “Bilal, this is Jon Smith. He’s trustworthy.”

Bilal didn’t lower the pistol. “Interesting name, Jon Smith. Quite common.”

Smith kept his eyes on Bilal. “Someone has to have it.”

“Miss Rebecca, please remove your friend’s gun from its holster and put it on the table.”

Nolan stepped up to Smith, and he smelled the fresh scent of shampoo that came from her hair. She unzipped his jacket, glanced up at him, and ran her hands along his chest until she reached his gun in the shoulder holster.

“Is the safety on? I’d hate to shoot you accidentally.”

Smith nodded. “It’s okay. You can remove it.” She pulled out the weapon and held it muzzle down while she took the few steps to Bilal’s desk.

“How did you know it was there?” she said after she placed it on the desk.

“I have a metal detector at the door.”

“Ahh, that was the beep I heard,” Smith said.

Bilal nodded. “I have a lot of expensive items stored on the premises and, as I’m sure you saw while walking here, the neighborhood is sketchy. Are you police?”

Smith shook his head. “Military.”

“Here to sell gold?”

“Here to be sure that Ms. Nolan remains safe.”

Bilal gave Smith a speculative look. “Miss Rebecca and I are old friends. She is always safe with me.”

“So I’ve been told. But one can never be too sure,” Smith said. In fact, Nolan had explained to him that most of the traders in the city knew of Bilal, and many routinely converted their cash to either Krugerrands or gold bullion there. Apparently Bilal was known for his honesty in an industry where that commodity was scarce.

Bilal turned his attention to Nolan. “Are you here to sell gold?”

“To buy it, actually. I’d like to exchange some cash for bullion.”

“Wire transfer your account to mine?”

Nolan nodded.

“Then please take a seat.” He included Smith in the offer but reached out and put Smith’s gun on a small desk behind him.

“May I use your computer?” Nolan said. Bilal nodded and opened a drawer in front of him and placed a laptop on the desk. She scooted her chair forward to access it.

“It’s on,” he said. Nolan started tapping away, and Bilal turned to a second PC to his right. After a moment he rose and opened a closet door to his left, revealing a massive safe. He kept the door tilted so that neither Smith nor Nolan could see his hands, and after a moment Smith heard the sound of a lock disengaging.

“Is it there yet?” Nolan asked.

“The computer will give a signal.” A moment later, Bilal’s PC pinged.

“Let’s see.” Bilal held some bars of gold in his hands while he walked back to his monitor and peered at it.

“Just so.” He placed one bar on the back desk next to a scale. The second bar he put on the scale’s pan. “You wish to verify the weight?” Nolan got up and stood next to Bilal, watching as he placed bar after bar on the pan.

“The London fix?” Nolan said.

“Down a bit. Here.” Bilal reached to the computer and tapped on the keyboard. From his location across the desk Smith couldn’t see the screen, but Nolan watched it for a moment before returning her attention to the scale. When Bilal was finished, he reached below and opened the cabinet, removing a black briefcase. Nolan gave a soft laugh, and Bilal turned his head to smile at her. “You recognize it?”

“I wondered where it had got to.”

Bilal looked over his shoulder at Smith. “See? Everything is safe with me.”

Smith waited patiently while Nolan finished her transaction, rising to carry the briefcase. He estimated that it weighed close to sixty pounds. If Dattar expected to ambush them and steal the gold, no one who had it would be able to run away. Or at least not very fast. Bilal locked his safe and gave a short bow to Nolan.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Rebecca,” Bilal said. He handed Smith his gun. “Mr.…Smith.”

Smith slid the gun back into the holster. “Thank you.” They left by the side door, and Smith blinked in the sudden sunlight.

“That was an extraordinary transaction. What’s the London fix?”

“London banks are the primary gold traders. Twice each day they set the settling price for their contracts. The price is called the London fix.” Smith carried the case as they walked to Broadway.

“Do you know what type of precautions he takes to protect the shop? Besides the metal detector, of course.”

“I know he has a gun as big as a cannon taped under the desk. That metal front is perforated for a reason. There are solar roof tiles for electricity that will kick on and keep his security system running should there be a blackout. They feed excess to the grid. Bilal’s quite proud that he often gets paid by Con Ed for electricity rather than the other way around. And I’ve heard that his car is armored, and the office loaded with every type of weapon imaginable.”

“I still find it hard to believe that no one has tried to rob him,” Smith said.

“Oh, there are rumors that some have.”

“And?”

“And they were never seen again.”