22
I SEE A SLIGHT RESEMBLANCE,” Mila said.
I looked up from the photo. “You think this young woman bombed…”
Mila handed me another picture. The same woman, hurrying out of the station, no backpack, the man who took my wife close behind her. I glanced at the time stamp.
Mila followed my gaze. “The bomb detonated ten minutes after Yasmin Zaid left, in a store inside the station.”
I studied the girl’s face. A blank canvas, waiting for the delicate touch of the brush. She didn’t look afraid or excited about her bombing mission. She was… blank. Behind, the scarred man was grinning ever so slightly.
“He certainly matches your description. He has… affected or influenced Yasmin Zaid. Perhaps as well your wife. Gotten good people in his thrall. To commit violence.”
“I don’t understand. Is he a terrorist?”
“No. I don’t believe he is. No one has claimed responsibility for the blast, and it wasn’t placed on a train, where they could have killed many more people. They could have blown up Yasmin if they were simply using her as a tool. Instead, they blew up a little newsstand that sells candy and paperback books and magazines. It makes no sense, from the standpoint of an extremist. Like the London office bombing.”
I thought of the Money Czar—I had always been sure our investigation of him drove the London bombing. From her accent, Mila was Russian—could she be connected to him? But she wouldn’t be hiring me; she’d just kill me. I put the picture down. “I imagine the Dutch police are looking for them.”
“The Dutch have not identified her, but they will be using face-recognition software. Even with only a partial match on her face, it’s only a matter of time before she’s identified. Perhaps days.”
“How did you get these photos? Have the Dutch authorities released them?”
“No.” And she didn’t say more.
“Why tell me your troubles?”
“I want you to find Yasmin and bring her back to me.”
“I’m not going to work for you. I can’t.” My voice sounded hollowed, like a ghost’s. “The Company—”
“Bah,” Mila spat, like the word was a nail. “Stop pretending to be such a nice guy. Stop playing by their rules, Sam. Their rules put you in jail when you were innocent. Their rules presumed your guilt when they should not. If you could, you’d want to find the man who took her, to know why he killed your friends, what he’s done with your wife and child. Don’t lie to me. It’s a fever in your blood. To find them.”
A slow, awful fire burned in Mila’s voice.
“Lucy and your child are your holy grail, Sam. I know you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Of course I do. You are all about fighting the evil, Sam. You joined the Company for revenge. A revenge you can’t ever get.”
I froze. Mila raised an eyebrow at me.
“The desire for revenge drove you to the Company, and now revenge can drive you to find the man who tore apart your family. Oh, what a shrink could make of you.”
“I just want Lucy and the baby back,” I said. “I don’t want revenge.”
“Don’t believe revenge isn’t fantastic,” Mila said, “until you’ve actually exacted it.” She shrugged. “I find revenge absolutely thrilling and satisfying.”
I reached for the Glenfiddich, refilled our glasses.
Mila sipped the whisky. It was a nice big, comradely gulp. “If you come to work for me, you will have a free hand to look for her. I am best boss ever.”
I didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“This could be a Company trap. A test to see if I’m willing to sell my services. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I cannot help you. I am practical.”
She made a face at the word. “Practical is what Soviet architecture was. Practical is not always the answer. The offer expires in one minute.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’ll get you to Holland. But then we part ways and you never saw or met me, and be certain you will be back in prison within days. With no hope of ever finding your family.”
“And if I say yes?”
Mila tasted the Scotch. “Find Yasmin. Bring her back to me, and you may exact whatever revenge you like on the scarred man. If he knows where your wife and child are, it’s your concern. But Yasmin is saved first.”
“She’s killed people.”
“No. You can see it in her face—she has been drugged or broken. Break this group of kidnappers for me, and I will give you every resource to find your wife.”
“And then what? The Company will be after me.”
“Not if you produce evidence of your innocence. The scarred man might have information that clears the name.”
“Who are you?” I said, so quietly I wasn’t sure that she heard me.
Mila set down the glass. “I work for a group that prefers to remain anonymous. You have no reason to trust me, but via this group I am bringing you the best hope you have of finding your wife. I am giving you freedom and resources. Do you care so much for little questions that have little answers?”
She had a bizarre way of talking but I saw her point. It didn’t matter who these people were; all that mattered was Lucy and my son. Daniel. I wondered if she’d been able to give him that name, if they were still alive.
I decided. “And if I get caught?”
“You’re on your own. We can’t acknowledge you, we can’t help you.”
I waited in silence for her thin smile to fade. She wanted a response. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“I dislike seeing your talent wasted. You should be put to good use.” Mila lit a cigarette; she was not the kind of person to ask if I minded in the close quarters of the cabin. “Not just good use. Extraordinary use.”
I picked up the photo from the train station. Stared hard at the man’s scar.
“How many seconds left in that minute?” I asked.
“Ten.”
“Yes,” I said.