The Doll (44 page)

The warehouse man was still alive, if barely, each breath rattling with a gurgle. Bradford stood over him, one leg on either side of his body, watching the man shake in the way the battlefield near-dead often did. Pain. Shock. Whatever. Waited just long enough for the man’s eyes to focus and then gave him a big toothy grin. Grabbed the man by the arm and, smearing blood behind him, dragged him, too, into the shed and left him there.

The girls were in the hallway when Bradford reached it, crowded
into one another like a small herd of frightened sheep, staring wide-eyed at his approach. He wanted to feel pity, sympathy, but battle numbness, the logistics of war, the frustration of the moment, overrode the ability to care. He’d been in the warehouse six minutes already. Far too long. He strode past them toward the front of the building. Dumped the vest, the gun, and the drum into the duffel, picked up the toolbox, and went out through the broken glass door, the girls following.

He’d intended the van to be a way to transport Alexis and, unsure what her condition might be, had put a mattress in the back. This was where the girls sat. Bradford shut them inside. Got the van moving away from the building and once he was far, far down the road, certain he hadn’t been followed, he pulled over.

His phone rang.

Adams. Safe. En route to Dallas.

Before he could follow Adams, he needed to find a way to help the helpless; he couldn’t just put the girls on the street and wish them well. He left the front and slipped into the back. It took a while, but utilizing maps from the Internet on his phone, he gradually understood that they were from Moldova, one of the many pieces split off from the former USSR.

Another Internet search and the best he could turn up locally was a consulate for the Russian federation. He didn’t know if taking them there would be the equivalent of dropping an American stuck in Thailand on the doorstep of the Canadian embassy, but at least at the consulate there was a better chance of someone understanding their language, their story, and able to communicate on their behalf to those who could help. Not much, but all he had, and so he put the van into gear and began the drive.

For now, at least for this moment, he’d won.

The police would come, they’d find the bodies, they’d find plenty of evidence. They’d have to dig for answers and would hopefully discover the same threads the war room had uncovered. Whatever law enforcement didn’t eventually get to, Bradford would, over time. But that was more than he could worry about right now. He’d taken out the garbage on Walker’s behalf. He’d found Alexis and she was on her way to safety. Now he could focus on Michael.

Hands in her jacket pockets, Munroe stepped from the bistro and scanned the main hall of Milan Central below, searching for a danger she might not recognize even if spotted.

She’d left Neeva behind, tucked away at a rear table with her back to the room so that it would be impossible for someone to recognize the girl in passing and equally difficult for Neeva to give away her own nervousness through eye contact and jumpy behavior. Two thousand euros, the phone, and a set of instructions were the insurance on the off chance Munroe didn’t make it back.

A final glance over the crowds and Munroe headed down the stairs and through the bustle of the station toward the ticket counters, fighting the limp that marked her as an anomaly.

According to Lumani—assuming he’d told the truth—two more of his people had arrived in town last night, and they’d be searching; there could be two, or more, or none at all, but regardless, the Doll Maker knew she was on her way back to Zagreb with Neeva, and no matter how small the needle of her person or how big the haystack of Milan, there weren’t
that
many ways to get there.

Traveling by road would have been ideal for slipping between the cracks, and had Munroe been alone, she’d have offered cash to a random driver and hitched a ride, but Neeva as a travel companion
made that impossible. Stealing another car and attempting to cross Italy and outside the Schengen Area borders without proper papers was out of the question, and carrying weapons ruled out flying. The Doll Maker’s people, if they were worth anything, had to play these possibilities.

Munroe waited in line, waited for the telltale hair rise of warning, but there was no incident, and with the next train still some hours away, she returned to Neeva with tickets in hand.

They punctuated the wait in the bistro with sparse conversation: Munroe with her back to the wall and face to the door, drinking far too much caffeine; Neeva picking at her food, pretending to have an appetite and to smile in order to mask a fatigue deeper than what had been there the day before, until finally their departure time rolled around and they had to move again.

Munroe lingered until it was nearly too late to board, holding back on the platform, searching for what was out of place, that inability of the truly focused to hide concentration, for faces that sought out other faces instead of travel schedules and compartment numbers—searching for those who were alone and headed in no obvious direction, and only when she saw none of this did she lead Neeva to the train, walking the long length of many cars to their first-class berth.

Had it been she giving chase, she would have skipped this uncertainty and focused manpower on the arrival, knowing eventually she would have to show. But this was the disadvantage of the hunted: always running, chasing monsters from shadows, never able to rest or predict from which direction the blow would come. Inside the berth, Munroe sat with her back to the window, legs stretched out along empty seats, Jericho in her hand between leg and cushion. Time drew on. The assassins never came, and after an uneventful change of trains in Venice, she relaxed and eventually, even against her own guard, fell into fitful sleep until Bradford called.

T
HEY PASSED THROUGH
immigration at the Croatian border and the train arrived in Zagreb in the wee morning hours while the streets were still dark and the city slept. A few people waited on the platform when they disembarked, and among them were two whose manner and posture set off Munroe’s warning instinct.

Munroe kept close to departing passengers, alert for ambush, and not wasting time or energy with words, used her body to herd and corral Neeva, keeping the girl hemmed in among the others: camouflage in numbers as they moved from platform into Glavni Kolodvor, Zagreb’s main railway station.

The building, small and almost provincial after the scope and size of Milan Central, still carried historical grandeur in its architecture, a throwback to days of glory when Zagreb, like Belgrade, Prague, and Budapest, had been a stop along the Orient Express. Not entirely deserted, the station was quiet and the sense of threat made worse by the early-morning dark and the wide area of open space outside the station.

Against the urge to run, Munroe nudged Neeva slightly faster. The sound of pursuit also picked up, but whoever kept behind them never closed the distance.

Outside, a small line of taxis waited. The shadow kept back far enough that even pointedly turning and staring in his direction, Munroe couldn’t see him.

He was a scout. Not here to kill but to report.

Bradford’s call and the news he’d delivered while they were in transit, confirmation that he’d recovered Alexis, had changed the dynamics. The Doll Maker had to wonder if she would show, and if so, if Neeva would be along—he’d need to know to plot his strategy and rearrange his pawns.

So now he knew.

The hotel was a short ride away and at the reception desk Munroe presented their documents and filled out paperwork, paid cash, and received the key for their room. They made their way to the elevator, and headed up, only to reach the sixth floor and turn around for the lobby by way of the stairs. With her arm looped in Neeva’s, Munroe led the girl through the hotel’s side exit, to nowhere in particular, along sidewalks similar to the ones she’d experienced outside the Doll Maker’s building less than a week earlier.

They were in the old city, the same general part of town where his safe house stood, where tidy streets formed a matrix of blocks built out of old three- and four-story buildings with elaborate stone facades and closed-off archways, which inevitably led to courtyards in the same way the Doll Maker’s building had.

“What was that about?” Neeva said.

“We can’t stay there, it’s not safe.”

The Doll Maker knew she was here, knew she’d have to hole up somewhere, had the names on the documents she carried, probably had the license plate and car details of the taxi itself. Now he had something to play with, something to plan and keep busy around.

“Where do we go, then?”

Munroe paused. Nudged Neeva into an arched doorway and turned to face her. “We’re waiting out the night,” she said, “and then after that there’s no more ‘we.’ I’m taking you to the U.S. embassy so that you can get home.”

“You can’t,” Neeva said. “I’m here to help you.”

“You have helped. You’ve been a tremendous help. The entire reason you came along was to use yourself as a bargaining chip, and you’ve served your purpose, but there’s nothing to trade you for anymore.”

“What about that person?” Neeva’s voice went up a notch. “Whoever was in the text?”

“She’s been rescued.”

Neeva stared at the ground. “Okay,” she said. “I understand that. But I still want to be part of whatever comes next.”

“What’s the point? You put your life on the line—bravely—but now it’s over and you can go home and start living again.”

“I can shoot. I’ve got eyes. I can watch your back.”

Munroe smiled and shook her head. “You’ll be one more person I’ll have to worry about.”

Neeva crossed her arms, and the old Neeva, the Neeva who’d spat and lunged at her, who’d sworn and fought and run, the hellion in the little girl’s body, resurfaced. “You’re going to have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way to the embassy and I’m pretty sure that’s way more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Come on,” Munroe said. “After everything we’ve been through? Don’t be a brat. I know you understand the reasons why. You might not like them, but if you were in my shoes you’d do the same thing.”

“I didn’t
just
come along to offer myself as a trade,” Neeva said. “That was only part of it.” She glanced up, looked Munroe full in the face. “Sure, you have your reasons, but after everything we’ve been through, you have no right to take this from me.”

“Take
what
from you?”

“Revenge.”

“Holy fuck, Neeva. I thought you’d got that out of your system.”

“I’ve earned this,” Neeva said. “I’ve been loyal, I haven’t questioned, I’ve kept quiet, and I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to. I haven’t caused any problems. I’ve earned it.”

“Earned what? What exactly do you think I’m going off to do?”

“Kill the head guy,” Neeva said. “I know that’s what you’re going to do.”

“And if I am?”

“I want to be a part of that. I want to see him die.”

“No.”

“You can’t take that from me.”

“I can and I will.”

“I’ll follow right after you.”

“You’re pissing me off,” Munroe said.

“Look,” Neeva said. “I’ve waited years for law enforcement, my therapist, somebody, anybody, to make sense of things that happened. I’m tired of being helpless.” She paused, took a deep breath. “And I’m tired of being scared. Either let me come along so I can prove myself and be your partner like I’ve been so far and take what help I can offer, or fight me and waste time and energy and resources.”

“Or I could kill you and get that out of the way now and save him the trouble.”

Neeva rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“What the hell is it with your need for revenge? How can seeing him dead possibly mean that much to you? I’ll take a picture. You can post it on your bedroom ceiling and stare at it when you drift off at night.”

“You’re missing the point,” Neeva said. “You—with your scars and your killings—should know better than anyone, and instead you’re playing like you’re dumb or something. You know exactly what I want, and exactly why.”

“Neeva, it’s senseless. I’m going into this knowing I’m probably not going to come out of it alive, I might not even be able to get the guy, but I have to do this, I have no choice. You have a choice. Don’t throw away your life.”

“I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want to finally be able to
do
something to
someone
who’s hurt me.”

“They might kill me and take you. Have you thought about that?
That you not only don’t get your revenge but have to suffer through the aftermath for your stupidity?”

Neeva shrugged.

“You’ve got fucked-up priorities,” Munroe said.

“You’re one to talk.”

Munroe straightened. “You’re a liability, Neeva. If you weren’t with me right now, he’d already be dead.”

Neeva stood taller, up on the balls of her feet. “If I wasn’t with you right now, the people you love would already be dead.”

Munroe sighed. Took a step backward, out of the archway and onto the sidewalk. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” she said. Pulled the phone out of her pocket, turned, and began walking. “If you’re not smart enough to preserve your own life, I’m not going to waste mine trying to talk you out of being an idiot.”