“Do we know each other?”
The woman lowered her pistol. “My name is Danni.”
“Simon Riske.”
“Yes, we know.”
Simon recognized the accent as Israeli. “We?”
“Gabriel sent me.”
Chapter 69
Antibes
Luca Borgia hurried through the park-like grounds surrounding the Hôtel du Cap. He saw the man seated alone on a bench set among a copse of olive trees. Young, Middle Eastern, dressed in a suit and tie—if not a client of the hotel, an associate or friend of one.
“I came at once when I saw the text,” said Borgia. “What is it?”
“I have a message from Abdul Al-Obeidi.”
“Why didn’t he call?” asked Borgia, sensing at once that all was not well.
“Please sit. The Doctor is dead. Killed this morning at the chalet in Gstaad. An assassination.”
“Who?”
“As always, we suspect the Jews.”
“But how?”
“We must assume our lines of communication are compromised. My superior asks that you no longer contact him until such later date as specified.”
“And tonight? Are we to go ahead?”
“There is no indication that the French security forces are taking additional actions.”
“Do you know this for certain?”
“We have men at the highest level of their security apparatus. I have spoken to Sheikh Abdul. The chosen ones are on the way.”
The man took a flip phone from his pocket. It was the kind of phone one purchased for thirty euros at a kiosk or convenience store.
“The number has been programmed into the phone,” he said, handing it to Borgia. “The battery is fully charged. When you are ready, simply hit the ‘send’ key.”
“And it will send a signal to all four?”
“Simultaneously.” The man made the sign of an explosion with his hands. Then he rose and walked away.
Borgia watched him go, weighing the course of action he must take. The vests had arrived. The bombers were on their way to the festival. He looked at the phone. He could place the call now. End it once and for all. It would be worse if they were captured alive. They would be made to talk, to reveal all they knew. There was the location of the safe house, the identity of the man they knew as Sheikh Abdul. They would disclose the payments. The money would be tracked down to a numbered account at an offshore bank in the Caymans or Liechtenstein or Vanuatu, one of thousands maintained by the Saudi Mabahith. More proof.
He thought of calling Kruger. Had he killed Riske? Was there anything he, Borgia, needed to know? That was impossible. If his phones were compromised, then so might be Kruger’s.
Theoretically, Borgia was safe. He’d done nothing wrong. He could pack his bags, climb on his jet, and be home for a late dinner. For the moment, however, he didn’t care about being safe. He cared about Prato Bornum. He was so close.
And Caesar? Would he walk away on the cusp of his greatest victory?
Never.
