Secrets of the Dead (28 page)

Eve could finish that sentence for him. Otherwise they’d have to find another way to find Royce Raiker. And she knew it wasn’t her imagination that time was running out.

_______

“How long have
you been in our country, Miss Coughlin?”

Eve sipped the shop’s signature iced coffee from a porcelain cup before returning it to the matching saucer. “Not long.” Ahmed Pascal was no more than five eight, slender with styled dark hair swept back from his forehead and a neatly trimmed goatee. His suit was impeccably cut and his shoes Italian leather. She didn’t know how high up the man was in bin Osman’s organization, but evidently his station paid well.

“I sent you a photo of a man as an email attachment. I followed his trail and know he is headed here. I also know he hopes to have some sort of deal with Rizqi bin Osman. That isn’t my concern. But he and I have unfinished business. Since I believe he might be in contact, I would grateful if you share when he does. And where he might be staying.”

Pascal brought his cup to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers as he drank. Lowering the cup, he murmured, “Grateful to the tune of five thousand US dollars, your email said.”

“Yes.” Eve strove to keep the nerves that were stuttering and thrumming inside her from showing in her expression. “I believe this man knows where my sister is. She’s been missing for months, and he promised to give me the details regarding her whereabouts. Instead, he left the country, taking with him the money I had given him for the information.”

“This isn’t the States, Miss Coughlin.” There was a hint of disdain in his words. “It is not safe for a woman alone to go on such a journey.”

Wrapping both hands around the cup she raised it for another drink. “I’m not alone.” She watched his gaze dart around the small coffee and dessert shop. Knew he was gauging the other occupants for the possibility of who might be assisting her. “And I’m not helpless. As our soon-to-be mutual acquaintance will learn. This request will take little of your time, but pay handsomely. I hope you will consider it.”

He sat back in his seat. Studied her. “There are many variables to consider. It will depend, of course on the importance this man holds for my employer. Right now I can promise nothing. But if I am able to be of help, I will of course be willing.”

“That is all I ask.” Collecting her purse, she rose. “Thank you for your time. I hope to hear from you soon.”

“The pleasure was mine.” But the polite words weren’t reflected in his watchful gaze. And Eve felt his eyes bore into her back as she wound through the tables out to the front patio where a light drizzle had begun to fall.

She purposefully meandered, fully expecting to be followed. The street vendors wouldn’t be out in full force until dark when the night market got underway. But the open air shops she passed were full of wares, and she frequently stopped and browsed when an owner called out to her.

The next shop was full of women’s clothing. Eve intended to pass it, this morning’s ordeal still fresh in her mind. She never got the chance. As she neared the doorway a hard hand grasped her arm and yanked her inside and off the street.

Chapter 13

First her hand
flew to her heart. Then it fisted to slug the man at her side. “Declan! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She’d kept him in sight as she made her way along the street, but he’d stayed a half a block ahead of her before disappearing completely. Now she knew why.

He tugged at the hijab she wore, and she helped him unwrap it before he dropped it into a shopping bag he held. From the depths of it he pulled out a maxi skirt and a colorful scarf. “Put these on.”

Swiftly she stepped into the skirt and pulled it over her trousers. Then arranged the scarf in a decorative style around her neck. He gave her an approving nod, and they walked out of the shop arm in arm. Anyone following her would be looking for a woman alone, not a blonde in bright clothes with a man at her side. Hopefully it would be enough to throw any interested parties off her trail.

They walked to the nearest bus stop and eventually made their way via public transportation back to the hotel. The drizzle showed no signs of lifting so by the time they reached their room, Eve could be fairly certain that her hair would provide the most effective disguise she could muster. Since dignity was beyond her at this point, she just raked her fingers through the curly mass and shook the moisture from it.

“What have Finn and Kellan come up with?”

In answer, he showed her a series of pictures they’d been sent since arriving at the compound this morning. The bin Osman residence was a mostly whitewashed sprawling two story that looked as though square boxes had been stacked haphazardly. The upper story section closest to the gate was red. It was all angles and thrusting flat roofs that extended over the portions of the house. It was set well back from the street, an effort perhaps to deter anyone with explosives.

“Six thousand square feet, Finn figures, with a guard house and a guest house out back. His oldest daughters and their families live in the guesthouse. Not palatial but definitely a luxury home in this area.” The gate connected to stone pillars, which continued around the property in a ten foot solid fence.

“There’s no gate in back.” One of the pictures showed a sparkling pool in the well-tended yard, but the wall around the property was complete.

“No. Making me think there’s an underground garage that leads to the street somewhere. I would think that there has to be another exit for an emergency escape.” Declan flipped to another set of pictures. Of a slender man in a suit getting into a BMW sedan and driving out the gates. Ahmed Pascal.

“Pascal hasn’t returned to bin Osman’s residence since your meet with him. And he hasn’t clicked on the attachment you sent in your email. At least not yet.”

Maybe he’d yet do so, Eve thought. Now that he knew what he stood to gain by passing along a bit of information to her. “Does bin Osman conduct all his business from inside his residence?”

“According to the intelligence Stillions was able to get—maybe from one of your State Department colleagues stationed inside the country—the man rarely leaves the property. And then only under heavy security.” His mouth twisted. “I guess if you live by the sword, you’re afraid you’re going to die the same way.”

“Which explains the difficulty getting close to him.”

“From the pictures they took, no one is getting through the gate who bears the slightest resemblance to Malsovic.” He flipped quickly through photos of cars coming and going. One held a woman in her late twenties or early thirties who got out of the chauffeured sedan and walked confidently into the house. Another was a stout man with salt and pepper hair who was welcomed into the house after being passed through the gate. And once a striking woman in her forties entered a car waiting in the drive and was driven away. “This guy,” Declan tapped the picture of the man, “has been identified as bin Osman’s top lawyer. Probably up to his neck in the man’s dirty dealings.”

“How high is Pascal in the man’s empire?” Eve wondered aloud. The man certainly hadn’t lacked confidence. And his loyalty to bin Osman had seemed sincere.

“Definitely one of his lieutenants, based on the intel we’re being fed from the feds. He has the power to grant access to bin Osman. It remains to be seen if he’ll offer it to Malsovic.”

“If he doesn’t,” Eve said, her gaze lifting to his, “our only chance is that he’ll follow through and alert me when the contact was made.” It wasn’t just that they had no other viable plan for finding Malsovic in the country. It was that currently this was the only viable plan.

_______

After getting something
to eat, Declan and Eve had switched places with Finn and Kellan for surveillance duty near bin Osman’s. Given the report from the other two, Declan was beginning to believe it was a wasted chore. There was little likelihood that Malsovic would be let anywhere near that compound. It would probably be wiser to follow anyone who left. Surely someone would meet with Malsovic away from the residence, much as Pascal had with Eve. Tomorrow they needed to rent a second car, so they could split up if they needed to.

It was after midnight when they returned to the hotel, to find the two other men still up and huddled around a laptop in their room. The excitement in their expressions when they looked up was enough to divert Eve from the exhaustion that had overtaken her in the car. “Paulie thinks they’ve got a hit on photos of Malsovic and Royce from Interpol’s network. Malsovic has a scruff of a beard.” She and Declan went to look at the screen.

“He’s covered the tattoo under his eye with something for the photo. Make up, maybe,” she observed. Royce’s hair has been lightened. Eve swallowed hard looking at the picture of the boy. He looked unwell. Unhappy. And she was reminded once again of the tremendous stress he was under.

He’d been medicated to simulate a seizure. Declan had gotten that information this evening from Raiker’s labs. Which proved that Malsovic wasn’t above using drugs to keeping the boy under control as he moved him across borders. Royce would think his mom was dead. Which was worse than the truth. That she was alive. Barely. That she hadn’t regained consciousness yet for more than a minute at a time.

“So they flew into the city this evening from Nassau, Bahamas.” Declan frowned. “Why didn’t their passports show up in the States?”

“If they went by ship rather than air, there are lots of foreign cruise ships that stop in Florida. Maybe he paid someone off,” Finn suggested. “And the US Embassy in Kuala Lumpur has been alerted to Malsovic’s and Royce’s presence in the country. Their photos are being distributed to every law enforcement agency in the country.”

The news didn’t seem to provide as much comfort as it should, and Eve thought she knew why. Malaysia wasn’t a partner country in the Hague Convention, an international agreement dealing with parental abductions. She knew enough to not count on much help from the police regarding Royce’s situation. Once they found the boy, the US embassy would be needed to get him out of the country.

But first they had to find him.

“Can I use the laptop for a minute?” Kell and Finn parted so Declan could open another window and type in a URL. It took a moment for Eve to realize he was accessing her fake email account. Another to remember why. After a minute Declan looked up, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face. “We may have caught out first break. Ahmed Pascal opened the attached photo of Malsovic that we sent him.”

“And that means…what, exactly?” Kell wanted to know.

“It means,” Declan said, typing rapidly, “that he just invited us to take a look inside his computer.”

_______

Umar Megat lifted
his gaze from the documents and photos spread in front of him and stared at the man seated across the table. “This is very compelling evidence.” He spoke in English because his guest spoke neither Malay nor Chinese. “But not definitive proof of the boy’s lineage.”

Malsovic threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one in the restaurant was paying them close attention. It was lunchtime, and the place was crowded. Then he returned his focus to his host. Two of his contacts had mentioned Megat as someone close to bin Osman. A cousin, who would surely wish to curry favor with his powerful relative in order to move higher in his organization. Malsovic reached into his shirt pocket and took out a folded up envelope. Opening it, he withdrew a vial of blood. Set it in front of the other man.

“This document is a copy of the bloodwork done on the infant nine years ago.” He tapped the paper in question. “You have only to run lab tests on this blood for all the proof you need. You will be a hero. Your cousin will surely be grateful to the man who brought him his only son.”

Megat pursed his lips. He was a fussy little man, Malsovic thought, better suited to accounting than being an integral part of bin Osman’s network. But that was exactly what he was, proving again the injustice of the world.

When Megat reached out to scoop up the vial, Malsovic breathed a bit easier. “The lab work cannot be completed until tomorrow,” Umar warned, slipping the glass tube into the briefcase he’d set on the floor next to him. “Even that fast will require some significant cost.”

“It will be worth it.” Now that success was so close, Malsovic could afford to be confident. It suited him to deal with an underling rather than bin Osman himself. Their last meeting had been acrimonious. The man had been furious that Royce Benning had died without giving up the infant’s whereabouts. Better perhaps that the man never learn exactly who returned his son to him.

Sweeping up the documents he’d set out for the man’s consideration, Malsovic was stopped in the act when Megat put a hand over his. “I will keep these.”

Malsovic sat back. “I have the originals in a safe place.”

“As well you should.” Collecting them, the other man stuffed them in the briefcase as well. “If the lab tests come back with the results you say, these documents will help acquire the funds needed to complete our transaction.”

“Half a million dollars.” Malsovic barely dared to say the amount out loud.

The other man didn’t blink. “If you are right about this, his father would pay much much more to finally have the son who has been lost to him all this time.”

The words left Malsovic with the distinct feeling that he had sold the boy too cheap. But it would be enough money for him to move to another country, start another business. Begin a new life. And maybe there would be a way to up the price, to cover the expenses he’d accrued. Yes, he’d ask for more tomorrow. “You can call when you get the test results back.”

“I will.”

Megat rose and stuck out his hand. Malsovic shook it. “I thank you for coming to me with this important news,” the man said soberly. “Until tomorrow.”

Malsovic turned and made his way out of the crowded restaurant. He was canny enough to realize the man might have him followed so he would take pains to lose any tail before he headed back to where he’d left Zupan and the boy. He could hardly hide his euphoria as he strode out to the sidewalk.

By this time tomorrow, he would be richer than he’d ever dreamed.

_______

The success of
the Trojan horse code that Declan had encrypted in the email attachment meant rearranging the duties of the day. He and Eve would stay at the hotel, where he’d sift through the man’s stored documents and correspondence, and she’d translate them to see if there was any information they could use. Kell and Finn took surveillance duties again, this time with the intention of following the vehicles leaving bin Osman’s compound, at least those holding men.

“What exactly are we looking for?” she asked after a few hours of reading files aloud to him.

Declan worked his shoulders tiredly. He was growing as frustrated as she was. “I’m not sure. Maybe some information that would give us leverage over bin Osman. Or evidence of his criminal acts that we could then turn over to law enforcement.”

Her voice sounded doubtful. “I don’t think we could arrange that in time to prevent Malsovic handing over Royce. “And once he’s on the property we’d have a heck of a time getting him off, from the looks of the security.”

She was right. And they hadn’t run across anything yet that provided them with compelling information they didn’t already have. “Let’s switch to email.” He took a moment to access the man’s email account and bypass the simple encryption code on the messages. Time crawled as Eve translated them, one after another for over an hour. He stopped her finally with a hand on her arm.

“Do you realize that so far he has daily emails to Nadia and Celine, bin Osman’s eldest daughters and only a couple a week to bin Osman himself?”

“I noticed that, too.” She sat back and reached for a water bottle on the desk. Drank. “And they’re almost nauseatingly ingratiating. Constant assurances of his loyalty and devotion to them. And the ones he writes and receives to and from Umar Megat seem filled with concern for keeping the women happy, as well. Maybe Pascal is more of an underling than we thought. Perhaps he reports mainly to the daughters.”

He took a drink from his own water bottle. Drained it. “Stillions seems to think that the two women are integral parts of bin Osman’s criminal enterprises.”

“How does that help us?”

He didn’t have the answer to that yet. But he had a feeling it existed in the rest of Pascal’s correspondence. “I don’t know yet. Let’s keep reading.”

_______

“Do you have
your people on him?”

“Yes. A half a dozen men on the street armed with his picture. He will try to cover his trail, but he cannot evade all of them.” Ahmed Pascal sat down in the chair that the man calling himself Goran Simic had vacated and looked at Umar Megat. “Do you believe it is true? Does he really have the son of bin Osman?”

“It might be true.” The other man pulled the documents out that Simic had left him with and gave Pascal time to study them. “He also left me with a vial of the boy’s blood, which I said I would have tested tomorrow.”