He climbed inside. His muscles ached and he was breathing hard. Howell staggered to the other side of the enclosed cabin, a hand to his face, tears in his eyes.
Malone’s lungs kept grabbing deep breaths, the oxygen in his blood stabilizing. Cold chewed into his muscles and he still tasted the raw tang of salt water. Beneath the wood benches were surely blankets, and he found one and wrapped himself inside.
He glanced out the windows.
Nothing but fog.
Kim was gone.
* * *
Isabella had arrested plenty of people, but never had she been led away with her own hands bound behind her back. The local police had not been in a good mood, wrestling them both from the taxi, then quickly removing them from the scene. Luke Daniels had wisely kept his smart mouth shut, as had she. Whatever would be sorted out would not be done in the rain. She would need to speak with someone much higher on the authority pole—on both sides of the Atlantic.
They were transported back toward Zadar’s center and a four-story building that sat on the mainland, facing the old town peninsula. On the drive she saw that the ferry had arrived and docked, no more smoke emitting from it. They sat alone in the rear of the police car, two officers in the front seat.
“When we sort this out,” she whispered to Daniels, “you and I are parting ways.”
He threw her a glare. “And I thought we had somethin’ special.”
“That cocksure attitude is what let Kim get away.”
“Bad luck let Kim get away. I was givin’ it my best shot.”
She could only hope that Malone had been able to stop Kim. Those documents could not be lost.
The car was parked, but before the officers could exit a cell phone rang with a soft chime, like church bells. Both of their units had been confiscated after their arrest, but the one ringing was not hers.
“That would be me,” Daniels whispered.
The officer on the passenger side in the front answered the phone.
“Luke. Are you there?”
They could hear Malone thanks to the speaker being activated.
“Who is this?” the policeman asked.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Policija.”
* * *
Malone realized that the voice on the phone was not Luke Daniels, and though Croatian was not one of the languages he was particularly proficient at he caught the meaning.
Police.
He decided to throw a little weight around. “This is Cotton Malone. United States Justice Department. Do you have Agent Daniels and Agent Schaefer with you?”
* * *
Isabella heard what Malone said and saw that the officer had understood every word. The two policemen stared at each other, seemingly trying to decide how to reply. Finally, the officer holding the phone said, “We have them both. They are under arrest.”
“What charge?”
“Car theft. Reckless driving. Endangering the public.”
“Those are agents of the United States government, on a mission. I suggest you contact the American embassy immediately.”
“We take no orders from you, and have no way to know who you are and if you speak the truth.”
“You will know who I am, once I get there.”
She liked Malone’s moxie. Straight up. Direct. No bullshit. Daniels had said he had a low tolerance level.
But the two policemen did not seem concerned.
They ended the call.
* * *
Malone slipped the phone back into his pocket and retook the lifeboat’s helm, powering up the engines. What the policeman said worked two ways. He had no way of knowing who he’d been talking to, either.
But he couldn’t deal with that right now.
Fog still engulfed them, the wind and rain continuing, its spray as solid as buckshot. If Luke and Isabella had found trouble, that meant Kim was long gone with the documents. They needed to get gone, too. The lifeboat was stolen property and, by now, the ferry was in port and the police involved. He had no time for any of that. Stephanie could handle the locals later, that was her job. His was to find Kim and those documents. He’d made a miscalculation on the ferry in allowing the North Korean to walk away. Of course, at the time he’d had no idea of their importance or how brazen Kim could be. His only chance now was Howell, who sat motionless on one of the benches.
He kept his eyes out the front windshield, trying to pick a way through the murk, the blunt nose of the lifeboat bucking the sea. “I’m going to need your help.”
“He killed her. Just tossed her out and let her drown.”
No time existed for remorse. “Pay him back.” He added a compelling urgency to his voice that he hoped Howell caught.
“Damn right. I’ll do it. But I got a stake here, too. My freedom was in that satchel.”
“You may not need it.”
“What do you mean?”
THIRTY-NINE
Hana stood in the classroom, silent, as required. From day one all of them had been taught to stand straight, bow to Teacher, and never speak unless asked a direct question. The school building was similar to where she and her mother lived, a plain concrete square with filthy vinyl covering its windows. Teacher stood at a podium with a blackboard behind him. He wore a uniform and carried a pistol holstered on his hip. She did not know his name, but that was unimportant. Obedience was all that mattered. The forty students stood separately, boys on one side, girls the other. She knew only a few of their names. Camp rules discouraged close friendship and alliances were forbidden, as both bred collision.