The Last Minute

33

Hotel Esper, Williamsburg/The Last Minute Bar, Manhattan

Leonie got the room at the Williamsburg hotel, a trendy, high-end spot with the meaningless name of Hotel Esper (was it short for esperanza, hope? Or did it imply you could read minds while a guest there? I wondered); just one room, with a window facing the Ming building. We were going to be awake in shifts and if anyone else – say a rogue element in the CIA – was looking for us, they’d be looking maybe for a man and a woman checking in together but in separate rooms. I drove back to our Manhattan hotel and washed my face clean of dirt and blood. I looked okay except for the black eye. It wasn’t so bad. I gathered all Leonie’s notes and papers and stuffed them into her small suitcase. I put on fresh, untorn clothes and collected our bags and checked out for us both.

Then I took the rental and swung by my bar, The Last Minute. I looked like a wreck going in and Bertrand raised an eyebrow at me. I went straight upstairs. There was an apartment up there but I didn’t dare bring Leonie to it. She already knew I owned The Canyon in Las Vegas but she didn’t need to know more of my business. And I didn’t need Mila knowing what I was doing.

But when I opened the door, there Mila was. Sitting at the computer, a neat Glenfiddich at her elbow.

She was typing something. She looked up at me and wiped her hand back across her eyes.

Seeing Mila cry? Never in my lifetime, I thought. But I actually hadn’t seen a tear.

‘You look like hell,’ she said.

‘I know. Are you okay?’

‘Fine. What’s going on?’

‘I need some gear.’

‘What are you doing, Sam?’

‘I am getting my son back. I need you not to ask questions, okay.’

She stared at me. It was weird to have Mila stare at me. She knew so much about me, and I knew so little about her.

‘But you asked me a question. I get to ask back,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You wanted to know why there is such a high price on my head. I am writing you my detailed answer.’

‘You’re not exactly the essayist type.’ Mila was a woman of few words.

‘Please know I won awards for my essays in school.’ She put her fingers back on the keyboard but kept her stare locked on me.

‘So, in Moldova, a school prize is probably a goat?’

‘Not always. Once I won a copy of A Wrinkle in Time. The message of the book stayed with me. Never give up against darkness.’

‘And love conquers all.’

‘Yes, Samuil. Love conquers all. Or at least it tries.’ Now she looked back at the screen.

‘And when do I get to read your true confessions?’

‘I am sure publishers will fight to the death, gladiator-style, for my story. But you can read it first. And when you tell me what you’re doing and how I can help you.’

‘Help me by staying out of this.’ I went into the storage closet. I put two pairs of binoculars, a pair of small flashlights and a Glock in my bag. I selected a Beretta for Leonie, for her protection. Picked out rounds of ammunition. I packed a Burberry Prosrum suit I’d liked, shirt, tie and shoes to go with it. I might have to play a part to lure Jack close.

Mila stood in the doorway. ‘You don’t have to fight your war alone.’

‘I’m not alone.’

‘Why reject my help?’

‘Because you are in danger. Stay out of this. Get out of New York, Mila, now.’

‘I do not worry about muggers.’

‘I’m serious. I killed a man tonight who specifically wanted to find you, wanted me to give you to him, and he has a boss who wants you. Someone in the CIA.’

She made a dismissive wave. ‘They want me for questioning.’

‘I don’t think that’s it at all. I think someone’s after the bounty on you.’

‘Then for my own safety,’ she coughed, ‘I should stick with you. Help you. We will take the fight to them together.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you want this informant alive. The guy who could give you Novem Soles.’

‘Of course he could give us Novem Soles. And maybe he in turn could give me the guy who posted the bounty,’ she said.

I let her words settle. ‘Novem Soles has posted the reward for you.’

She nodded. ‘One of them is behind it, yes. If I can kill the man who wants me dead, no one will fund his revenge. They won’t care. This is his private vendetta.’

‘Then why hasn’t this guy in Novem Soles asked me for you in exchange for my son?’

‘They don’t know we know each other,’ she said. ‘No one who could tell them that is still alive.’ She paused. ‘Except August, and whoever he has told inside the CIA.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because you have to kill the informant. For your son.’

‘The informant may know nothing about how to find the man who wants you dead.’

She shrugged. ‘You pick up a thread, unwind it, it can pull apart the entire blanket. My aunt always says so and she is right.’

‘Who wants you dead?’

‘He is a man called Zviman. He hides from me like I hide from him. There is a price on his head as well. We shall see who gets bought first.’

‘Zviman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why does he want you dead?’

‘It will be easier for you to read than for me to tell you. I have told my story only to one other person. I don’t normally talk about it.’ Mila’s voice went quiet.

‘Don’t joke.’

‘I hurt his pride.’ Mila smiled. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Let me do this. If I can find where Zviman is from Jack, I will.’

‘That’s a sweet lie, Sam.’ She held the whisky glass. ‘Do you want me to tend to your eye?’

‘No.’

‘Good luck then.’ And then Mila did something she had never done before. She embraced me. I was holding the clothes bag and a backpack with the guns. Not really in hugging mode. Her hands ran down my back, then she patted the front of my shirt. ‘Be careful. I hope you get your son back.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘Why are you in New York?’

‘Shoes,’ she said.

‘Ah. Don’t get killed, Mila. I would miss you.’

‘Do not get killed, Sam. I would miss you.’

I left without another word. My insides felt knotted. I went out into the cloud-smeared, starless night.

I was going to get my son back, and nobody, nobody, was going to kill Mila.

High expectations.

I patted my shirt pocket. She’d slid in a small chip, thin as paper, when she gave me my hug. I held it up to the streetlight. Tracker, like a modified phone SIM card. She wished me well but she wanted to know where I was going. To help me or to fight her own battle? I didn’t know. I tried not to care.

Two customers were leaving the bar and I thoughtfully hailed them a cab. A bit bleary from The Last Minute’s excellent martinis, they thanked me and as I opened the door for them I flicked Mila’s tracker onto the cab floor.

Let it take her where it would, out of the battle, into safety, perhaps.

I headed back to Leonie, and the long night of waiting.