A few more taps and she shared her screen with the TV.
“What are we looking at? I don’t even know what language that is.” Helen peered through her bifocals at the website Minka had pulled up.
“A variation on Serbo-Croatian,” I told her. “Specifically, Montenegrin, I’m guessing.”
Minka nodded. “It is the Montenegrin national rail site. I got into Galina’s email and there was a forwarded confirmation from Pasha, confirming he had a ticket booked for the day after tomorrow from Podgorica to Athens via Belgrade and Thessaloniki.” She pulled up a map with the route highlighted. Montenegro was small, tucked along the Adriatic coast between Bosnia and Herzegovina to the north and Albania to the south. Podgorica was located in the south, only a bit of countryside and Lake Shkodër separating it from the Albanian border. It would have been more direct to go south across Albania to get to Greece instead of looping northeast to Belgrade, but the little red line showing passenger routes stopped dead in the middle of Albania.
“There are no passenger trains between Tirana, Albania, and Greece,” Minka said when I asked. “This is the most direct route.”
“And he was booked through to Athens?” Mary Alice asked.
“He was.”
“Can you see the start of the trip?” I asked. “How long was he supposed to be in Podgorica?” His planned time in the capital might give us a hint as to how far from the station he meant to travel to collect whatever he was supposed to move.
Minka clicked around. “Ten minutes. That is how long the train stops in Podgorica. He was booked straight through with no delays.”
“Ten minutes?” Nat protested. “That’s impossible. He couldn’t get off the train to collect anything.”
“Unless he intended to pick it uponthe train,” I said. “There could be a planned rendezvous with whoever has it.”
“Or it could be cargo,” Mary Alice suggested. “Maybe it is being loaded in Podgorica and he was supposed to supervise it being hauled to Athens.”
“There is cargo on that line,” Minka said. “It is possible.”
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “The trouble is, we don’t know what it is. Could be as small as a microdot or big as a missile.”
“And whatever it is, Galina clearly has a buyer lined up in Athens,” Helen finished.
“Unless we get to her first.” I turned to Minka. “How long until that train boards in Montenegro?”
She pulled up the train schedule. “Thirty-six hours.”
I looked at the others. “Well?”
“Galina’s not after us now,” Helen pointed out.
“She will be,” Nat countered. “She probably only took a break from hounding us to finish this deal that Pasha set up. What do you think is going to happen when that’s over? She’ll come right back to us.”
“With more resources,” Mary Alice said quietly. “Whatever she’s selling, it has to be worth a lot if Jovan Muric owned it and Pasha wanted it.”
“And it has to be worth a lot if she’s willing to chase it instead of finishing us,” I added.
Helen smiled. “I don’t even know why I bother. Of course we’re going. Minka, book the tickets. We’ve got a train to catch.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Egypt, 1994
Dawn is breaking over Luxoras Billie steps from the train. It is eleven hours since she left Cairo, and she is lightheaded from lack of sleep. Through the night, the train jolted and jerked every mile, but it is the anticipation that has kept her awake, the blood fizzing in her body. Today is the day that Fermín Bosque will die.
The foursome surveilled him from his hotel in Cairo the previous afternoon, handing off to each other as he changes direction. He is cautious, discreet even, dressed in a plain djellaba in subdued grey as he emerges from his hotel. Without looking around, he dodges through the crowded alleys of the Khan el-Khalili. He ignores the calls of the vendors in the souk as they press leather goods and spices on him, waving them off with a brusque hand. He follows the narrow, twisting passageways to emerge on the far side of the bazaar. He dives into the hectic city streets to make his way on foot to theWindsor Hotel. He does not go inside. Instead, he climbs into one of the many tuk-tuks idling outside waiting for tourists. He gives directions to a travel agency near Tahrir Square where he collects a plane ticket, taking a moment outside to tuck it into his pocket. Then he walks briskly up the street towards the Egyptian Museum. They follow him for the better part of two hours as he slowly circles the exhibits, studying Tutankhamun’s grave goods.
As he comes to the end of the exhibit, he checks his watch and disappears into the men’s room, emerging a moment later wearing nondescript trousers in desert khaki and a shirt to match. A hat shields his eyes, and he keeps his head down as he steps outside and hails a taxi that delivers him back to his hotel. He stops at the desk and makes conversation with the clerk for several minutes. They hear little of the discussion, but the desk clerk hands over a business card shaped like a car. Taking it with a smile, Bosque heads to his room. The four assassins, footsore and annoyed, assemble in a coffee shop across the street, watching the main door. They order coffee and pastries and plan their next steps.
“He is careful, you have to give him that,” Helen says, stirring sugar into her coffee. It is thick with grounds and has to be sucked through the teeth to strain it.
“Is it paranoia if they’re really out to get you?” Mary Alice asks with a grin.