Page 15 of What is Found
John,she’d marveled.You’re a natural.
He’d replied with the equivalent ofpshaw.Chalked up his ability to having pitched college baseball because he couldn’t talk about Dare. That boy and his uncle belonged to a past that was another can of worms best left unopened.
“You listen.” Parviz was still sweating like, well…a bandit. “You open cash bags. We take. We go.”
“Yeah…no.” Davila shook his head. “Not buying that.”
“You’ve got no incentive to let us go.” Careful to keep his hands away from his sides—away from his Glock—John slowly rose from his crouch. Interesting that Parviz hadnottold him to get rid ofhisweapon.
Because he thinks I don’t stand a chance.
Or, maybe, he wanted John to draw his weapon just for the sheer pleasure of aerating his hide. But, then again, that left too much evidence behind. Though he doubted Tajikistan had much in the way of a forensics lab. He bet the Tajik police, if the country even had those, were even less inclined to investigate the deaths of two foreigners who weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.
Find your targets. Work out an attack.His mind raced through the same calculations it had that day in the crowded supermarket when he’d gripped a ripe cantaloupe while methodically ticking through who would die in that grocery store, and in what order.
After all that therapy, nothing had truly changed. He was still awfully good at picking targets.
“No kill you.” Parviz was wagging his head. “You give money. We let you go.”
“Why would you do that?” John asked.
“You can’t afford to for us to walk out,” Davila said, “The guys waiting for us get in touch with Ustinov, your ass is grass. In fact, I think you better grow yourself another pair of eyeballs at the back of your head because, right now, you do this, you’ll never rest easy again.”
“True,” John said. “Spooks do have a habit of showing up and spoiling an evening.” He didn’t add that he spoke from experience.
“Ustinov no have to know. I call him. Tell him truth. Van got stopped. Get robbed. Get forced walkaway. Last I see of you. Bandits hit me little bit then let me go. All have...how you say it?” Parviz’s mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. “Benefit of truth.”
The guy with the taqiyya growled something. A lot of consonants, a lot of clipped vowels. Like the guy ate gravel for breakfast. He might be speaking Tajik, but John got the gist easily enough:Waste these guys and let’s go.
“You know how open safe so money no burn up.” Parviz gestured with his Glock. “Go open. Then you walk away.”
“Davila.” John let resignation seep into his voice. “I don’t see that we have a choice, man.”
“What?” Davila snapped him a look. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m saying I like living.” To Parviz: “Just take it easy with that Glock, okay? Remember, there’s no safety. You don’t want that thing to go off accidentally and put a hole in a gas tank or, you know, hit one of your guys here.”
A flicker of uncertainty creased Parviz’s features. For a split second, his weapon twitched away from John. At that, the younger guy waved a hand and spat something.
“Yes, yes.” Nodding, Parviz blotted sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand. “First you gun, Mr. Child. Slow.”
Yeah, I just bet you’d love that.Instead of reaching for his weapon, he said, “Who’s the boy?”
Parviz’s mouth hardened. “No you worry that. He just boy.”
“Uh-huh.” They wouldn’t kill him or Davila until they had their money.
So, he smiled at the boy and said, “Kak tebya zovut?”
CHAPTER 3
Everyone froze.He felt Davila staring a hole through his skull.
After a beat, the boy blinked. His lips parted and, for a split second, John hoped the boy would answer. But then the moment was gone. The kid closed his mouth, let his gaze slide to stare at his shoes.
Worth a shot.He didn’t blame the kid. If this played out the way these men wanted, John wouldn’t be in any position to help if the kid got out of line.
“Why you talk him? You no speak him Russian!” Parviz shouted, at the same moment that Davila asked, “You knowRussian?”