Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“Parviz,” John said, still in his crouch over the tarp, “let’s talk this over.”

“Nothing talk over,” Parviz said.

“I bet.” Davila was so taut with unspent fury, he quivered, the muscles of his forearms and jaw twitching and jumping. “They kill us then leave. The only reason we’re still alive is because they can’t get those vaults open otherwise.”

What John thought of as an interesting choice by Ustinov now took on new meaning. Maybe Ustinov had his doubts about the hired help. Even if Parviz went rogue, Ustinov must’ve known the man wouldn’t risk killing them. Could hurt them a lot, though, or simply shoot their kneecaps then grab their thumbs while they were rolling in agony or bleeding out, open the vaults, and leave. If he did and their bodies were eventually found, though, that would open up whole other cans of diplomatic and intelligence worms. (An absurd expression based in fact. Once upon a time, bait worms, like tuna fish, used to come in aluminum cans.)

Unlikely, then, for Parviz to be all that keen on putting bullets into them. Knife wounds, maybe...His gaze ticked over the men. No knives he could see, but that didn’t mean anything. But, boy, could he use a knife now. Or a couple of well-balanced axes.

He remembered his one “lesson” with Roni in the wee hours of their last morning together. Working off tension, same as when she took him to Emory’s gun range. On their last morning, Roni had been impressed at how quickly he seemed to pick up just how to throw a knife, how to aim an axe, how to find center mass and hit that bull’s eye throw after throw after throw.

John, she’d marveled. You’re a natural.

He’d replied with the equivalent of pshaw. Chalked up his ability to having pitched college baseball because he couldn’t talk about Dare. That boy and his uncle belonged to a past that was another can of worms best left unopened.

“You listen.” Parviz was still sweating like, well…a bandit. “You open cash bags. We take. We go.”

“Yeah…no.” Davila shook his head. “Not buying that.”

“You’ve got no incentive to let us go.” Careful to keep his hands away from his sides—away from his Glock—John slowly rose from his crouch. Interesting that Parviz had not told him to get rid of his weapon .

Because he thinks I don’t stand a chance.

Or, maybe, he wanted John to draw his weapon just for the sheer pleasure of aerating his hide. But, then again, that left too much evidence behind. Though he doubted Tajikistan had much in the way of a forensics lab. He bet the Tajik police, if the country even had those, were even less inclined to investigate the deaths of two foreigners who weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.

Find your targets. Work out an attack. His mind raced through the same calculations it had that day in the crowded supermarket when he’d gripped a ripe cantaloupe while methodically ticking through who would die in that grocery store, and in what order.

After all that therapy, nothing had truly changed. He was still awfully good at picking targets.

“No kill you.” Parviz was wagging his head. “You give money. We let you go.”

“Why would you do that?” John asked.

“You can’t afford to for us to walk out,” Davila said, “The guys waiting for us get in touch with Ustinov, your ass is grass. In fact, I think you better grow yourself another pair of eyeballs at the back of your head because, right now, you do this, you’ll never rest easy again.”

“True,” John said. “Spooks do have a habit of showing up and spoiling an evening.” He didn’t add that he spoke from experience.

“Ustinov no have to know. I call him. Tell him truth. Van got stopped. Get robbed. Get forced walk away. Last I see of you. Bandits hit me little bit then let me go. All have...how you say it?” Parviz’s mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. “Benefit of truth.”

The guy with the taqiyya growled something. A lot of consonants, a lot of clipped vowels. Like the guy ate gravel for breakfast. He might be speaking Tajik, but John got the gist easily enough: Waste these guys and let’s go.

“You know how open safe so money no burn up.” Parviz gestured with his Glock. “Go open. Then you walk away.”

“Davila.” John let resignation seep into his voice. “I don’t see that we have a choice, man.”

“What?” Davila snapped him a look. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m saying I like living.” To Parviz: “Just take it easy with that Glock, okay? Remember, there’s no safety. You don’t want that thing to go off accidentally and put a hole in a gas tank or, you know, hit one of your guys here.”

A flicker of uncertainty creased Parviz’s features. For a split second, his weapon twitched away from John. At that, the younger guy waved a hand and spat something.

“Yes, yes.” Nodding, Parviz blotted sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand. “First you gun, Mr. Child. Slow.”

Yeah, I just bet you’d love that. Instead of reaching for his weapon, he said, “Who’s the boy? ”

Parviz’s mouth hardened. “No you worry that. He just boy.”

“Uh-huh.” They wouldn’t kill him or Davila until they had their money.

So, he smiled at the boy and said, “ Kak tebya zovut? ”