Greg Rucka - Critical Space

"Dan talks big."

Her mouth curved in a wry smile. "Well, he's a big guy."

I blinked at her, and maybe it was the fatigue that let me see it, but it hit me and I practically choked. "You've got a crush on a Russian mafia hood?"

Natalie looked at me, indignant. "Hello, pot."

"Hello, kettle. At least I was abducted and brainwashed. What's your excuse?"

"And you don't think being locked up here for five days is a kind of Stockholm Syndrome?"

"You best be careful, young lady. Otherwise you'll find yourself being bought out by your partners."

"Unlike some people, I can keep a secret. You look flick-awful, Atticus. Didn't you sleep on the plane?"

"Some."

"You need some more."

"Soon. How's Alena?"

"She is fine, thank you." From the top of the stairs, Alena cleared her throat.

She had abandoned the crutches at some point, and now, in her left hand, was a metal cane like the ones I'd seen often in hospitals, with a black rubber grip for her hand, and a small platform with four feet at its base. The brace was on the outside of her sweat pants, a different one than she'd worn when I left.

From my wallet I produced the Sparbuch card and held it for her to see.

"Victory," I told her.

Alena nodded and perhaps contemplated smiling. She turned from the railing and rested her weight on the metal cane, looking down at me, and I understood that she wanted me to come up the stairs to her. I turned my attention back to Natalie, who was watching me, rather than her.

"We should plan to move tomorrow," I said. "A new location, I don't really care where, just outside of Manhattan. If we can arrange it without going through Dan, so much the better."

"I've got a place in Allendale lined up," Natalie said. "Smaller than this one."

"Does it have stairs?" Alena asked.

"I'm afraid so." Natalie turned back to me. "We can be ready to move by mid-afternoon."

"I'm still in the master bedroom?" I asked, gesturing upstairs.

"You are still the master, yes. I put some stuff away for you up there. There's a gun in the bureau drawer. Couldn't get a P7 for you, though, sorry about that."

"You should have talked to Dan," I said.

"You need to go away now," Natalie told me.

I nodded and headed up the stairs, and when I reached the landing, Alena pivoted on her good foot, letting me pass. I went into the master bedroom, saw that the bed was made, as Natalie had said it would be, and tossed the bag onto it. Alena followed me in and perched on the corner by the footboard, resting the cane between her feet, and I handed her the Sparbuch card, then went to the bureau and opened the top drawer. There was an unopened package of Munsingwear undershorts, and another unopened package of tube socks, and between them was a box of 9mm ammunition and a SIG P225. The drawer had been lined with contact paper, and the paper was blue with white and red roses on it. I took out the ammunition and the gun, and figured the gun must have come from Dan because there was no sign of a serial number anywhere on it. I checked the magazine, saw it was empty, and started loading the gun.

"How did it go?" Alena asked.

"Successfully. I took nearly thirty million dollars from him."

"A lifetime's work."

"Think it'll get his attention?"

"It would get mine."

"I don't think it was everything. There must have been investments, too."

"It would have taken too long to liquidate all of his assets. Thirty million… that is enough."

I finished loading the clip and put the magazine in the SIG, but I didn't chamber the first round. I put the gun on the bureau and the box of ammunition back in the drawer, then turned my attention entirely to Alena. She had shifted on the bed, the Sparbuch card still beside her, and was watching me closely.

"Did you exercise?" she asked, finally.

"I tried."

"It's hard to keep it up when you're working."

"It is."

"And the diet?"

"I forgot the supplements, but other than that I stuck to it best I could."

She considered that, nodding slightly. "You're shifting your weight, it is climbing into your back again. You need to practice your ballet."

"There wasn't anyplace that I could. I managed yoga in the hotel rooms."

"When I was traveling, ballet was always the first to go." She looked at the card beside her, then back to me. "You will see Agent Fowler in the morning?"

"Maybe. Ideally we'll arrange to meet Gracey and Bowles at the same time Natalie is moving you to Allendale. Oxford can't be in two places at once."

"It's a good tactic. It is more likely that they will notify Oxford where you will be meeting, and he will attempt to back-tail you from that location to me."

"Only if Gracey and Bowles know that I'm coming. They won't. Scott will arrange to meet them alone."

She pushed hair off of her cheek, nodding again, the same slight movement of her head. "Are you going to tell me what you did?"

"There's not much to tell."

"I would like to hear it."

"I'd rather not talk about it, actually, Alena. I'd rather get some sleep."

She understood what I meant, shifting her weight to the cane and using it to rise. Her walk was quicker than it had been before I'd left, but I suspected that the pain was as bad, maybe worse. She made her way to the open door, then stopped and turned back to face me.

"And how are you sleeping?"

"Not very well. Any suggestions?"

She just shook her head.

We did yoga together the next morning, and after breakfast I took one of the cars and drove into Mahwah, using a different pay phone on the Franklin Turnpike to call Scott. I told him we were on and that I'd call him back in an hour, and he told me that was fine and I hung up. There was a comic book shop on the street nearby, and I went inside and looked at the glossy covers and remembered I'd bought the pen for Erika, wondered when I'd be able to give it to her. Hopefully soon.

It occurred to me then that I wasn't going home again, no matter what happened. Even if everything worked, if Oxford could be bought – or, more precisely – blackmailed off, I could no longer imagine a way to fit into my old life. Too much had happened to me, to the people around me, I wasn't going to just slip back in as if I'd never been gone.

I wondered where I'd go, and I didn't see anything that gave me an answer.

I left the shop without making any purchases and got back into the car, driving another few miles along Franklin until I found another pay phone. I checked my watch and killed another fifteen minutes in the car, watching the traffic and my mirrors. When the hour was up I used the phone.

"They can't make a meeting until tomorrow morning," Scott told me. "Seven A.M., the Holiday Inn on Times Square. I told them I'd found a connection between Havel and Drama. They seemed eager."

"But not eager enough to make it today."

"No. Could be trying to buy Oxford more time."

"They suggest the place or you?"

"They suggested an out-of-the-office meeting. I suggested the Holiday Inn. This'll work for you?"

"It'll do," I said. "You've taken care of everything else?"

"The SAIC has my report, and it'll go to Washington today. I fudged some of the details, but most of what Alena told me checked, and it didn't take much digging to find corroborating facts. I took some flak for not registering my CI, but the stuff I've turned up is enough to keep that a minor concern for the time being. As long as what she told us can be independently verified, I think I can keep her out of it."

"You don't have a choice. She won't play ball."

"I've explained that to my supervisor. He doesn't accept it. But, like I said, it's not an issue right now."

"Just see that it doesn't become one."