Edge of Dawn (34 page)

“Well, the scientists will.”

“Don't sell yourself short.”

Richard glanced up and gave him a smile. “But I am … very.”

“Ah, shut up.”

After that they chatted about inconsequential matters while Richard obsessively checked his watch. It seemed like years before the three hours were up. Once again he and the soldier headed up to the gift shop with the satellite phone. Weber insisted on coming too. The sun was rising, burnishing the stone of the mausoleum compound with golden fire. In Albuquerque it was late night.

Jeff picked up on the first ring. “It was murder,” he said, without greeting or preamble.

“Tell me.”

“I found gel on the victim's chest and back, indicating somebody had used a defibrillator on him.”

“He'd had a heart attack, wouldn't that be—”

“I checked with the EMTs. They said he was cooling when they arrived and they knew there was no point in taking extraordinary measures. They never used a defibrillator. Nor did the hospital. But if you shock a healthy heart, you'll throw someone into arrest, and the placement of the paddles indicates that's what happened.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“The gel. You have to use gel on the paddles or the skin will be burned, but the only way to remove the gel is with soap and water. Just wiping it away will leave a residue. Your killer didn't know that. You got a suspect?”

“Yeah, the last person who was with him. Mark Grenier.”

 

Chapter

NINETEEN

“R
ICHARD,
Grenier's on his way to London. He's in the air now.” There was a brief pause. Richard could hear Jeannette typing on her keyboard. “Actually, he's landed. Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I should have suspected—”

For the first time in all the years he'd known her, Richard heard the thread of panic and hysteria in his assistant's voice. “Jeannette, stop it. This isn't your fault. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me for trusting him even a little.”

Her heard her take a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. What can I do?” she asked, sounding much more like herself.

“Deal with Rachel and the girls. I've got to call Dagmar and Kenzo. Warn them.”

“You think—”

“Yeah, I do.”

He called Dagmar first and discovered from her husband, Peter, that she had gone into the city for an early breakfast with Grenier. Richard's hand was trembling so badly he had to start over punching in the number for her cell phone. It was now nine thirty
A.M.
in Ankara. Soon the visitors would be arriving, and he'd have to retreat back to the I
şı
k bunker. “Come on, come on,” he muttered as the phone rang. It went to voice mail. He called back. Again she didn't answer. He called again. The fourth time, she took the call.

“Whoever you are I don't know you, so stop—”

“Dagmar, it's Richard. Just listen. Gold was murdered.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “I suspect Grenier. Are you with him now?”

“Yes.”

“Make an excuse. Leave. Go home. Get your family. Run.”

“Okay.”

She broke the connection, and Richard offered up thanks that his people were smart and didn't waste time dithering. Next he dialed Kenzo's number. He had no idea of the time or the day in Tokyo. The CFO answered quickly. “Fujasaki.”

“Kenzo, it's Richard.
Don't hang up!
Hear me out. Gold's dead—”

“Yes, I know. You need to come—”

“It was murder.”

“Nonsense.”

“It's been verified by the coroner. You're in danger.”

“And you are demented.”

“Grenier is in London with Dagmar right now. I just warned her.”

That seemed to give the man pause. “That trip was not cleared.”

“Even if I'm wrong—and I'm not—what would it hurt to get someplace safe? You and your family.” Over the line, Richard began to hear a rising sound like a growl. Then he heard screams. “Where are you? What's happening?” he demanded. A pulse was hammering in his throat and head.

“The subway. I don't—” Kenzo broke off with a choking sound.

A voice yelling in Japanese came over a loudspeaker. “Kenzo!” Richard shouted. There was no response, just an animalistic grunting sound. The clunk of a phone falling. Screaming. Then nothing.

*   *   *

After Dagmar's abrupt departure, Grenier sat in the Delaunay's posh surroundings trying to decide if he could trust the woman's excuse. Dark wood, brass, and marble art deco flooring created a sense of a bygone era, but he suddenly felt isolated by the screens that discreetly separated the tables. It felt like danger was approaching and he couldn't see it coming. The hollandaise sauce on his eggs Benedict was congealing. He took a sip of coffee. It tasted bitter and added to his sense of unease. She had said her son had become ill at school, but something felt off.

The message from Titchen to “draw her out” had come by way of a limo driver who had met Grenier at Heathrow. Grenier had called Dagmar from the car, suggesting an early breakfast meeting. Then the call, and she'd bolted like a pheasant flushed from cover.

There was a growing murmur from patrons in the restaurant spilling over to the usually unflappable waitstaff. Someone had a video playing on a smart phone. Grenier heard “Tokyo” and “terrorist.” He pulled out his own phone and brought up the browser. It was breaking news and it was everywhere. There had been a terrorist attack on the Tokyo subway. Dozens were dead, and it was feared the death count would rise. A cold knot settled in Grenier's belly. He pushed away his half-eaten breakfast. He might have felt no guilt over Gold. But
this
? Was this Titchen's way of removing Kenzo? It was like swatting an ant with a sledgehammer.

He waved over a waiter and asked for the check. Tossed down the Lumina credit card. A few moments later the man returned, leaned down, and said in low tones, “So sorry, sir, but the card has been denied.”

“What? That's not possible—”

“They say the card has been canceled, sir. Perhaps another card or cash…”

Grenier was a man who liked to keep wrapped in cash, and he had changed money at Heathrow. He counted out bills, stiffed the waiter on the tip, and hurried from the restaurant. He stood on the sidewalk and dithered. Something had happened. But what? Should he call Lumina? But it was the middle of the night in New Mexico, and would that superior bitch give him any information?

He started walking blindly up Drury Lane. Within a few blocks he was panting, his lower back aching, and he was becoming footsore. He had checked into the Claridge hotel before going to meet Dagmar, but with the card canceled he had no way to pay that bill. The rooms at the venerable old hotel were very pricey. Panic clogged his chest. He stepped into a small grocery so he was out of the bustle of people heading to work. After aimlessly wandering aisles and trying to decide if he was nauseated or starving, he realized there was no alternative. He pulled out his phone and called Titchen.

“Something's gone wrong,” he said without preamble. “Dagmar took off like a frightened hare, and my credit card has been canceled.”

“Well, that's unfortunate,” Titchen said.

“Were you … did you … Tokyo?” It was so unlike him to be inarticulate. Grenier tried again. “Am I to assume that Kenzo has been dealt with?”

“Oh, yes.”

“It seems … excessive.”

“It was a juicy treat for one of our … friends. Where are you?”

“Some grocery store.”

“Find a caf
é
and stay there while I make some inquiries.”

“I'm still useful to you,” Grenier said somewhat shrilly, but he had already been disconnected.

He located a coffee shop and ordered a hot chocolate. His roiling gut couldn't take coffee. Minutes ticked past, became an hour. He made four trips to the john to void his upset bowels. Almost two hours later, his phone rang.

“Well, you really are a fuck-up,” Titchen said.

“Wha … what?”

“They figured out Gold was murdered. There's a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Oh, God.” He was shaking so hard the small table where he was seated actually shifted a few inches. “You're not going to … You'll help me, won't you?”

“Yes, because you still might be useful as bait to draw out Oort.”

“So how—”

“We're creating forged documents for you. You'll be picked up and flown out on a private plane to Turkey. Stay where you are. We will collect your luggage from the hotel. It will take a few more hours.”

Grenier hung up. It took several tries before he managed to get the phone back in his coat pocket. Regret was a taste coating his tongue. If he had never plotted, never betrayed Richard, he would be safely in bed back in Albuquerque, he would have a job, a salary, a life. Now he had none of them, and even the chance for a continuing life seemed tenuous at best. He had gone from commanding to being commanded. He had rolled the dice, and they had come up snake eyes.

Tears stung his eyes. He was a fat old man with no friends and no allies. And loneliness tasted even worse than regret.

*   *   *

A few more hours meant six. By the time someone arrived to collect him, Grenier was butt sore from the too-small wooden chairs, humiliated by the manager asking him to leave (a wad of cash had ended that request), and ravenously hungry. The pastries and the limited choice of fresh fruit had not made for a very filling lunch. He had been driven to a private airstrip, where a G5 waited. Grenier had expected the private plane. What he hadn't expected was to find Titchen aboard.

Once in the air, Grenier had been forced to wait yet again while Titchen made phone calls and went over documents with an assistant. Grenier sat in the back of the plane, his belly rumbling and his tongue thick with stale coffee. Finally, Titchen stood, moved to the back of the plane, and settled into the seat across from Grenier. Titchen gave him a tooth-flashing smile and leaned in.

“So, the last report we have of Oort is when he and his merry band landed in Istanbul. But you said they were heading to Ankara. Any idea why the change? And why Turkey?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Well, that's not very helpful, Mark. You really need to step it up, start earning your keep around here.”

Fury scattered Grenier's caution to the winds. He didn't care what happened, he was going to wipe away that smirk. “And you always were a ham-handed amateur,” Grenier said in his most pleasant tone. “Killing over a hundred people to get one man? Forcing me to commit a murder that has now cost me my place? A place, by the way, that could have been very useful to you.” Grenier had to hand it to the man, the mask of Southern charm never slipped despite the insults.

“Well, as I always say, you can't grind with water that's already past. So how do we proceed? There's fourteen million folks in Istanbul, and Ankara's got almost five million. We sure can't search the cities. How do we find him?”

“Richard's driven by a need to measure up, and he has a white knight complex. He'll always ride to the rescue.”

“So we threaten someone he cares about?”

“Yes, that would work. There are also more subtle things we can try. He has Cross with him. We can use an Old One to track Cross. They can find each other.”

Titchen gave him the toothy smile again. “Well,
you
won't be much help with that, seeing as how you're crippled.”

“I know things. I know there's a place of power in Turkey. Where the veils are thin. Ask me nicely and I'll tell you.”

Titchen stood and looked down at Mark. “Thank you, Mark, for your invaluable suggestions. We'll try 'em all. Nice enough?”

“I'll choose to ignore your rather insincere tone. It's in Hattusas.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It was the capital of the Hittite Empire back in the second century
B.C
. There's a modern village there now, Bo
ğ
azkale. It's some two hours away from Ankara.”

“Well, that's convenient.” Titchen started to walk away but turned back and added, “Oh, and I may just stake you out like a goat for a tiger. I expect Mr. Richard Oort isn't real pleased with you right about now. If he finds out you're in Turkey, I expect he'll want to come out and deliver an ass whuppin' to you personally.”

And there you'd be wrong, you dimwit,
Grenier thought as he watched Titchen walk away toward the front of the plane. Oh, Richard would find a way to punish him, of that Grenier was very certain, but it wouldn't involve a
whuppin'.
It would be far more subtle and terrible than that.

*   *   *

Two days slipped past. The scientists were taken at eight each night to the university to work and returned to the I
şı
k bunker at six each morning. The first evening, there had been a tense exchange with Trout when Richard absolutely refused to allow Kenntnis to leave the safety of the mausoleum. Eddie had interceded on Trout's behalf.

“Richard, I think he's on to something big.”

“That would cure Kenntnis?” Richard had asked.

“No.”

“Then what? What's so important that we'd risk him?”

“I don't want to say just yet,” Trout growled.

“In case it doesn't pan out,” Eddie hastened to add and to soften the rudeness of the older man's response. “But if it does, it's gonna be
huge
—”

“I'll win a Nobel,” Trout concluded.

“And Lumina will make a fortune,” Eddie added.

“Well, we could certainly use that,” Richard said, but still had dithered.

Weber had stepped in. “Look, you can't win by playing it safe.”