The Prince of Risk

62

A firm hand awoke Alex from her sleep.

“Ms. Forza. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Alex opened her eyes. The pilot stood above her. “Yes,” she said. “I must have dozed off. I’m sorry…what time is it?”

“Just after nine p.m. New York time. Three in London. Someone wants to talk to you. A Special Agent Mintz. He’s patched through to the cockpit. He says it’s urgent.”

Alex threw off her blanket and moved forward through the cabin. The copilot handed her a headset. “Yeah, this is Alex.”

“It’s Barry. Got some news that you need to know about right away. Looks like our shooters came through Mexico City last night.”

“How do you know?”

“This group was coming out of Caracas traveling on virgin Portuguese passports that had been stolen from the embassy in Macao.”

“Lambert’s passport was Portuguese.”

“Exactly. And you’ll never guess how many.”

“Twenty-three.”

“Bingo. Same as on those city maps. And they weren’t speaking Portuguese. All of them were speaking English.”

“Do we still have a bead on them?”

“All we know is that they climbed into a couple of vans and drove away. Two big shots from the Federales greased their arrival. Neil Donovan is trying to locate them now, see if he can sweat them.”

“Not likely,” said Alex.

“Turns out you were right, boss.”

“About what?” asked Alex.

“The groceries in the cupboard at Windermere Street. If the shooters hit Mexico last night, there’s no reason that they couldn’t already be here.”

“Did you tell Barnes?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“He’s presenting it to the mayor, the police commissioner, and Homeland Security in the morning. Says he needs more info before hitting the panic button.”

“In the morning? That could be too late.”

“Alex?”

“What?”

“Hurry.”