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The Fiat crept closer. When twenty feet separated the two cars, it stopped. To see if he could get Bernard to follow suit, he killed the brights on the Mercedes. The bright headlights had played a part, but now that part was finished. A few seconds later, the lights on the Fiat dimmed.
Well, thank God. At least now they weren’t all blinded. He checked his rearview mirrors, but couldn’t spot Lily anywhere.
The passenger door of the Fiat opened and a tall, heavyset man with a short dark beard got out. “Who are you?”
Swain stepped out of the Mercedes, George Blanc’s briefcase in his left hand. He didn’t like not having the engine block for cover, but took some comfort in the fact that the other guy had only a car door between him and a bullet, too—which wasn’t saying much. A bullet went through a car door like a hot knife through butter. The only part of a car that provided much protection was the motor. “Swain. Who are you?”
“Bernard.”
Swain said, “I have the money.”
Bernard said, “I have the merchandise.”
Jesus. It was all Swain could do not to roll his eyes. They sounded like a bad spy movie.
He wore his weapon in a shoulder holster under his leather coat, which was why he’d kept his right hand free. He was acutely aware, though, of the two other men sitting in the Fiat. Bernard didn’t have a weapon in his hands, but Swain was damn certain the two men in the car did.
Bernard didn’t have anything in his hands. “Where’s the merchandise?” Swain asked.
“In the car.”
“Let’s see it.”
Bernard turned back to the car and opened one of the passenger doors. He pulled out a small duffel bag that was bulging with something. Until Swain saw for himself, he wasn’t assuming the bag was full of plastique.
“Open the bag,” he instructed.
Bernard grunted and set the bag on the ground, then unzipped it. The headlights from the two cars plainly showed the bricklike contents, wrapped in cellophane. “Take one out,” Swain said. “From the bottom, please. Then unwrap it.”
Bernard made an impatient sound, but he reached into the duffel, scrabbled around, and pulled out one of the bricks. He tore off the cellophane covering.
“Now pinch off a corner and roll it between your fingers,” Swain instructed.
“It’s new,” Bernard said resentfully.
“I don’t know that, do I?”
Another impatient noise. Bernard tore a corner from the brick of plastique and rolled it into a ball. “There, you see? It is still malleable.”
“Good. I appreciate your honesty,” Swain said with heavy irony. He opened the briefcase to show the money inside. American dollars, as specified, eighty thousand of them. Why did no one want payment in euros? He closed the briefcase and latched it.
Bernard stuck the ball of plastique back on its mother brick, and dropped it into the duffel. A slow smile moved across his face. “Thank you, monsieur. I will take the money now, and if you’re very careful, all will go well—”
“Monsieur.” The voice was Lily’s, so quiet that only he and Bernard could hear it. “Look down.”
He froze at the intrusion of that unexpected voice. He glanced down, but couldn’t see anything; the headlights prevented it.
“You can’t see me, can you?” Lily’s voice was so low that if he hadn’t known she was a woman, Swain wouldn’t have been able to tell. “But I can see you. At this angle, I am afraid that my best shot is at your testicles. The bullet would angle upward, of course, tear out your bladder and colon, part of your intestines. You might live, but the question is, would you want to?”
“What do you want?” Bernard croaked, though of course he knew.
“Just the merchandise,” Swain said. He felt as if he might croak the words himself. Lily’s threat had made his blood run cold. “The money is yours. We aren’t cheats, and we don’t like to be cheated. Very calmly, we will make the exchange. Then you will tell your driver to back the car away, and you will walk beside it. Do not get in the car until it is at the end of the block. Is that understood?”
As long as Bernard wasn’t in the car, he was a clear target. Walking alongside it was a guarantee that his driver wouldn’t ram the Mercedes while Lily was still under it. The Mercedes was heavier, but a solid blow by the Fiat would still slide it some distance.
Warily Bernard approached. “Do not do anything!” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of his cohorts in the Fiat.
Swain extended the briefcase with his left hand, and Bernard extended the duffel bag with his left. Swain let go of the briefcase and for a split second Bernard was holding both briefcase and bag, but then Swain’s left hand closed over the duffel’s strap and he took custody of the bag. His right hand was inside his coat.
