Point of Contact

Jack pulled the pen out of the Bulgarian’s jaw and wiped it off on the man’s shirt. He saw Paul’s disgusted look. “Can’t leave evidence behind.” He stood.

Paul took a step back into the small kitchen opening to the postage stamp — sized living room. “Who the hell are you, Jack?”

Jack frown-smiled. “You know who I am. I came here to find you.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out Paul’s phone. Tossed it to him as a peace offering. “Thought you might need this.”

“Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent me. Look, we need to get out of here.”

Paul fiddled with his phone. He didn’t look up. “What about him?”

Jack stepped over to the German, felt for a pulse. Couldn’t find one. He wasn’t completely surprised. It was a perfectly thrown punch, the momentum of his two-hundred-pound frame propelling his fist like a mortar round into the smaller man’s jaw. A half-step shorter jab and the man would still be breathing.

“He’s gone.” Jack reached into the man’s coat and pulled out a 9x18mm Makarov pistol. He showed it to Paul. “Soviet version of the Walther.”

Paul glanced up from his phone, puzzled. He pocketed it. “Looks familiar. Can I see it?”

“You know how to handle one?”

“My dad was a cop.” Paul took the small pistol in his beefy hands and cleared the chamber while Jack searched the Bulgarian, his back to Paul.

Jack’s fingers gripped a pistol in the Bulgarian’s shoulder holster. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Why did Rhodes send you, Jack?”

“I told you, no one sent me—”

The pain exploding in the back of Jack’s skull cut his sentence short.

60

Jack blinked himself awake. His head throbbed, but his wrists burned like they were cut. It took him a moment to figure out they were tied behind his back. He was lying on his side, not far from the dead German.

Paul sat on a small, threadbare couch across from him, the Makarov pointed at Jack’s face.

“I’ll ask you again, why did Rhodes send you?”

“Damn it, Paul! I told you he didn’t.”

“Then why were you talking to him on your phone ten minutes ago?”

“He called me, looking for you.”

“That’s my point.”

Jack stretched his shoulders. “What did you tie my wrists with, piano wire?”

“Lamp cord. Last chance, Jack. Otherwise, I’m going to shoot you.”

“Goddamn it, Paul, who are you?”

“That’s what I asked you.”

Jack winced against the hammer clobbering his brain. “Yeah, Rhodes called me, looking for you. But I was already on my way to find you before he called.”

“Why?”

“You disappeared. I was worried about you.”

“How did you find me?”

“I didn’t. Gavin did.”

“So Gavin’s in on this, too?”

“In on what?”

Paul reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out Rhodes’s USB drive. “This.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“No. I can’t, because I don’t know what it is. Is that the one you had hidden in the shower-curtain rod?”

“How did you know?”

“I caught you fooling with it after the police raid, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Jack winced again. “Can you at least cut me loose?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you better hurry. These assholes probably have friends, and they might be on their way over. We should get out of here.”

“Maybe I’ll leave and you can stay here and explain what you did to their friends.”

“At least one of us would survive.”

That caught Paul by surprise. “What did Rhodes tell you?”

“That he was worried about you, that he asked you to do him a favor, that if you didn’t do that favor by midnight tonight, you would be in big trouble. That about cover it?”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. He said he couldn’t ‘read’ me into the rest of it.”

“So you’re not working with him, or for him?”

“Yes, of course I am, just like you, doing the Dalfan audit.”

Paul snorted, pointing his gun at the two dead men. “You’re no auditor.”

“Technically, you’re right. I’m a financial analyst.”

“I never knew anybody in accounts receivable that could take out a couple of operators bare-handed. What are you, CIA?”

Jack shook his head. “No.” Jack winced again. “C’mon, Paul, my arms are killing me.”

“Just a second. If you’re not CIA, what are you? FBI? DIA?”

“None of the above.”

“Foreign service? Interpol?”

“Look, you’re smart enough to know that if I’m with a sworn service I can’t tell you. But Gerry will vouch for me.”

“Gerry was working with Rhodes. I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“Gerry’s good people. You know that. If Rhodes is pulling a scam, Gerry’s not part of it.” He looked into Paul’s pale gray eyes. “And neither am I. If I was, my dad would kick my ass.”

Paul chuckled. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

Paul crossed over to the kitchen and pulled a knife out of the drawer. He cut Jack’s bonds.

Jack sat up, rubbing his wrists. “Thanks.”

“How’s your head?”

“I’m gonna need a new one when we get back home.” Jack touched it. Blood on his fingers. He stood up stiffly.

Paul’s voice softened to a whisper. “I’m really sorry about that. It’s just that I thought for sure you were coming to kill me.”

Jack went to the kitchen, looking for a clean towel. “Because of that USB drive? What’s on it? And what’s the story on Rhodes?” He found one and pressed it against his scalp.