Robert Crais - Indigo Slam

The fourth guy said, 'Hey, Mr. Markov, if those bills are righteous I'd like to know how.' Wounded and whiny, as if his feelings were hurt that Markov doubted him.

I said, ' Clark 's in the bookstore. You give him a pass to come out here and talk about it?'

'Da.'

I waved Clark out. When Clark reached us he stood a little behind me, and kept his hands in his pockets. The sun made him squint so much that his eyes were little slits. Markov said, 'You look like shit.'

Clark said, 'Hi, Mr. Markov.'

The fourth guy toed the bag. 'This is intaglio, not offset. This is Crane paper.' He shook his head. 'My ass you printed this.'

Clark blinked at me, and I gave him an encouraging smile. 'Guy thinks you're bullshit. Guy wants to know how you did it.' I crossed my arms so that my hand was near the Dan Wesson and hoped that Pike was zeroed on Dobcek because I was planning on shooting Sautin. I would shoot Sautin first, then Markov, and then the fourth man, and hope that I could do all that before someone shot me. We were maybe twenty seconds from all the shooting, and if we survived the boy would still be lost, all because some cracker who knew a little printing just happened to be with Markov.

Clark blinked at me again, and I said, 'Tell the man, Clark.'

Clark blinked once more, then took a bill from the bag, snapped it just as the cracker had, and smiled at Andrei Markov. 'Of course it's Crane paper. You can't fake that wonderful sound.' He snapped it again, then held up the bill. 'They used to be one-dollar bills.'

The cracker frowned.

Clark said, 'Real U.S. money printed on real Crane paper.' He held the bill to Markov. Markov took it. 'But they were ones. I washed them, Andrei. Bleached the original ink, then washed them and pressed them and reprinted them as hundreds.' Clark 's smile widened. 'You wouldn't believe the wonderful technology we have now, Andrei.'

The cracker took a bill from the bag and frowned harder at it.

Clark said, 'I bleached eight hundred pounds of paper, and I've got an intaglio press. It's older, but it's one of the Swiss originals that a printing firm in France had until they went out of business last year.' Clark let the smile turn shy. 'Well, it's not mine, really, but these people I know have it. I'm printing for them just the way I was printing for you.' I was staring at Clark. Staring, and impressed as hell.

Markov said, 'You gonna steal from them, too?'

'If I have to.' He said it directly to Markov and he said it well.

The cracker said, 'Where'd you get the plates?'

'Scanned them off a series of mint collector notes, all perfect hundreds printed between 1980 and 1985.1 used a high-density digitizer to get a pretty clean line, then created a photoneg off the digital image and used the photoneg to acid-etch the plates.' Clark pointed at the hundred the cracker was holding. 'You can see the inks are a little off, but I think I got pretty close.'

The cracker squinted at the bill and nodded. 'Yeah, a little too dark.' Afraid that Clark was showing him up in front of Markov.

Markov watched them talk with no more understanding of what they were saying than any of the rest of us, but he seemed to be buying it and that was all I cared about. I said, 'It doesn't matter that the inks are a little off. What we're talking here is bank-quality notes, counterfeit bills that will fool a bank or a cop or a Secret Service agent. Clark can print some extra for you. You get the money, and he gets his boy and you let them walk.'

Markov stared at me. Probably thinking about his older brother sitting in prison.

I rested a hand on Clark 's shoulder. 'And when he finishes this job, maybe you guys can go into business again.'

Markov's eyes shifted to Clark, then back to me. They went to Clark again. 'How much of this paper you have?'

'Eight hundred pounds, like I said.'

'When it's gone, can you make more, da?'

Clark shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not. The chemicals were very hard to get. I won't lie to you about that.'

Markov nodded, thinking, then looked at the cracker. The cracker shrugged. 'It's good, Andrei. It's the best I've ever seen.'

I picked up the bag and held it out to Markov. 'Here. You keep it. You got any doubts, go see how it spends and think about getting more of it.'

Andrei Markov took the bag but didn't look into it or think anymore. He said, 'Five million.'

I looked at Clark. 'Can you print five million extra?'

Clark said, 'Oh, sure. No problem.'

I smiled at Markov. 'How about letting the boy go as a sign of good faith?'

'Don't be stupid. You'll get the boy when I get the money.'

I nodded. 'And after that Clark and his family are done with it. You give them a pass?'

'Sure.'

'I'll call Dobcek at the same number when we've got the money.'

Andrei Markov nodded again, and then the four of them walked away. I took Clark by the arm and we walked away in the other direction. I said, 'You did fine, Clark. We're going to get your son.'

Clark didn't say anything. Just past the bookstore he collapsed to one knee and threw up. I waited until he was done, then helped him to his feet.

Now all we needed were the cops.

Joe Pike reappeared at his Jeep five minutes after us, the long gun in its case. I said, 'Anyone follow us?'

Pike shook his head. 'How'd it go?'

I helped Clark into the backseat and patted his leg. 'Fine. Clark, you did fine.'

Clark smiled, but it was tired and weak, and two blocks later he hung his head out the window and threw up again.

We drove directly to my office to make the calls. I wasn't worried that the feds had tapped the phone because that's who I was calling. We left Pike's Jeep in my parking spot, then took the elevator up to the fourth floor. Normally, I would walk, but not with Clark.

I let us in, then opened the French doors for the air. 'You want anything to drink?'

'Uh-uh.'

'You need the bathroom, it's down the hall.'

'Thank you.' He sat on the couch and stared at the Pinocchio clock. I took a breath, organized what I wanted to say, then called Marsha Fields. When she came on the line, I said, 'Are you familiar with a Seattle mobster named Andrei Markov?'

'No. Should I be?'

'Markov and his organization are in your system. A U.S. Marshal named Jasper is down here now because of him. I'd like to call you back in five after you've checked this out.'

She seemed impatient. 'Does this have anything to do with your counterfeit money?'

'Yes.'

I hung up and leaned back. Pike was standing in the French doors, watching the city. Clark was on the couch, hands in his lap, breathing gently. He was smiling at the Pinocchio clock and the little figurines. He said, 'Your office isn't what I would've expected.'

'Neither are you.'

He looked at me and nodded, and I nodded back. 'Thanks again for doing all this.' He wet his lips like he was going to say more, but then he said nothing.

I gave Marsha Fields ten minutes, then called. She said, 'Okay, your boy Markov is a real sweet piece.'

'That's one way of saying it.'

'I understand Jasper's down here looking for a printer who turned state's against Markov's brother.' Marsha Fields had done a lot in ten minutes.

'I can give you Markov for possession of counterfeit currency and for kidnapping.'

'Kidnapping who?'

'Markov is holding Hewitt's twelve-year-old son.'

'Well, good Lord.' She didn't say anything for maybe ten seconds. 'Is Clark Hewitt printing?' She had done more than a lot.

'Markov's people murdered a guy named Wilson Brownell four days ago in Seattle. They're using the boy to try to get to Hewitt, and then they'll kill the whole goddamned family. Do you want Markov or not?'