Among thieves

Beck didn’t hesitate for a second. “No. You don’t really give a shit about two hundred grand. You’re just negotiating out of habit. Stop it. There are significant expenses still left to me. I have no doubt that with a stake of over ninety-two million you’ll earn back what you’re paying me very quickly.”

“What expenses do you have?”

“That’s not your business.”

Markov pointed a fat finger at Beck. “And like you said, this ends it between us. I don’t want to look over my shoulder all the time, as they say. And I won’t give you any reason to look over yours.”

“This ends our business.”

Beck slid the flash drive across the conference room table. Markov picked it up and held it in front of Beck. “The balance will be in this account midday Monday?”

“Yes.”

Markov shoved the drive in his coat pocket and sat back. “Okay. But a question, if you don’t mind. What about Crane and the woman?”

“They are not your concern.”

“Meaning?”

Beck said nothing.

“As of now?”

Beck said nothing.

“Expenses, huh?”

Beck tipped his head in agreement.

“All right,” said Markov, “I’m not negotiating, but I have one last question.”

“What?”

“Why do I have to wait until Monday?”

“Because I need that time for my man to get to the bank in Belize Monday morning. He’ll take our commission. We will confirm all is well on Monday, and by twelve noon all the information you need to take control of the account will be posted on the encrypted Web site.”

“I don’t like waiting.”

“Too bad.”

“You don’t trust I will pay you your money.”

“I don’t have to trust you.”

Markov took a long, slow breath. Scrunched his face. Put his meaty left hand over his eyes and rubbed. He blinked. Looked at Beck and said, “I underestimated you, Mr. Beck.”

“You just didn’t know me.”

Beck picked up the Browning, shoved it behind his right hip, stood up, and left Leonard Markov sitting at the conference room table.

*   *   *

Beck walked directly across the street to the Renaissance Hotel where he had reserved a room. He might have preferred the Four Seasons, but there was zero chance he would be going back there. And he wasn’t at all sure he could have walked the extra two blocks.

When he got to his room, he closed the blackout drapes, put on the Do Not Disturb sign, stripped down to his underwear, and slowly laid down on the bed, lifting his battered left leg with his sore, stitched and bandaged left arm.

He pulled the covers over himself and adjusted the pillows.

A wave of exhaustion engulfed him. He thought about Ma

As for everything else, there was nothing more for Beck to do. There was nothing he could do. He had pla

EPILOGUE

Demarco’s job was complicated, but ultimately quite enjoyable.

The Bolo brothers had one last assignment after returning Olivia to Red Hook. This time they switched their all-purpose van for an even more i

Five minutes later, the first of the two mercenaries appeared on Hubert Street. They checked both the limo and the street to make sure there was no sign of trouble.

Ricky and Jonas were parked far enough away at the hydrant of Greenwich Street so they weren’t noticed. And even if the Town Car was noticed, so what? Just another car service vehicle waiting for a passenger, most likely from the Smith Barney building.

Once Harris and Williams had checked the street and the limousine, Ralph Anastasia came out with Crane, his gun in his hand. He sca

As soon as the limousine left the curb, Ricky and Jonas were on it. They assumed Crane was headed for an airport. There were two likely choices, Newark or JFK. Once the limousine passed Canal Street and didn’t go for the Holland Tu

Jonas drove. He dropped back nearly out of sight, keeping just close enough to make sure they were heading for the Midtown Tu

Demarco had been waiting in Olivia’s Porsche near the Verrazano Bridge, ready to head for either JFK or Newark when the Bolos called. As soon as he received word from Ricky, he headed for JFK with plenty of time.

As Crane’s limo approached the airport, Jonas closed the gap, blending in with all the other Town Cars and Yellow cabs. He followed Crane’s limo until it pulled up to the Swissair terminal.

Jonas pulled up to the curb a few cars back of Crane’s limo. Ricky got out and followed Anastasia and Crane into the terminal, just like any other passenger. He even had a carry-on piece of luggage.

Jonas pulled away and parked at the far end of the departure area.

Ricky stood in line at the first-class check-in behind Crane. When Crane walked up to Swissair’s first class counter, Ricky was close enough to hear the flight number: LX-23 to Geneva.

Crane checked in two large bags and walked away with a carry-on piece of luggage.

Ralph Anastasia accompanied him to the security area, stood in line with Crane, exchanging a few words that looked to Ricky like Crane’s final instructions for his bodyguard. While they talked, Ricky phoned Jonas with Crane’s flight information.

Crane headed into the security line. Anastasia waited until Crane passed through the body sca

*   *   *

Jonas Bolo, parked near the end of the departure area, working on his large-screen smartphone, completing a first-class reservation for Swissair Flight LX-23 at 7:45 p.m. in the name of Antonio Jones.

Conveniently, there were three seats still available in first class.

*   *   *

As Anastasia exited the airport, Ricky Bolo called to him from behind. Anastasia’s hand went into the pocket of his silver down jacket. Ricky showed both hands and said, “Take it easy. I have something for you that might be of help.”

Anastasia raised a hand and said, “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Ricky held up a piece of paper. “It’s just a bit of information.”

“Say it.”

“You may need to know the location of somebody. Check this Web site. Where-to-find-the-fat-Russian-dot-com. No spaces.”

Anastasia looked very carefully at Ricky Bolo.

Ricky held out the folded piece of paper. “It’s written on this.”

Anastasia smiled and said, “No. I got it.”

Ricky turned and walked away. By the time he slid into the passenger seat of the Town Car, Jonas had finished making the reservation on Swissair.

Fifteen minutes later, Demarco pulled Olivia’s Porsche up to the departure curb. Ricky jumped out of the Town Car, walked back to the Porsche, and gave Demarco all the information about his flight reservation.

Demarco Jones walked into the Swissair terminal. Ricky jumped into the Porsche and drove out of the airport, followed by Jonas.

When Demarco walked up to the first-class check-in, he looked every bit like a first-class passenger.

He presented his brother’s passport to the blond Swissair employee. Using his own was out of the question. She was a nicely coiffed airline professional. Although Demarco’s older brother looked quite a bit like him, she barely glanced at the passport. Demarco looked like he’d just stepped out of Men’s Vogue. His overcoat, a lush brown cashmere, was matched by an extravagantly expensive Borsalino fur felt fedora made of New Zealand red deer. His dark blue suit was Kiton. His gleaming white shirt Charvet, the shoes Allen Edmonds, the tie and pocket square Brioni, both a golden orange with a weave that made the color vary throughout a spectrum of shades.