was gone, Mawl attached his micro-recorder to his scrambler phone and punched in Trader’s private number. As always, the phone rang four times before an automatic router took control, followed by another distinctive click, then ten seconds of silence before the familiar voice came snapping back. “This is Trader.”
“And this is English.”
“I’m listening.” Though it was after midnight in the States, the man sounded fresh and fully awake.
There was no good way to say it, no way to spin the bad news into something positive, and Mawl knew it would be foolish to try. “They’re moving him to Bangkok.”
“Continue.”
Mawl hesitated—he expected an explosion, a demand to “finish the job!”—not continue. “He’s surrounded by his own security now. A team from Las Vegas. It’s unlikely we can get to him before he’s out of the country.”
“I understand.”
Why the change of attitude, this never-before understanding? “We can follow, of course. Eventually, we’ll get another—”
“Just tell me everything that’s going on. I’ll decide what to do.”
Mawl flipped open his surveillance log and started down the list of entries. “His daughter flew in early yesterday morning. She arrived at the hospital at 1:44, accompanied by—” He flipped over to his profile notes, the information supplied by his contact at the hospital. “—a Simon Leonidovich. Identified as a family friend. They’re staying at the Pearl.”
“In the same room?”
“No. Separate suites. 718 and 726.”
“Go on.”
“They met with Quan later that morning. The meeting lasted forty-eight minutes.”
“Don’t suppose you have any idea what they discussed?”
Mawl smiled to himself; his first opportunity to redeem his reputation since his failure to take out Rynerson. “What do you want to know? I have a complete summary of the conversation.”
“I’m impressed. Read it.”
For the next five minutes, Mawl did exactly that, embellishing just enough to make it sound like he had a microphone attached to everyone’s ass. “That’s pretty much it.”
“What will they find in those accident reports?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
Mawl resented being questioned twice about anything, but swallowed his impulse to strike back. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay. What happened after the meeting with Quan?”
“Ms. Rynerson went directly to the hospital. Leonidovich spent most of the afternoon inspecting the resort. Roof to parking lot.”
“What do you know about him?”
Mawl turned back to his profile notes. “White male, forty-three years old. Works as an international courier. Office in New York. Lives at—”
“Don’t waste my time with that background crap! What’s he doing in Macau? What’s his role?”
Mawl hesitated, realized the man already knew that background crap, which meant he had another source in the province. And there could only be two reasons for that: insurance, a backup team in case Mawl failed; or termination, someone to sever the link once the hit had been finalized. And the latter, Mawl realized, would explain the bullet in his side.
“Mawl…?”
“Don’t!” Mawl interrupted, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Use…my…name.”
There was a long silence, far beyond the normal satellite delay. “What’s your problem? These conversations are secure.”
“We hope,” Mawl answered, working very hard to hide his anger, and the fact that he had figured out the man’s game plan. “Technology changes. Can’t be too careful.” A piece of advice he intended to follow himself.
“You’re right,” the man answered, “there’s no reason to get sloppy. So, what about Leonidovich? What’s his role here?”
“Just what I said,” Mawl answered, his subconscious struggling to process the new information, measuring risks and revising plans. “A family friend. He’s insignificant.”
“If he’s so fucking insignificant, what’s he doing poking around
“And this is English.”
“I’m listening.” Though it was after midnight in the States, the man sounded fresh and fully awake.
There was no good way to say it, no way to spin the bad news into something positive, and Mawl knew it would be foolish to try. “They’re moving him to Bangkok.”
“Continue.”
Mawl hesitated—he expected an explosion, a demand to “finish the job!”—not continue. “He’s surrounded by his own security now. A team from Las Vegas. It’s unlikely we can get to him before he’s out of the country.”
“I understand.”
Why the change of attitude, this never-before understanding? “We can follow, of course. Eventually, we’ll get another—”
“Just tell me everything that’s going on. I’ll decide what to do.”
Mawl flipped open his surveillance log and started down the list of entries. “His daughter flew in early yesterday morning. She arrived at the hospital at 1:44, accompanied by—” He flipped over to his profile notes, the information supplied by his contact at the hospital. “—a Simon Leonidovich. Identified as a family friend. They’re staying at the Pearl.”
“In the same room?”
“No. Separate suites. 718 and 726.”
“Go on.”
“They met with Quan later that morning. The meeting lasted forty-eight minutes.”
“Don’t suppose you have any idea what they discussed?”
Mawl smiled to himself; his first opportunity to redeem his reputation since his failure to take out Rynerson. “What do you want to know? I have a complete summary of the conversation.”
“I’m impressed. Read it.”
For the next five minutes, Mawl did exactly that, embellishing just enough to make it sound like he had a microphone attached to everyone’s ass. “That’s pretty much it.”
“What will they find in those accident reports?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
Mawl resented being questioned twice about anything, but swallowed his impulse to strike back. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay. What happened after the meeting with Quan?”
“Ms. Rynerson went directly to the hospital. Leonidovich spent most of the afternoon inspecting the resort. Roof to parking lot.”
“What do you know about him?”
Mawl turned back to his profile notes. “White male, forty-three years old. Works as an international courier. Office in New York. Lives at—”
“Don’t waste my time with that background crap! What’s he doing in Macau? What’s his role?”
Mawl hesitated, realized the man already knew that background crap, which meant he had another source in the province. And there could only be two reasons for that: insurance, a backup team in case Mawl failed; or termination, someone to sever the link once the hit had been finalized. And the latter, Mawl realized, would explain the bullet in his side.
“Mawl…?”
“Don’t!” Mawl interrupted, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Use…my…name.”
There was a long silence, far beyond the normal satellite delay. “What’s your problem? These conversations are secure.”
“We hope,” Mawl answered, working very hard to hide his anger, and the fact that he had figured out the man’s game plan. “Technology changes. Can’t be too careful.” A piece of advice he intended to follow himself.
“You’re right,” the man answered, “there’s no reason to get sloppy. So, what about Leonidovich? What’s his role here?”
“Just what I said,” Mawl answered, his subconscious struggling to process the new information, measuring risks and revising plans. “A family friend. He’s insignificant.”
“If he’s so fucking insignificant, what’s he doing poking around
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