Choke Point (20 page)

“The minute that plane moves we’ll know it.” He bent forward around the pitch lever, picked up his coveralls, and tossed them into the storage area behind the seats. “That courier man is already dead. He just don’t know it yet.”

Right,
except that’s what they thought when they left the man trapped in a panic room with a gun and two bodies. “You better be right, Chrich. Getting this machine in less than twenty-four hours cost me an extra five thousand quid.”

“You wanna see the splash, you gotta pay the cash.”

Mawl wasn’t worried, but he wasn’t about to take any more chances with Houdini Leonidovich. “I just want to see his body floating facedown.”

“Doubt if you’re gonna see that.” Chricher pulled a mechanical pencil and a small leatherbound notebook from a side pocket in his cargo pants, carefully adjusted the lead, then began updating his calculations. “Okay…lemme see here…ten to fifteen minutes before the heat builds up enough to melt the wax…another five or ten before the acid burns through the panel. By then he should be at cruising speed…230 knots, give or take…we’ll be doing 130, 135…so…lemme see here…rate of climb…weight—” He looked up. “You sure he’s going alone? No cargo?”

“That’s what he told the leasing company.”

“So why’s he need that size of plane? That thing can hold eight people.”

Mawl had no idea, but after listening to nearly an hour of scrambled conversations, he suspected Leonidovich had more than a trip to Taiwan on his agenda. “So what?”

“Weight can make a difference,” Chricher answered. “The heaver the load, the longer it’ll take to reach cruising altitude. Could make a difference in my calculations.”

“No passengers, no cargo—that’s what the man said.”

Chricher shrugged and resumed his calculations. “Okay, lemme see…uh huh, uh huh…considering all the variables, we should be somewhere between twenty and fifty nautical miles when he takes the dive. So…lemme see…at max speed, depending on the wind and distance between aircraft…we should…lemme see—” He added a few more numbers to his page of calculations, multiplying and dividing. “Okay…best I can figure…we should be over the scene within—” He rolled his hand back and forth, a give-or-take gesture. “Ten to twenty minutes. Don’t think there’s gonna be much to see.”

“I’m not looking for entertainment, Chrich. I just don’t want to find that bastard hanging on to a seat cushion.”

Chricher snorted. “Not likely. By the time that acid does its work, he’ll be up around…lemme see here—” He paged through his notes. “Twenty-three, twenty-four thousand feet.”

“And what if he hugs the coast?” Mawl cocked his head toward the bank of clouds building along the eastern horizon. “That looks pretty nasty. What if he manages to put it down on the beach?”

“First of all—” Chricher straightened his thumb. “—that ain’t no glider he’s flyin’. From that altitude, he’s not gonna
manage
to put it down anywhere. Second—” He extended his index finger. “—I’m pretty sure the Chinese aren’t about to let him fly over their coastline. And third—” Middle finger. “—that front’s not supposed to move inland until late afternoon.”

“Weather changes.”

“He’s gonna end up in pieces. Little pieces. On the beach or in some shark’s belly. Does it matter which?”

“No,” Mawl answered. “As long as it looks like an accident.”

“Don’t worry, there won’t be enough left of that plane to figure out what happened. This time the guy is going down.” He smiled, baring a mouthful of stained teeth. “And I mean that literally.”

Mawl nodded—another cluster fuck and they’d be the ones getting hunted—but Chrich didn’t need to know that. The portable two-way gave a short squelch and Mawl pressed the
TALK
button. “What’s going on?”

The radio beeped, followed by Big Paddy’s deep voice. “How long you want me to sit here?”
Beep.

In his mind Mawl could see Big leaning over a hot engine, the van conveniently disabled just beyond the Pearl’s main security gate. “Anyone giving you the eyeball?

Beep.
“Negative.”
Beep.

Mawl hesitated. He still wanted a visual, still wanted to be sure Leonidovich got on the plane, but if Big stayed there long enough, someone would eventually get suspicious. “Lay chilly for another fifteen, then get out of there.”

Beep.
“Fifteen minutes,” Big Paddy repeated.
Beep.

“So.” Chricher shifted uneasily, as if trying to hollow a new spot in the seat. “Whatcha think?”

Mawl shrugged, hiding his anxiety behind an expressionless mask. “Maybe the bleedin’ trip got canceled.”

Chricher grinned, as if he found the possibility highly amusing. “Then the next person who charters that plane is in for one big surprise.”

Before Mawl could respond, the two-way gave another sharp squelch. “Talk to me.”

Beep.
“I think he just went by,” Big Paddy answered back. “In one of those hotel limos.”
Beep.

“How many in the vehicle?”

Beep.
“Hard to tell with those dark windows. The kid was riding up front.”
Beep.

Bloody hell,
that meant Rynerson’s daughter was in the car. “Okay. Follow them, but don’t get too close. See if you can get a visual on the plane and the number of passengers.”

Beep.
“Roger that.”
Beep.

Chricher opened his notebook. “Sounds like I better go back to work.”

“They’re probably just dropping him off.” It made perfect sense, but nothing had gone right so far, and Mawl didn’t feel especially confident.

“Does it matter?” Chricher looked up from his calculations, his expression indifferent, no concern one way or the other. “Him being alone or not?”

Mawl thought back to his last conversation with Trader.
I don’t give a fuck who gets in the way. Just get it done!
“Nope. Doesn’t matter at all.”

Robbie Kelts, sitting in the front passenger seat, twisted around and gave the privacy glass a couple of sharp raps, the sound barely penetrating the thick Cyrolon-over-glass laminate.

“Excuse me.” Kyra reached across Atherton, to the control panel on the door, and lowered the partition. “What is it, Robbie?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t think you should be goin’ anywhere before we’ve had a chance to make security arrangements at the other end.”

Kyra smiled, her eyes glowing with a kind of big-sister affection. “You looking to take a trip, Robbie?”

“No, ma’am, really, I don’t like to fly. I just don’t think you should be going anywhere before we’ve had a chance to set something up. Maybe you could catch another flight.” His gaze swept back and forth, from Atherton on her left, to Simon on her right. “Join these gentlemen later.”

“I appreciate your concern, Robbie, but no one knows I’m leaving the province. You can’t get better security than that.”

“Yes, ma’am, but—”

“If you want to tag along, you’re welcome to join us.”

The young man grimaced, obviously uncomfortable with the thought. “No, ma’am. Like I said, I—”

“I understand,” Kyra interrupted, “you don’t like to fly. Don’t worry about it.” She reached out and simultaneously patted the two knees on each side of her own. “These gentlemen will take good care of me.”

He opened his mouth, clearly intending to argue the point, then nodded reluctantly and turned back to the front. “Yes, ma’am.”

Atherton raised the partition. “Presumptuous bastard.”

She cut the man a hard look. “Robbie’s a good kid. He’s just doing his job.” She turned, as if expecting an attack from both flanks. “What about you, Leonidovich? You want to add your two cents?”

“No, ma’am.” Though he knew it was coming, she was too quick, jabbing her elbow into his ribs. “Damn, Rynerson, those elbows are as sharp as your tongue.”

“Remember that the next time you think about using that word.”

Atherton leaned forward, his expression puzzled. “What word?”

“Trust me,” Simon answered, trying to rub away the sting. “You don’t want to know.”

Atherton hesitated, his eyes bouncing from Simon to Kyra, then back again. “I believe you.” He started to sit back, then noticed the titanium cable running from Simon’s left wrist to the black case at his feet. “That it?”

“It is,” Simon answered, already knowing what the next question would be.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” Simon pulled the case between his legs, just enough to shield his hands, and quickly sequenced through the unlocking procedure: right latch toward the handle, foot-lock one-half turn clockwise, left latch outward. Reaching inside, he extracted the Frisbee-sized high-impact repository and unsnapped the latch, exposing the lower right section of the carving embedded within its molded impression.

Atherton frowned, a slightly cheated look. “Looks just like that reproduction in the suite.”

“Exactly,” Simon agreed. “The ones at the Pearl were cast from molds of the original three pieces.”

“I expected more for some reason.”

Exactly what Simon thought when he first saw it. “It’s the smallest section. The one in Taipei is considerably larger.” He closed the cover, slipped the container back into his security case, reactivated the alarm, then reached across Kyra and snap-locked the cuff around Atherton’s wrist before he realized what was happening. “You’re the man, Jim. Don’t lose it.”

“Hey! What the…what’s the idea?”

“You wanted to come.” Simon cracked a little smile—the one Lara called his snake charmer—letting the man know it was all in good fun. “You might as well make yourself useful.”

“Well, yeah but—”

“I’m the pilot. Need both hands.”

Kyra gave Simon a conspiratorial nudge. “And I have to make sure he doesn’t fly us off into never-never land.”

Atherton shrugged, his lips curling into a good-natured grin. “Do I get hazard pay?”

“Only if I forget the combination,” Simon answered, “and we have to cut off your hand.”

Atherton grimaced. “How’s your memory?”

“Pretty good until that guy hit me in the head.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“Asked what?”

Kyra snorted a laugh, and then they were all laughing together, like old school chums sharing an inside joke. Beyond the privacy glass, in the visor mirror above his head, the eyes of Robbie Kelts watched this lighthearted display of camaraderie with an odd expression of fatalistic regret.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

Macau

Tuesday, 10 July 08:59:05 GMT +0800

Standing beneath the five-blade rotor, Mawl read the pulsating display on his cellular—Jocko—and knew it wouldn’t be good news. “Talk to me, kid.”

“I’ve only got a second,” Robbie whispered. “I’m in the WC at the charter service.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s not flying alone,” Robbie answered. “Ms. Rynerson and that Atherton bloke are going with him.”

Mawl noticed “the Rynerson bird” had suddenly become “Ms. Rynerson,” and decided the kid was taking his bodyguard role a little too seriously. “That’s not a problem.” He glanced at the darkening cloud bank, afraid if they didn’t leave soon, they might cancel the flight. “Why haven’t they left? What’s the holdup?”

“But I thought—”

“Don’t,” Mawl interrupted, “that’s my job. I repeat, what’s the holdup?”

“But what about Ms. Rynerson?” Robbie persisted. “She’s not the target.”

Mawl forced himself to take a breath, to give the kid some slack. “Listen up, Jocko, you have to forget the bird. She’s CD.” It was the kid’s first big test, and to write off someone he knew as collateral damage—especially a woman, and someone he had been charged to protect—would stretch his concept of commando warrior. “It’s unfortunate. It’s not your fault. That’s just the way things worked out. Okay?”

There was a long beat of silence, then a temperate, “Yessir, I understand.”

Obviously not, Mawl thought, but he decided to let it go. The kid could bury his guilt in money once the job was over. “So what’s the holdup?” he repeated. “Why haven’t they left?”

“They’re signin’ papers now,” Robbie whispered, his voice heavy with resignation. “Don’t think it’ll be much longer.”

Mawl glanced again at the gray wall of clouds, which seemed stalled about fifty kilometers off the coast, and hoped the kid was right.

Simon nudged the yoke forward, leveling off at 24,000 feet, the roar of the dual Pratt & Whitney engines dropping to a steady growl. “Handles real well.”

Kyra nodded. “Want me to take over?”

“Fifteen minutes in, and already you want to play Sky Queen?”

“I’m bored.”

“Well, you can forget it, Rynerson, I need the hours.” More than hours, he needed the distraction. Over the last couple of years, flying had become his favored escape, his best means of clearing away the cerebral roadblocks. He glanced toward the north: a sweeping panorama of the China coastline and the South China Sea, its dark-blue surface speckled with islands of green and brown. Leaning forward, he looked past Kyra to the huge bank of dark clouds off the right wingtip. “Just keep your eyes on the weather, okay?”