Prince Abdul Aziz nodded and there was no mistaking the excitement in his eyes. “The paper stock matches a letter my grandfather received.”
“You’re certain?”
“Positive.”
“And the handwriting?”
“Identical.”
“I see.” Borodin’s voice betrayed no emotion, but behind his back he clenched his fingers into a triumphant fist. It was true, then. Everything he’d suspected for so long.
“I’ll find whoever stole it,” said the prince. “I have contacts with the French police.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But you can’t allow him to keep betraying your—”
“I will find it,” said Borodin, more forcefully than he wished. “Or I won’t. You’ve already done enough.”
“What will you do?” asked Prince Abdul Aziz.
Borodin didn’t reply. He turned and looked out over the cliff, over the dark, roiling mass that was the Mediterranean. For the first time that evening, he smiled, briefly, cryptically, and the prince smiled, too.
“Do you know,” said Borodin, “that if you look very hard you can see the lights of Turkey.”
The prince turned his gaze in the same direction, stepping nearer the precipice. “Not tonight.”
“Ah yes.” Borodin pointed to the north. “Just there.”
“Really?” The prince narrowed his eyes, his neck craned as pebbles scattered from beneath his shoe and tumbled over the cliff. “I can’t make them out.”
“Sparkles, there and there. Surely you can see them.”
The prince stared harder, shaking his head, patience waning.
“Perhaps you need to be a bit closer, my friend.”
“Pardon me?”
Borodin put a hand in the lee of the prince’s back and gave him a mighty shove. The prince lost his balance and put a foot forward. It found only air. He teetered, a hand reaching out for assistance. “Please…”
Borodin stepped back.
And then the prince was gone, his scream drowned by the wind and the tide.
Borodin retraced his steps down the runway, passing the jet without a sideways glance. His mind was on the letter and how he might get it back. He’d come too far to stop now. Wheels were turning. The intricate machinery he’d assembled these past months had been set in motion.
He threw open the door to the shack and signaled Kurtz to a corner. “I need to locate one of our agents. Top priority.”
“Of course, General,” said Kurtz. “Who?”
“Major Asanova.”
Kurtz’s sullen face took on an uneasy cast. “Major Asanova is no longer technically under our command. After the Dubai incident…”
“Where is she? I don’t care if she’s been reassigned. I require her services.”
Kurtz frowned as if experiencing intestinal discomfort. “General, please. With all due respect. Let’s not be hasty.”
