The Red Room

27

Dulwich limps away from the bench. His bad knee has apparently given up along with the rest of him. His bulk looks cartoonish in comparison to the Turks on the plaza. A stovepipe arm lifts what looks like a toy phone. Then, slowly, the man’s shoulders pivot as he turns.

Knox knows the call has to do with Grace. He rises from the bench and closes the distance, moving with extended strides. His pounding heart drums in his ears.

“What?” Knox says.

Dulwich’s expression is patronizing. He says, “Got it,” and shuts down the call.

“Her,” Knox says.

“You told Kamat to watch the grid for fire alarms?” Perplexed. Annoyed. “You going to run all over town chasing mattress fires?”

“Talk to me.”

“It’s a confirmed safe house. On a list we got from the Pakis before things went to shit with them.”

“Iran,” Knox says. Gets no pushback from Dulwich. “How long ago?”

“Came in just now.”

“It’s her.”

“Could be. Trouble is, we don’t know.”

“Address?”

“You can’t make a one-man raid on a known Iranian safe house.”

“Two-man. Address?”

“There are so many reasons why this is a no-go. I don’t have time to list them all. We can ask the local police to roll a fire truck to the scene. Nothing wrong with that. They can do a room-by-room for us. The Turks are friendlies. We can—”

“I’m on that truck.”

“Not possible.”

“We’ll see what Primer thinks.”

“Thin ice, my friend. You have no idea how deep and dark a hole you’re digging.”

“We’re digging. This is Grace. I’ll tell you what: you get on the truck. You give me the address in case they’re tardy or lazy.”

“If she tripped that alarm, they beat her senseless and/or moved her. By now she’s a dozen blocks away and moving fast.”

Knox steps forward. “If she pulled that alarm, then her hands are either free or in front of her. I’ve seen her in the field. You, too, in Amsterdam. You gotta pity those bastards. Now give me the fucking address.”

Dulwich spins his phone to reveal the message from Kamat. Knox types the address into his map app, careful of each number and letter. As precious as pearls.

“I’m going to need you as backup,” Knox says.