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Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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political interests. We aren’t.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Neto’s government has issued a murder warrant for Krout, aka Bertone, which makes this a criminal inquiry,” Faroe said.
“Steele is skating on a thin edge.”
“Actually it’s Grace, and she assured us it’s a defensible position. She also assured us that we’d all be a lot happier if we nailed Bertone in such a way that no one would want to make a federal case of it.”
Rand thought about it, whistled, and said, “That’s some woman you married.”
Faroe grinned the grin of a well-satisfied male.
Sun fought to pierce the clouds, failed, and sulked. Rand watched the small skirmish overhead and thought hard. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re the one man we know who has seen the Siberian close enough to identify him. If you can verify that Bertone is the Siberian by another name, St. Kilda can chip away at his UN creds. At least that’s what the brains of the outfit both say.”
“Both?”
“Steele and Grace.”
“Steele actually listens to her?” Rand asked.
“At the top of his lungs. And vice versa. It’s quite a show.” Faroe looked at his watch. “Ready to meet Neto?”
“I thought he was denied a visa.”
“Here, but not in Victoria, B.C.”
The wind gusted around the cabin. The branches of a fir tree tapped against the glass. It sounded hauntingly like Morse code from a prisoner.
Me.
That’s what I’ve become. Prisoner of the past.
“What the hell,” Rand said, shrugging. “I need to go to Murchie’s anyway. I’m running out of tea.”
“If it goes well in Canada, we’re heading straight to Phoenix. Steele doesn’t like what he’s hearing on the Brazilian grapevine. Neither do I. We could be working on a much shorter clock than Neto believed. Pack your painting gear along with whatever else you think you need,” Faroe said.
“I thought the St. Kilda adage was ‘Pack your weapons and live out of Wal-Mart.’”
“They don’t have the kind of professional painting gear you’ll need if you go to the Fast Draw in Phoenix.”
“Big if.”
“Humor me.”
“The last time I did, Reed died.”
“Wrong,” Faroe said calmly. “I humored Reed and let him follow you around Africa with a rifle. You never had a sense of humor worth mentioning.”
Rand almost snarled, almost smiled. “I’ll need dossiers on this Elena, whoever she is.”
“Bertone’s wife.”
“And the ASB banker, whatever he, she, or it is.”
“She. Kayla Shaw. My computer’s on the helo. You can read dossiers while we fly to Victoria. Get a move on. The film crew will be getting restless.”
Rand blinked. “Film crew? Are they part of the Fast Draw contest?”
“Hell of an idea. I’ll work on it.”
“What does painting have to do with Bertone?”
“It’s all on my computer.”
“Which is on the helo, which is heading for B.C.”
Faroe punched Rand’s shoulder lightly. “You listen good.”
“Too bad I don’t obey worth a damn.”
“We’ll work on that.”
12
Phoenix
Friday
12:12 P.M. MST
K ayla was tempted to drive past the freeway turnoff again, but she made herself go to American Southwest Bank instead. More than an hour of roaming Phoenix’s ninety-mile-an-hour freeways was all the time she could afford to work off her anger and fear. She pulled into the employee-of-the-month parking space in front of the glistening steel and copper-colored glass building that housed American Southwest.
“What bullshit,” she said, turning off the engine. “What complete and utter bullshit.”
For the past three weeks she’d enjoyed using the parking space. It wasn’t the gold star in her file that she cared about, it was the chance to walk a quarter mile less in the heels all women employees were required to wear.
And that’s bullshit, too. If heels are so necessary, why don’t men wear the damn things?
She’d take a suit and tie over pantyhose and heels any day.
“No worries,” she
“Could have fooled me.”
“Neto’s government has issued a murder warrant for Krout, aka Bertone, which makes this a criminal inquiry,” Faroe said.
“Steele is skating on a thin edge.”
“Actually it’s Grace, and she assured us it’s a defensible position. She also assured us that we’d all be a lot happier if we nailed Bertone in such a way that no one would want to make a federal case of it.”
Rand thought about it, whistled, and said, “That’s some woman you married.”
Faroe grinned the grin of a well-satisfied male.
Sun fought to pierce the clouds, failed, and sulked. Rand watched the small skirmish overhead and thought hard. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re the one man we know who has seen the Siberian close enough to identify him. If you can verify that Bertone is the Siberian by another name, St. Kilda can chip away at his UN creds. At least that’s what the brains of the outfit both say.”
“Both?”
“Steele and Grace.”
“Steele actually listens to her?” Rand asked.
“At the top of his lungs. And vice versa. It’s quite a show.” Faroe looked at his watch. “Ready to meet Neto?”
“I thought he was denied a visa.”
“Here, but not in Victoria, B.C.”
The wind gusted around the cabin. The branches of a fir tree tapped against the glass. It sounded hauntingly like Morse code from a prisoner.
Me.
That’s what I’ve become. Prisoner of the past.
“What the hell,” Rand said, shrugging. “I need to go to Murchie’s anyway. I’m running out of tea.”
“If it goes well in Canada, we’re heading straight to Phoenix. Steele doesn’t like what he’s hearing on the Brazilian grapevine. Neither do I. We could be working on a much shorter clock than Neto believed. Pack your painting gear along with whatever else you think you need,” Faroe said.
“I thought the St. Kilda adage was ‘Pack your weapons and live out of Wal-Mart.’”
“They don’t have the kind of professional painting gear you’ll need if you go to the Fast Draw in Phoenix.”
“Big if.”
“Humor me.”
“The last time I did, Reed died.”
“Wrong,” Faroe said calmly. “I humored Reed and let him follow you around Africa with a rifle. You never had a sense of humor worth mentioning.”
Rand almost snarled, almost smiled. “I’ll need dossiers on this Elena, whoever she is.”
“Bertone’s wife.”
“And the ASB banker, whatever he, she, or it is.”
“She. Kayla Shaw. My computer’s on the helo. You can read dossiers while we fly to Victoria. Get a move on. The film crew will be getting restless.”
Rand blinked. “Film crew? Are they part of the Fast Draw contest?”
“Hell of an idea. I’ll work on it.”
“What does painting have to do with Bertone?”
“It’s all on my computer.”
“Which is on the helo, which is heading for B.C.”
Faroe punched Rand’s shoulder lightly. “You listen good.”
“Too bad I don’t obey worth a damn.”
“We’ll work on that.”
12
Phoenix
Friday
12:12 P.M. MST
K ayla was tempted to drive past the freeway turnoff again, but she made herself go to American Southwest Bank instead. More than an hour of roaming Phoenix’s ninety-mile-an-hour freeways was all the time she could afford to work off her anger and fear. She pulled into the employee-of-the-month parking space in front of the glistening steel and copper-colored glass building that housed American Southwest.
“What bullshit,” she said, turning off the engine. “What complete and utter bullshit.”
For the past three weeks she’d enjoyed using the parking space. It wasn’t the gold star in her file that she cared about, it was the chance to walk a quarter mile less in the heels all women employees were required to wear.
And that’s bullshit, too. If heels are so necessary, why don’t men wear the damn things?
She’d take a suit and tie over pantyhose and heels any day.
“No worries,” she
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