Like the old days.
He was betting on several factors here. One, that someone had taken the black Tumi satchel from Larks’ room. Two, that the someone would keep the contents inside the bag. Three, that whoever it might be was still aboard. Four, that they had no knowledge anyone else was interested. And five, that they would be confident enough to walk off the ship with the satchel in hand.
A long shot? No question. But it was his only shot, so he stood behind an ornate column and kept watch below. Whatever was going to happen would happen here. His perch provided a wide view and he caught sight of Isabella Schaefer below, near one of the service desks, watching, too.
And there it was.
The black leather Tumi satchel, same distinctive silver buckles and white monogram—EL—on one side. It was draped across the shoulder of a young woman with long dark hair who hustled toward the gangway in quick steps. He saw that Treasury Agent Schaefer noticed her, too, and immediately followed.
Good enough for him.
He shouldered his bag and headed down the stairway.
*
Kim was sitting in one of the lounges, near the gangway exit, watching passengers leave. Hana was off to one side, observing, too. They’d made a point the entire cruise not to be seen together. The original idea had been for him and Larks to first talk privately, then to connect with Howell. For the first few days of the cruise, he’d called Larks’ room on a ship’s phone, but none of the calls had been answered. So Hana became his eyes and ears, watching the old man, waiting for their chance. When Larks told him the bag had been given away, his first thought was that maybe it might reappear here, at debarkation.
He sipped a coffee and allowed the many faces to pass across his gaze. He appeared like everyone else, there waiting his turn to depart. Luckily there were two Korean groups on board, one on the far side of the main foyer, all anxious to be on their way. He was just another tourist. He wondered what had happened with the American Malone. There hadn’t been any commotion on the ship about someone dying. As far as he knew, Larks was still dead in his bed, undiscovered.
He saw it first, then noticed Hana saw it, too.
The Tumi bag.
Being carried by a young woman. What was her name? Jelena. He caught his daughter’s gaze and nodded.
She followed.
*
Isabella was thrilled.
Good things happen to good people and she believed this was living proof. Where before she was dead in the water, now her hunch had played out. The documents she sought were just ahead, inside the same black satchel Larks had toted for days, hanging from the shoulder of a woman in her mid-twenties.
Time to do what should have been done days ago. Malone was right. She could have moved on Larks at any time. But part of her mission had been to ascertain the extent of the problem, so she’d given the former Treasury official a wide leash. Too wide, actually. But that mistake was about to be remedied. All would be right once again. The only hitch was Malone, who was proof that somebody else back home had acquired an interest in all this. But to what extent and how far? Luckily, that wasn’t her problem. Others would handle that.
She followed the young woman off the gangway and into a warehouse-like space where luggage was arranged in color-coded groups. Her target had apparently brought no belongings since she bypassed the confusion, stopping only a moment at customs to display a passport, then left the building.
Isabella kept pace, using the crowd for protection, and exited as well. They turned right, away from buses and land taxis, and headed for the concrete wharf where water taxis and shuttle boats waited. Maybe a dozen or more craft bobbed, ready to accept passengers. A babble of commands, mainly in Italian, quick movements, and willing hands offered many distractions. The morning was bright and sunny, the air cool and refreshing. The woman glanced out at the boats, clearly searching for someone. A variety of craft wove atop the choppy surface, each vying for space at the long wharf.
Isabella could not allow the woman to leave. So she made her move, elbowing her way through the crowd, zeroing in. Just as she reached out to corral her target, a man appeared from her left, wearing a red ball cap yanked down over his face. He was short, dressed in jeans, a purple sweater, and running shoes.
She saw him only an instant before he delivered a body check, propelling her over the edge and into the water.
TWENTY
WASHINGTON, DC
2:05 A.M.
Stephanie was not surprised Danny Daniels had appeared. Everything about the man fit into the category of unexpected. He’d always been bold and unabashed, a gregarious soul who loved being in charge. She wondered what he would do when his second term as president ended, his career in the limelight over. For a man like Danny, that would not be a good thing.
He sat at the table. “Great thing about the middle of the night is that a person can come and go as they please. Nothin’ to slippin’ out of the White House.”
“And hello to you, too,” she said.
He threw her a smile. “I’m surprised you’re so cordial. I figured you’d be pissed right now.”
“So you authorized the illegal entry into the Billet files?”
“That wasn’t me. Joe, here, decided to go that route all on his own.”
She saw that the Treasury secretary wasn’t pleased to see his boss, so she decided to press the advantage. “You realize Treasury risked Cotton’s life. They might even have wanted him caught in the crossfire, to slow us down.”
“Oh, yeah. I get it. Friggin’ stupid. Which is why I’m here. The secretary and I are going to have a chat on that.” He tossed a glare across the table. “Just you and me. And then we’re going to talk about what the hell you’ve been doing in Europe these past ten days.”