The Romanov Ransom

17

Remi looked up the location on the satellite map. “Right here,” she said, showing it to him.

“I like it,” Sam said. “At this hour, deserted. Now, how to get him and us out of there…”

She’d heard enough of Sam’s stories from his time at DARPA to be able to cite a few. “What about that trick you and Rube used back in Curaçao? You know, with the bottles?”

“That could work. As long as the rain holds off.”

“I didn’t think about that. I’ll check the weather report.” She accessed the weather app on her phone. “Looks like rain’s not expected until early in the morning.”

“Let’s hope that’s accurate.” He studied the satellite map. “You think you’re up to it?”

She gave a slight smile at his purely rhetorical question. “O ye of little faith.”

Once they finalized their plan and got the bottles they needed, they headed out. Sam drove, and when they reached the street, he shut off the headlights, idling slowly down it. The area was industrial, no one around this time of night. All the buildings were dark except for one about halfway down the block.

Sam stopped the car about two buildings away. “This looks like a good place. Direct line of sight.”

Remi noticed a recessed doorway to her left, shadowed. Even better in her mind, the front door was barred from the outside and locked with a padlock. No one would pop out unexpectedly. “Looks good to me.”

What didn’t look good was the light drizzle that had started. At least it was evaporating as soon as it hit the windshield. Maybe they’d have a chance after all, she thought, adjusting her Bluetooth earpiece.

As they did at Durin Kahrs’s apartment, they planned to communicate by phone. Sam called her cell, making sure they had a connection. “Ready when you are.”

He turned on the headlights, switching to brights, not only to light up the front of the building but to make it difficult for anyone to see Remi as she hid in the background. She got out, unsnapped her holster, pausing by his open window. “Be careful.”

“Likewise.”

She waited in the shadowed doorway, her Sig aimed toward the brightly lit building, looking for any open windows where someone might be hiding, waiting to take a shot at them. Sam opened the car door, remaining in the driver’s seat as he let the car idle forward before stopping it in the middle of the road. Without getting out, he leaned over, setting two water bottles on the ground, one empty, one full — and, next to them, the courier bag, flap open, with the letters and map partially showing. Driver’s door open, he backed up the car, angling it so the engine block was between him and the building, then glanced in Remi’s direction. She eyed the setup. “Perfect,” she said.

“I’m calling now.” He turned back toward the building, and she heard the ringing from the three-way call.

A moment later, someone answered, “Fargo?”

“Who’s this?”

“Gere.”

“Gere. Send out Zakaria if you want the courier bag.”

The man laughed. “You want to see your friend? You bring it in.”

“Not going to happen,” Sam said. “Let me tell you how this works. Send out Zakaria. When he’s safely in my car, we drive off, you get the bag.”

“We could shoot you right there.”

“You could. But your courier bag and everything in it will burn.”

“My men are watching you right now. You think you can get it before we get you?”

“Look out your window. Let me know when you’re there.”

From the corner of her eye, Remi saw movement in an upper window, then heard Gere saying, “What of it?”

“Notice the courier bag and two bottles,” Sam said, putting a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. The drizzle turned to fat raindrops as he sat in the driver’s seat, the door still open. He puffed on the cigarette a couple of times until the end glowed bright orange. When he tossed it, sparks bounced up as it hit the street, then rolled about a foot in front of the courier bag. “Watch the empty bottle on the left.”

Remi fired. The bottle flew forward, bouncing toward the curb.

“That other bottle,” Sam said, “is full of gasoline. The laws of physics say it’s not going as far as that empty bottle. In fact, I’d lay odds it lands on top of that pouch, soaking your map, then spreading out to that lit cigarette. We know what happens when gas and fire meet. Your choice is this. Send out Zakaria or we destroy the map.”