“I’m easy enough to find if you need anything. Just ask anyone in a blue blazer, they’ll direct you.”
“I think we’ll be okay, Jad.” She smiles thinly at him, then turns to where the class is clustered perhaps ten feet from Nuri. Amy raises her arm, flaps her hand loosely, immediately catching their attention. Before she’s even begun to sign, they’re surging forward, unable or unwilling to contain their eagerness. Howe gives Bell another grin, thanks him once more, then moves to join Amy as the group begins to follow her. She’s taking the northeast pathway that Bell indicated, and that, at least, makes him feel a little better about things.
Athena shoots a glance back over her shoulder at him as they depart. Gives him another one of those smiles, signing quickly, small gestures.
Thank you Daddy I love you.
See you later Gray Eyes.
Her smile blossoms broader, and then she turns away, heading into the Wild World.
Chapter Eight
THE MAN who employs the Uzbek does not like video, and does not like voice, and does not like e-mail or text. The man who employs the Uzbek would be happier if all communications could be carried out in person, face-to-face, at the time and place of his choosing. The man who employs the Uzbek understands that there is little by way of privacy left in the world, and that there are always people listening.
Yet he also understands that sometimes concessions must be made. This communication with the Uzbek is one of those times, because of all the work this man does, of all the plans and plots and gambits in motion, this one, in the United States, in California, is the most daring, the most bold. And already, by far, the most lucrative.
So he makes the concession, and sits in front of a laptop computer in a rented apartment in Paris that has been acquired for this communication and this communication alone, and watches as the Uzbek’s face appears on his screen. The video is one-way, as is the audio. The Uzbek will speak, but the other man will not. He will type, so that there will be no misunderstandings, and so that his own voice, in silence, will be loud.
At readiness?
The Uzbek answers in his flawless English. “We are.”
I have no information on the investigation into the man our boy eliminated. That drew attention.
“Without question, but the investigation is centered outside of the location. He was smart about that.”
Smart would have avoided the incident in the first place.
“It was bad luck.”
Someone was looking. Someone in the line was not as discreet as they should have been. This is not tolerated.
“A job on this scale, someone somewhere is going to notice something.” The Uzbek shifts in front of the camera, uncomfortable. Encryption leaves pixelated blocks that drag a fraction of a second behind his movement before resolving again. “I can confirm that security on this end is intact and absolute.”
I know.
The Uzbek says nothing.
The problem arose at the source. It has been dealt with, but the damage is done.
“Are we calling it off?”
No.
The Uzbek nods.
The client’s result is not our result. The client’s result is incidental, as you know.
Another nod.
The client, however, is restless, and must be assuaged. I wish you to speak to him.
The Uzbek’s expression does not change, which does him credit. “Is that necessary?”
I require it.
A nod. “Very well. I shall arrange it.”
Explain to him that this is the last time I will accept such a request. Explain that to him quite clearly, please.
“Of course.” A thin smile. “It will be a pleasure.”
Restrain yourself. I am not done with him yet.
“Of course,” the Uzbek repeats.
How is the boy?
The Uzbek raises a hand, adjusts his glasses, taking the moment to collect his thoughts. “He thinks he’s in love.”
Yes, the girl.
“Do you want me to act upon that? That will require more men, but I could…” The Uzbek trails off, leaving the implication open,
“I think we’ll be okay, Jad.” She smiles thinly at him, then turns to where the class is clustered perhaps ten feet from Nuri. Amy raises her arm, flaps her hand loosely, immediately catching their attention. Before she’s even begun to sign, they’re surging forward, unable or unwilling to contain their eagerness. Howe gives Bell another grin, thanks him once more, then moves to join Amy as the group begins to follow her. She’s taking the northeast pathway that Bell indicated, and that, at least, makes him feel a little better about things.
Athena shoots a glance back over her shoulder at him as they depart. Gives him another one of those smiles, signing quickly, small gestures.
Thank you Daddy I love you.
See you later Gray Eyes.
Her smile blossoms broader, and then she turns away, heading into the Wild World.
Chapter Eight
THE MAN who employs the Uzbek does not like video, and does not like voice, and does not like e-mail or text. The man who employs the Uzbek would be happier if all communications could be carried out in person, face-to-face, at the time and place of his choosing. The man who employs the Uzbek understands that there is little by way of privacy left in the world, and that there are always people listening.
Yet he also understands that sometimes concessions must be made. This communication with the Uzbek is one of those times, because of all the work this man does, of all the plans and plots and gambits in motion, this one, in the United States, in California, is the most daring, the most bold. And already, by far, the most lucrative.
So he makes the concession, and sits in front of a laptop computer in a rented apartment in Paris that has been acquired for this communication and this communication alone, and watches as the Uzbek’s face appears on his screen. The video is one-way, as is the audio. The Uzbek will speak, but the other man will not. He will type, so that there will be no misunderstandings, and so that his own voice, in silence, will be loud.
At readiness?
The Uzbek answers in his flawless English. “We are.”
I have no information on the investigation into the man our boy eliminated. That drew attention.
“Without question, but the investigation is centered outside of the location. He was smart about that.”
Smart would have avoided the incident in the first place.
“It was bad luck.”
Someone was looking. Someone in the line was not as discreet as they should have been. This is not tolerated.
“A job on this scale, someone somewhere is going to notice something.” The Uzbek shifts in front of the camera, uncomfortable. Encryption leaves pixelated blocks that drag a fraction of a second behind his movement before resolving again. “I can confirm that security on this end is intact and absolute.”
I know.
The Uzbek says nothing.
The problem arose at the source. It has been dealt with, but the damage is done.
“Are we calling it off?”
No.
The Uzbek nods.
The client’s result is not our result. The client’s result is incidental, as you know.
Another nod.
The client, however, is restless, and must be assuaged. I wish you to speak to him.
The Uzbek’s expression does not change, which does him credit. “Is that necessary?”
I require it.
A nod. “Very well. I shall arrange it.”
Explain to him that this is the last time I will accept such a request. Explain that to him quite clearly, please.
“Of course.” A thin smile. “It will be a pleasure.”
Restrain yourself. I am not done with him yet.
“Of course,” the Uzbek repeats.
How is the boy?
The Uzbek raises a hand, adjusts his glasses, taking the moment to collect his thoughts. “He thinks he’s in love.”
Yes, the girl.
“Do you want me to act upon that? That will require more men, but I could…” The Uzbek trails off, leaving the implication open,
Similar Books
