Pierre Menard answered on the first ring. Did the man never go on vacation? Maybe sleep late the occasional morning? “Nicholas? It is the middle of the night in New York? What are you doing working?”
Menard’s thick French accent was comfortingly familiar. They’d worked together several times in the past, and Nicholas trusted Menard. He’d never let him down.
“Why do you assume I’m working, Pierre?”
A small laugh, and he pictured Menard shaking his head. “I know you, and I heard about the Bayway bombing. Now what can I do for you?”
“Do you have friends in Munich?”
“Oui, naturellement. I have friends everywhere.”
“Good. I need someone to grab a hacker named Gunther Ansell. He lives in the Glockenbach. He should be home asleep right now. I need him taken silently, and I need him taken now.”
“I believe I have heard this name recently. You said he’s a hacker? One of your sort?”
“He is. Where did you hear his name?”
“Interpol sent out a Blue Notice for him last week, to gather more information about his criminal activity on the Internet. But the notice was canceled yesterday. One moment, Nicholas.”
He heard papers shuffling in the background. Interpol had a variety of color-coded “notices” running the gamut from red to a mild yellow, warnings against wanted criminals, upcoming attacks, or even simply requests for more information.
Menard came back on the line. “It is as I thought. I am sorry to have to tell you this. Gunther Ansell was killed three days ago. Shot in a robbery on the street near his apartment. The police have no suspects.”
17
ROOK TO D1
Brooklyn
Vanessa watched Andy hit the buttons on the phone, knew it was a matter of moments before her time was up. She gauged the distance to the door, not that it mattered, since Matthew’s Beretta never wavered from her chest. She’d try one last time. Maybe Matthew would look away and she’d have a chance.
“Go ahead, Andy, make the call. I’ve told you already, Matthew, it’s not my phone. This will prove it.”
She saw Matthew smooth back his hair, a habit of his that meant he wasn’t certain, maybe about her guilt? Had she gotten through to him when she’d brought up Darius?
Andy put the call on speaker. The phone rang four times, then a woman’s voice answered, loud enough to be heard over the din in the background. “Green’s Pizza. Can I help you?”
“Pizza?”
“Yeah, babe. That’s what we do. Make a mean calzone, too, if you’re interested. What’ll it be? Got a fourteen-inch pie on special, pepperoni and mushroom.”
“Hey, you sound pretty, well, never mind. Thank you.” Andy turned off the phone. His crazy eyes shone. “How about that, a pizza place in Delaware this time. The last call, the geo-locator says the call went to a Korean BBQ joint in Arlington, Virginia. Why have you been calling restaurants, Vanessa? And why does the same number take us to different places?”
“Matthew, listen to me, I have no reason to betray you. I make bombs, I love to watch them work and work well. I’m proud to be a part of your group. It’s Darius, Matthew. It’s Darius.”
Andy said, “Darius? That stone-cold freak killer? There’s no reason for him to turn traitor. But that’s good, Vanessa, you sound real sincere accusing him, but you’re lying. What do you think, Ian?”