Nele Neuhaus - Swimming with Sharks

“It almost seems this lady has led us by the nose,” Frank said, voicing Nick’s fears.

“I refuse to believe that,” he said quietly. He remembered how she’d snuggled against his arm when they met on that evening in Tribeca. He was proud of his ability to read people. But suddenly he remembered Raymond Howard. He had let himself be deceived before. Could he have really deluded himself so tragically a second time?

“She asked me to use the information that she gave us immediately,” Nick said.

“That would put an end to the headlines about this guy’s murder for a while,” Frank said, nodding. “In the meantime, she can bolt undisturbed.”

Nick stared silently into space.

“That’s a clever plan,” Frank said. “I believed everything she said. She’s a great actress.”

“I have a feeling that this is yet another cover-up,” Nick countered. “Just like that anthrax thing.”

“Possibly,” Frank replied skeptically, “but the question remains who wants to cover what up? It seems to me that Sontheim is trying to use this bribery scandal as a distraction from her dirty dealings.”

“Please leave me alone for a moment,” Nick asked. “I need to think about this. Tell Allie not to put any calls through, except…”

“Yes?”

“Except if it’s Alex Sontheim.”

“Nick! You’re making a huge mistake! This woman is wanted for murder!”

“Frank, please!”

Frank Cohen threw his boss a doubtful look and left the office. Nick closed his eyes. He was bitterly disappointed. He would never trust a person in his life again if Alex had really deceived him so badly. He owed his life to her. Now she had asked him for help, and he was too much of a coward to act, too afraid to make a mistake. He had never been hesitant or timid in the past—back in the old days, before Vitali had succeeded in destroying him. Nick sighed in agony, wishing that he had someone to ask for advice. As a politician, he needed to be reelected every four years. Handing over dubious evidence could risk his reputation. His intuition told him that they were real, but what if they weren’t? He turned on the television. He had never let himself be influenced by what other people thought before. If any decision he made was highly unpopular, then he would make it quickly to get it over with. Why didn’t he just do what Alex had asked him to do? Did he really care about reelection? Sergio Vitali—who had humiliated and mocked him for years—had already taken everything he loved and cherished. He had nothing to lose.

Police Commissioner Harding appeared on the TV screen, and Nick turned up the volume. They were still talking about the murder. Harding spoke with exaggerated pathos, as if Alex had shot the president himself. And it was this minor detail that caught Nick’s attention. This St. John character was just one of thousands of investment bankers on Wall Street. His death was certainly tragic, but did this really constitute a threat to national security requiring the involvement of the FBI? A murder case wasn’t the responsibility of New York City’s police commissioner but that of the homicide department. Nick had a feeling that his intuition was right. This whole thing was fishy. It was downright strange to make such a mountain out of a molehill. Did the involvement of both Harding and de Lancie, and the media hype around the murder of a relatively unknown investment banker, actually indicate that Vitali was involved? If that was the case, then Alex was right. The more Nick thought about it, the more plausible her admittedly wild story seemed. Assuming that they were real, the documents that she had given him were explosive. Vitali was certainly also aware of that.

“Blood-covered gloves were found in a trash can,” Harding said, “and the crime scene unit believes that the suspect wore these gloves when she committed the murder of her former accomplice.”

Gloves? Nick hesitated. De Lancie had just said that her fingerprints were clear proof of her guilt. Nick made his decision that very second. He could never look at himself in the mirror again if something happened to Alex because of his cowardice. His idle time was over. He would find out soon enough whether his decision was right or wrong. But doing nothing would only help Vitali.

“The confirmation arrived,” Justin Savier said, turning toward Alex. “Fifty million dollars has been credited to your account at Bank of America.”

Alex exhaled with a deep sigh and clenched her fists. It was three thirty, and she was wide awake and dead tired at the same time. She glanced at the muted TV. The manhunt for her in connection with Zack’s murder was the top story on all the channels. She could hardly believe what was happening to her.

“Thanks, Justin,” she said. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for all this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Justin smiled. For him it was all an exciting game. “What’s next?”

“The money is wired to a numbered account at Gérard Frères in Zurich,” Alex replied, “and then it’ll vanish.”

Justin nodded.

“By the way, that hair color looks really good on you.” He grinned. Alex smiled in fatigue. She’d dyed her hair darker and wore blue contact lenses. Justin had taken pictures of her two hours ago and e-mailed them to an acquaintance. Her new American passport in the name of Emily Chambers would be ready an hour later. Justin’s shady acquaintance had asked for a thousand dollars, which felt like nothing considering the passport could get her out of the country unscathed. The Swissair flight to Zurich Justin booked under this false name was scheduled to depart at ten o’clock. If everything went smoothly, she would be in Switzerland seven hours later, where Gerhard Etzbach—a fellow Stanford alumnus—would be waiting for her. He hadn’t hesitated for a second when she called him and asked for help. Ten minutes later, he’d called her back to give her the details for the account he had opened in her name.

“I’m worried about Mark and Oliver.” She couldn’t bear sitting still despite her fatigue, so she paced back and forth through Justin’s apartment. “I can only hope that Kostidis takes action.”

“If we don’t hear from him by nine, I’ll fly straight to New York to see Kostidis,” Justin offered. “I’ll convince him that everything you told him is true. Then he’s got no choice but to act.”

“I hope it won’t be too late by then.” Alex couldn’t fend off these dark premonitions. She had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.

It was ten thirty when Lloyd Connors—the deputy US attorney for the Southern District of New York—entered the mayor’s office.

“What kind of crazy story is this, Nick?” he asked. “I hope that this really is important, because my wife was pretty mad when I told her that I had to leave the house again.”

“Thank you for coming right away.” Nick extended his hand to the younger man. They sat down at the table in his office. Connors had started at the US Attorney’s Office straight out of law school when Nick was still the head of the agency. He had perseverance and was clever and ambitious. Nick wasn’t one bit surprised that he had climbed the career ladder so quickly.

“You said on the telephone that de Lancie must not hear about this meeting. That had me wondering. So what’s this all about?” Connors crossed his legs and watched Nick closely with a friendly smile. His adversaries had frequently underestimated him because he looked so harmless, but an alert intelligence lurked behind his boyish face.

“It’s a complicated matter and highly explosive,” Nick started out. “I finally got my hands on evidence against Vitali.”