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“Gere.”
“Gere. Send out Zakaria if you want the courier bag.”
The man laughed. “You want to see your friend? You bring it in.”
“Not going to happen,” Sam said. “Let me tell you how this works. Send out Zakaria. When he’s safely in my car, we drive off, you get the bag.”
“We could shoot you right there.”
“You could. But your courier bag and everything in it will burn.”
“My men are watching you right now. You think you can get it before we get you?”
“Look out your window. Let me know when you’re there.”
From the corner of her eye, Remi saw movement in an upper window, then heard Gere saying, “What of it?”
“Notice the courier bag and two bottles,” Sam said, putting a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. The drizzle turned to fat raindrops as he sat in the driver’s seat, the door still open. He puffed on the cigarette a couple of times until the end glowed bright orange. When he tossed it, sparks bounced up as it hit the street, then rolled about a foot in front of the courier bag. “Watch the empty bottle on the left.”
Remi fired. The bottle flew forward, bouncing toward the curb.
“That other bottle,” Sam said, “is full of gasoline. The laws of physics say it’s not going as far as that empty bottle. In fact, I’d lay odds it lands on top of that pouch, soaking your map, then spreading out to that lit cigarette. We know what happens when gas and fire meet. Your choice is this. Send out Zakaria or we destroy the map.”
18
Remi held her breath as scattered raindrops hit the pavement, somehow missing the lit cigarette. A muffled discussion followed, some of it sounded like German, at least from the bit that Remi heard, then, “How do I know everything’s there?”
“You have my word,” Sam replied. “Everything we found is there. A map, two letters, and an old tin with a typewriter ribbon.”
Another muffled discussion, then Gere saying, “He’s coming out the front door.”
The skies let loose, soaking the pavement. Remi hoped they weren’t paying attention. Finally, the door opened. She pressed slightly on the trigger, ready. When a man stepped out, his hands up, Sam said, “It’s Zakaria.”
She moved her finger from the trigger but kept aim on the doorway, scanning the windows above, as Zakaria walked toward Sam’s car, then ran the rest of the way, into the front passenger seat. Sam shifted the car into reverse, then backed toward Remi.
Gun out, she sidestepped to the car and got in the backseat. Sam hit the gas, tires squealing as he backed away. Just before he turned the corner, Remi caught sight of two men running through the pouring rain, one with a gun pointed their direction, the other going straight to the courier bag.
Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Nice shooting, Mrs. Fargo.”
“You think they’ll be upset when they discover it’s really iced tea in that bottle?”
“I guess that depends on whether they try to light it or drink it.” Sam glanced at Zakaria. “You okay, my friend?”
He nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come for me.”
Though the inside of their car was dark, Remi could tell his lower lip was swollen, and there was dried blood below his nose and mouth.
“I’m curious,” Sam said. “How’d all this happen, to begin with?”
Remi, noticing Zakaria taking a shaky breath, said, “Why don’t we get him back to his cousin’s house, give him a chance to rest up a bit, before we start grilling him.”
—
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Sam paced the courtyard, looking at his watch. “How much sleep does a guy need before he gets up?”
“Considering what he went through,” Remi said, “we can forgive him for sleeping in.” She was seated on a bench beneath the palm, enjoying the morning sun that angled into the courtyard over the eastern roof, lighting up the fountain in the center.
Lina walked in, her smile kind when she addressed Sam. “Zakaria asked me to give his apologies and to let you know he’s on his way down.”
