Jeffery Deaver: The Burial Hour

‘Go ahead.’

‘We have intel that someone connected with the World Criminal Court in The Hague has been targeted for assassination. Not immediately but in the next month. There’s a Prague connection. Unfortunately, at this point we have mostly SIGINT — wiretaps and emails, all of which is as vague as the narrator in a Viagra ad. Our people have only one bit of physical evidence related to the plot.’

Rhyme lifted an eyebrow.

‘A gargoyle’s head.’

‘Gargoyle.’

‘Apparently a souvenir from, well, wherever one buys gargoyle head souvenirs. It’s gray. Plastic. Gargoyley.’

‘And this is evidence why?’ Sachs asked.

‘We still use dead drops. A public location where one asset leaves a message for another, usually—’

Sachs said, ‘I’ve seen the Bourne movies.’

‘I haven’t,’ Rhyme said. ‘But I get the idea.’

‘We received intel that the bad guys had a dead drop in the square by the astronomical clock in Prague, the famous one. We started surveillance.’

‘’Round the clock?’ Sachs asked, a faint smile. Rhyme nodded to acknowledge the pun.

Smiling too, Mulbry said, ‘That one did make the rounds. Anyway, after two days, a man in hat and sunglasses walked past the location and left the gargoyle on a windowsill, the dead drop. It meant something — a go-ahead, we assume. We’re still trying to find out more.’

‘Anyone come by and do something with the gargoyle?’

‘Some kids, teen kids, saw it and stole it. But we moved in and got it from them.’ Mulbry shrugged. ‘We could show it to you if you like. Maybe you could find something.’

‘When was this?’

‘About a week ago.’

Rhyme scoffed, ‘Too late, too late. All the important evidence is long gone.’

‘Only the asset and the boy who stole it touched the thing. We couldn’t find any note or code inside. The presence of the gargoyle was a message in itself. Like a go-ahead for a prearranged meeting. So, we thought you could take a look at it and—’

‘No point.’

‘It’s preserved in plastic. Our people wore gloves. And the dead drop — the windowsill — hasn’t been touched. We’ve been monitoring it.’

‘The dead drop’s not a scene. That’s a non-scene. There’s another one, one that would have been important if you’d moved quickly.’

‘You mean where he bought the gargoyle?’

‘Of course not,’ Rhyme muttered. ‘And he didn’t buy it. He stole it. Lifted it from a stand nowhere near any CCTV, in gloved fingers. So there’d be minimal transfer of trace. No, the important scene is the one where the other side was sitting with their beer or coffee.’

Mulbry’s face stilled. ‘Could you elaborate?’

‘If I were a spy putting together an operation in a city like Prague, my first job would be to identify the foxes. That is, your people.’

‘It was another outfit actually. We were working with them.’

‘Fine. Whoever. Now, the gargoyle served no purpose other than to expose your surveillance team.’

Mulbry tilted his head, brow furrowed.

Rhyme continued, ‘A gargoyle is obvious, it’s sure to attract attention. So that your team stayed in place filming anyone who walked by and paid attention to it. The minute those kids copped it, your team was after them. As soon as your people stood up, the bad guys saw and got their IDs, probably followed them. Bugged their homes, scanned their phones. Hm, a plastic toy worth a euro or whatever the denomination is in the Czech Republic took down an entire cell of yours. The table and chairs where the enemy was sitting waiting for you to reveal yourselves would’ve told us legions. Told you legions. But of course furniture’s been cleaned, the napkins washed, the bill tossed out, the money in the bank, the cobblestones scrubbed — I’m assuming that’s the terrain there — and the CCTV footage overwritten.’

Mulbry was completely still for a moment. He whispered, ‘Goddamn.’

Sachs said, ‘You better tell the team they’ve been compromised.’

Another glance between Rhyme and Sachs. He said to the agent, ‘We’ll talk about your offer and be in touch.’

‘I hope you will.’ Mulbry shook their hands, said goodbye to Thom and climbed from the van, pulling out his phone.

Thom put the gearshift into drive and eased forward. They stopped at the Passport Control and Customs kiosk and handed over documents, which were returned. The van continued on.

Rhyme gave a laugh. ‘The Czech Republic.’

Thom said. ‘I’ve been to Prague a couple of times. I’m partial to the česnečka. Garlic soup. Oh, and the fruit dumplings. The best.’

‘What’s the local liquor like?’ Rhyme asked.

‘Slivovitz. Really potent. At least a hundred proof — fifty percent alcohol.’

‘You don’t say?’ Rhyme was intrigued.

They pulled up to the aircraft and Thom began the complicated procedure of lowering the ramp. Sachs climbed out, slung her computer bag over her shoulder. ‘Spies, Rhyme? Seriously?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

His eyes strayed to the copilot, who was completing the pre-flight walk-around.

Everything on the aircraft seemed properly attached and functioning.

The strapping young man — in a suit, white shirt and tie — approached his passengers now. ‘We’re all set, sir. Flight time should be about an hour and a half.’

Sachs was frowning. ‘To New York?’

The copilot’s brows furrowed. He glanced toward Rhyme, who said, ‘We’re not going back to the US just yet. We’re meeting some friends in Milan.’

‘Friends?’ She glanced at Thom, who was looking over the airplane as if he himself were about to conduct a second preflight check. And avoiding eye contact. He was, however, smiling.

‘Lon Sellitto. Oh, and Ron Pulaski.’ The young NYPD officer they worked with regularly.

‘Rhyme?’ Sachs asked slowly. ‘What’s in Milan?’

He frowned and looked at Thom. ‘What is it again?’

‘A Dichiarazione Giurata .’

‘A particularly delicious dinner entrée?’

‘Ha. No, it’s an affidavit we need to swear to before the consulate general there.’

‘And why?’

‘Obviously, because we can’t get married without it. Ercole and Thom arranged the whole thing. Then we drive to Lake Como. The mayor there’ll perform the ceremony. We need to rent the marriage hall — part of the arrangement. It’s bigger than we need, I imagine, but that’s the way it works. Lon and Ron’ll be the witnesses.’

‘A honeymoon on Lake Como, Rhyme,’ Sachs said, smiling.

Rhyme tossed a look Thom’s way. ‘He was pretty insistent.’

She asked, ‘And what about Greenland?’

‘Maybe our first anniversary,’ Rhyme said and drove his chair toward the ramp that would take him up to the cabin of the sleek, idling jet.