The Doll (40 page)

Neeva, by her side, legs moving twice as quickly as Munroe’s, continued to sob. Munroe said, “You can stop crying now,” and from one breath to the next, the tears dried up.

As she had done so many times in the past hours, Munroe turned down streets at random, moving slower this time not only
to accommodate Neeva but also her own weakening, stopping occasionally to ask strangers for directions to the nearest metro, only to deliberately head off course, doing the mental math: trying to avoid making a beeline for her destination without taking so long to get there that Lumani was able to project her plan and arrive before she did.

One more phase and she could stop. This last strategic play meant, at least for the night, that the constant movement and the adrenaline spikes would be over, meant she could sleep.

The metro station led off the street and to the underground. If Lumani followed, and Munroe expected he would, he would be methodical and slow. She’d picked off two of his men in one day, and he’d be concerned about avoiding strategic errors, although why he hadn’t taken the shot outside the hotel puzzled her.

The train arrived, and with rush hour long past, they found seats easily. Munroe caught stares from two passengers across the aisle and swiped at her forehead. Neeva handed her a washcloth that she’d apparently taken from the hotel, and Munroe tamped down the blood.

To Neeva she said, “Are you still willing to go through with your plan—to be used as bait?”

The girl didn’t answer immediately, and Munroe switched on the cell phone. “I can’t guarantee this will work,” she said. “And there’s the possibility we only half fail—that you end up getting taken and I can’t get you back. I need to know you’ve seriously weighed the consequences and I’m not gambling with your life without your consent.”

Neeva stared at the floor a long while and then looked up. “I understand the consequences,” she said, “and yes, I’m still willing.”

Munroe reached for Neeva’s hand. Squeezed it. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” she said, and when Neeva smiled in reply, Munroe turned to the phone and worked as quickly as the spotty cell signal would allow, utilizing credit card numbers she’d had and memorized for years, setting the steps out in advance that would get them to the end of the night.

“Okay, then,” Munroe whispered, and she dialed Lumani.

When he answered, she said, “I want to make a trade.”

A heartbeat of pause, then Lumani said, “You’ll give up the package?”

“I can’t protect her,” Munroe said. “I’m bleeding. Weakening. You’ll take her from me, anyway. But I want the girl in the United States freed as was the original offer.”

“That was before you killed Tamás.”

“I still want it.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“No guarantees?” she said.

“I can’t. But like you said, I’ll take her from you, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you shoot?” she said.

“The timing wasn’t right.”

“You want me dead,” she said.

“Yes, badly.”

“I’m going to leave her at a restaurant for you to pick up,” she said. “I won’t be there.”

“I’ll still find you.”

“Possibly, but not tonight.”

“Where will you put her?” he said.

“I’ll call you when I figure it out.”

T
HE TAXI
M
UNROE
had arranged for was waiting at the station when they arrived, and the transfer from train to platform to stairs to car made seamlessly. Munroe gave the driver the name of the hotel she’d booked across town and, seated in the comfort of the backseat, fought the body’s command to drift to sleep—sleep Neeva quickly succumbed to.

Buildings rose like silent sentinels standing guard along the way, their facades framed and shadowed by streetlights, casting an otherworldly impression over sidewalks alive with pedestrian traffic. Munroe studied the eateries, searching for one that would abet her purpose, and when she found it, signaled the driver to pull over.

Her instructions were simple. Drive around the block at least once, and upon the return, idle down the street with the meter running. “When it’s time to leave,” she said, “it might be with two sleeping people, and I’ll probably need your help.” She waved a wad of cash. “Assuming you’re available.”

The driver’s smile widened and he nodded. “Yes, available,” he said.

Munroe nudged Neeva, and the girl came awake grudgingly. “It’s time,” she said, and Neeva scooted out of the taxi with her.

The restaurant filled a corner, the front well lit and inviting, but the side street mainly in shadow, and most of the tables set out under awnings along the fronting still empty.

Munroe called Lumani, and although she suspected he wasn’t far away, she gave him the coordinates. She placed Neeva at the table in a corner, in a chair whose back faced the windowless side of the restaurant, and left all of the bags but the satchel at her feet.

Munroe pulled the trackers and the handmade envelope from her pocket. Scribbled a fake address on it. Neeva forced a smile, but reflective of the stress and exhaustion, the gesture came out crooked. Munroe said, “I promise.” And with a kiss on the top of the girl’s head, walked away.

The journey wasn’t long. Several meters along the length of the building, into the shadows, far enough away from the restaurant patio that she wasn’t visible beyond the lights but still close enough that she could see the back of Neeva’s head.

A group of two men and a woman walked in Munroe’s direction, and Munroe called out to them, offered a hundred euros if they’d take the envelope and drop it into the nearest mailbox for her.

Their expressions were a mix of suspicion and curiosity, but money, the world’s most common language, was one they spoke well, and so they took the envelope and the cash and continued along their way until their laughter and playful banter faded with them.

In the shadows, Munroe waited, her back to the wall, time continuing its slow march forward while her glance roved from Neeva to what she could see of the sidewalk and the pedestrians who filled the night.

In place of the Jericho, she held the taser. Double-checked the safety, reconfirmed the battery power. The moments passed, and eventually Neeva was forced to order a meal to retain her seat, but still no Lumani.

He’d seen the blood. He’d seen the limp. He was running on nervous fumes and exhaustion the same way she was, and he wanted the package. He had to show. And even if he took Neeva down from afar, he’d still have to come in close for the pickup. Even if he’d driven by once—twice—to confirm Neeva was truly alone, Munroe should have caught sight of him by now.

Consumed by the silence, by Lumani’s absence, by exhaustion,
and entirely focused on trying to spot him on the street and in the crowds, she nearly missed the cues of approach from behind. Didn’t hear him, didn’t see him slinking through the shadows from the opposite direction until almost too late.

She turned. Caught a glimpse of him. Of the handgun.

Exhaustion became energy. Weakness became strength.

He was still in the range between far enough to miss and close enough to hit.

He stopped suddenly when she turned. Drew, and so did she; he fired and the slug hit her square in the chest. The force threw her backward onto the ground, and when he approached to fire again, she aimed the laser sight at his neck.

Pulled.

Threads of voltage sent him into spasms.

Hurting, trying to breathe, Munroe forced herself up from the ground and closed the distance. Kicked the gun out of reach; it was another HK USP .45 Tactical, same as what Tamás and Arben had used. Let go of the taser and put the Jericho to Lumani’s forehead.

With a boot on his chest, she used her free hand to search for the syringe he surely carried. Found it. Jabbed it into his thigh. Waited with the gun to his head until his eyes shut and his jaw went slack. Punched him just to be sure. The sedative would have been measured to heavily dose Neeva and her nearly half-weight to his, but at this point, what the fuck ever.

A group of pedestrians on the other side of the street had watched the entire scene. Munroe waved them on. “It’s official business,” she said, and whether they believed her or not, they moved on. Human nature was always more inclined to apathy, to avoiding involvement, to seeing things as someone else’s problem. People were easy like that.

Munroe called to Neeva, though it took several attempts, each louder than the last, to capture the girl’s attention. Neeva, as Munroe had been, was so entirely focused on pretending to eat and act naturally while studying pedestrians that she’d filtered out the noise from behind. When the girl finally heard the call, she put money on the table and brought the bags, then, spotting Lumani on the ground, smiled. Had no idea that because of Munroe’s slipup they’d both come perilously close to disaster.

Munroe blinked back the exhaustion. God, she needed sleep.

Soon. Almost. Another hour at the most and she could collapse.

Munroe gave Neeva a strained smile. “Good job,” she said, and dialed the taxi driver. When he answered, she called him around for pickup.

That Neeva was still awake was a bonus Munroe hadn’t counted on, and so together, with one of Lumani’s arms draped over Munroe’s shoulders and Neeva propping him up more with her head than shoulders, they walked him to the curb. To the occasional passersby who stopped to gawk, Munroe said, “Too much wine,” which inevitably elicited snickers.

Inside the cab, Munroe handed the driver half the cash she’d offered and said, “The rest when we reach the hotel.” Switching to English, she said to Neeva, “We need to get him naked.”

B
Y THE TIME
they arrived at the hotel, through something of a maneuver in the small backseat, they’d stripped Lumani down and then Munroe, having confirmed the pants and shirt were free of trackers, put them back on. The shoes, jacket, belt, and everything else he’d worn and carried on him she’d rolled into a ball, and they’d stopped along the way so that she could dispose of them.

With another portion of cash handed over to the driver, he didn’t question the many requests for turns and false starts. They traveled aimlessly along random streets. Stopped and waited. Moved to parking garages and waited more, and although Munroe expected a tail, she found none. Throughout, the taxi driver paid attention but said nothing but
grazie
when at last he parked at the curb outside the hotel and Munroe handed him the last of the money. “I have more,” Munroe said. “Wait and I will return.”

To Neeva: “I’ll be right back.”

Taking Lumani into the hotel, unconscious and barely clothed, was one thing, putting him on display and babying him through the check-in procedure another, and so she entered the hotel alone, scoped the lobby and the elevator area to place the cameras and security, and then returning to the front desk, secured the keys.

At the taxi, Munroe and Neeva inched Lumani out, and with his arm draped over her shoulders and his body sagging, Munroe handed the driver another payment. “Don’t return for any of the items we threw away,” she said. “Not even the phone or
the watch—there are evil people looking for those pieces, and if you carry even one of them, you’ll invite death to your family.”

The driver gazed at her quizzically and she said, “You have enough money to make up for any value you might get out of going back for them. Please just believe me.”

He nodded.

“I’ll keep your number,” she said. “I may need your help again.” So he smiled and waved before driving off, and she stared after him, hoping he’d follow through—not just for his own sake, but for hers.

Munroe turned from the diminishing taillights toward the bright hotel entrance. With Neeva’s help, she juggled carrying bags and walking Lumani through the front door, a slightly more attention-gathering process than it had been getting him from the back of the restaurant into the taxi.

This hotel, unlike the boutique one that had served her purpose earlier in the evening, was a European version of an American chain, which made it easier to blend in and hide. The twenty-four-hour front desk rotated shifts, and employees and guests passed through the cycle in numbers great enough to make this one odd incident just another curiosity.

From lobby to elevator, past curious hotel personnel and guests, Munroe tossed out the occasional sarcastic comment poking fun at Lumani and eliciting smiles as they continued on, up several floors, down a hall, and finally, into the seclusion of the room.

Munroe shifted furniture, and when she’d cleared the space she needed, she stripped Lumani out of his clothes again and then maneuvered him into the desk chair with its back wedged into a corner. With the roll of tape, she bound him—ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and torso—so that he took on the shape of the chair and could not, through accident or effort, tip it over. The sedative wouldn’t be enough to keep him under for long, but he was as sleep-deprived as she was, and she expected him to be out a while. She didn’t tape his mouth for fear of suffocating him, and because in any case what noise he made would surely alert her before anyone else.

Duct tape. Perfect weapon; so many uses. With her work done, Munroe took a step back and tossed what little was left of the roll onto the desk.

Munroe sighed. Glanced at Neeva, who’d fallen asleep as soon as Munroe had gotten Lumani in the chair. Sat on the room’s one bed and took off her shoes. Lay back and darkness descended.

T
APPING PULLED
M
UNROE
from the deep. Subtle random thuds that paused and continued on, eager and frenetic, only to pause again. Without moving, without changing the rhythm of her breathing, she opened her eyes just enough to observe and for a minute or two lay still, while Lumani twisted in the chair, straining at the bonds, throwing himself forward and occasionally inching the chair away from the wall.

Neeva slept on.

Munroe opened her eyes fully, waited until Lumani had finished thrashing. Smiled at the shock on his face and the sudden freeze when his eyes locked onto hers and he realized she’d been watching him.