Jet fuel would always remind Angel of the night he escaped Iran. And it would always make his stomach drop.
“You want to be ready to depart within a few hours, is that correct, sir?” the pilot asked, looking at Grafton. His expression said he was scared or timid or intimidated or…Angel narrowed his eyes…all three.
“That’s right, Captain Wilfred,” Grafton replied. “Thanks for the smooth ride on the way over. And sorry I couldn’t give you more time to prepare for today’s flight. I know Jenny is due to have some tests run this week.”
At mention of Captain Wilfred’s…wife?…daughter?…sister?…mother? the man blanched and swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bounced. Apparently, like most of Grafton’s employees, Captain Wilfred was kept on the payroll and kept in line because Grafton had something on him. And if Angel wasn’t mistaken, that something had to do with whoever this Jenny woman was.
“It’s fine, sir.” The pilot did everything but doff his hat. “I’ll go back to the cockpit for a postflight check and to make sure things look good for our return trip.” Captain Wilfred left for the cockpit so fast Angel thought maybe he’d used teleportation.
After he’d gone, Grafton turned to one of the No-Necks. “Benton has already laid the groundwork,” he told them.
Angel knew all about Benton Currothers. The kid was a menace, and Grafton might originally have pressed Benton into working for him because he had something he could hold over the little shitstain. But BKI had discovered Benton stayed on because he liked being employed by the almighty Spider. Nerdy little prick fancied himself a straight-up gangsta living the thug life, which might have made Angel particularly wary if he didn’t have an ace in the hole. That ace’s name was Ethan “Ozzie” Sykes, and he was the world’s greatest cyber ninja.
Benton was good.
Ozzie was better.
And the proof was in the pudding.
When the Black Knights had decided to leak Angel’s information onto the dark web in hopes of catching Benton’s and therefore Grafton’s attention, Ozzie had been there making sure no one but Grafton’s computer prodigy had access to the Intel, keeping Angel’s new identity and new face safe from the Iranians.
“All you have to do is hand off the cash,” Grafton said to Lead No-Neck. “Do you remember the name of the man you’re supposed to meet?”
No-Neck nodded. “Igor Grosu.”
“Jolly good.” Grafton slapped a hand down on the arm of his leather chair. “But remember, before you give him the bags, he must confirm where they’re going.”
“Right.” The hulking security man nodded again. “The first one goes to the immigration official on duty. The second one goes to the air-traffic controllers. And the third goes to the ground crew here.”
“Perfect.” Grafton flicked his wrist. “Proceed.”
The trio of security guards traipsed down the stairs, and Angel turned to eye Grafton. “Money talks, am I right?”
“In my experience.” Grafton lifted the London Times from his lap and shook it open. “And it talks even louder in poor countries like this.”
“I take it the cash in those bags is so this flight will never appear on any manifest or remain in anyone’s memory?”
Behind his newspaper, Grafton smiled. “Precisely.”
Not that Angel would have expected anything less from a man of Grafton’s experience. Even if the exchange of the uranium went off without a hitch, it was still in Grafton’s best interest to make sure he’d covered all his tracks. No one in their right mind wanted a black-market nuclear deal traced back to them.
On that topic…Angel asked the question that had been bothering him for two weeks. The only reason he’d waited until now was because he’d been sticking to his disinterested act, hoping that Grafton would offer the information on his own. But time had run out.
“Why do you want the uranium?”
Sonya’s eyes widened and darted from Grafton to Angel to Grafton’s driver who was still sitting at the rear of the plane and back again.
Since Grafton occupied the seat across the aisle from Angel, he was forced to turn slightly to look Angel dead in the eye. There was no mistaking Grafton’s smugness, or his malice. Most men would have withered under his stare.
Angel wasn’t most men.
Five seconds passed while neither of them so much as blinked.
Ten seconds passed.
Grafton’s driver cleared his throat at the back of the plane. Sonya fiddled with the zipper on her purse as the air inside the aircraft grew heavy with expectation. Angel’s heart was a steady thud against his rib cage, but his mind raced a mile a minute. He considered the possibility Grafton would refuse to answer. He wouldn’t put it past the asshole to indulge in a little quid pro quo. But then Grafton’s pride and audacity won out.
“I don’t want it. Not really.” Grafton made a show of carefully folding his newspaper and slipping it into the pocket on the side of his chair. “I’ve made it this far in life by refusing to dip my toe into the dangerous pool of bootleg nuclear materials. But when your information came across my desk, I realized if you could use your knowledge and contacts to get some uranium, then I could kill two birds with one stone.”
