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I glance at James. James glances at me. Brad keeps his eyes on Higham. “I’m not sure I like the use of the word you in that sentence,” I say. Why not we have a problem?
“And what’s the problem?” Brad asks.
“The redhead in the picture,” Higham looks between us. “I assume, given your reaction to the photo of her with King, you know her.”
“She was one of the girls we got out of Winstable,” James says, as the tension around the table grows. He points to where Pearl is sitting, and Higham looks.
“Oh Jesus,” he breathes. “You still have her?” He laughs. Then blows out his cheeks. “Fucking hell.”
“Talk, Higham,” Brad says, his body rolling with his forced deep breaths. “Or I’ll rip your fucking throat out, I swear to God.”
“King sold her to the Poles,” he says, raking a hand through his hair. I look at Brad. His eyes are black. Sold her? “For one hundred million dollars.”
“The fuck?” I blurt.
“One hundred million?” James asks, and Higham nods dementedly.
I release a disbelieving puff of air, falling back in my chair. “Jesus. That’s some price tag.”
“Look, I do not need this shit in Miami, boys,” Higham goes on. “So just give the girl back to King and let him go on his merry way back to the green pastures of England.”
“He sold her,” I muse. What does he care where she is now? It doesn’t make any sense. “Do we know if King’s actually had any contact with Sandy or Luis?” We’ve assumed. We could be wrong.
James shakes his head as everyone else looks at each other, waiting for someone to confirm whether there’s hard evidence. Have we been barking up the wrong tree?
“What does it matter?” Higham laughs, the sound full of panic. “Everyone wins. The Russians and Mexicans won’t take you on with no arms, will they? And they can’t get any arms without King. So Miami remains peaceful.” He claps. “The end.”
Send Pearl back to King. The end, except it goes against everything I stand for. Just ask my wife. James rolls his eyes. Brad remains a statue by the door. “Okay,” Higham says, looking at us all. “Okay. Great. I’ll leave you to make the arrangements. I’ll be off.”
Higham leaves, and no sooner is his arse out of the cabin, James’s phone is ringing. Unknown number. We all stare at it for a few moments before he hits the accept button. Silence.
Then a low, booming British accent. “Good evening, I’m wondering if you can help me.”
I frown to myself. “I’ll try,” James says.
“I’m looking for The American one.”
We all look at Brad.
“And The Brit.”
All attention points my way.
“And The Enigma.”
Then to James.
“Who’s asking?” I lean over the phone, noting Otto working furiously across the keys of his laptop. Trying to locate the caller.
“Me. I’m asking,” he says, laughing lightly. Lightly but psychotic. “Because I understand you have something that belongs to me.”
“And what would that be?” I ask.
“Pretty little redhead. You see, I made a deal with someone, and because of your interference, the deal has gone tits up.” Interference. We took the girls from the hangar. “I haven’t been paid. The buyer is waiting for their bride.”
Oh fuck, he’s not got his money. That’s why he’s here, and I bet Sandy and Luis have taken the greatest delight in telling King where he can find Pearl. Struck a deal with him that gets them the guns they need to take us down, while getting King his pretty little redhead back.
“Bride?” James coughs.
