Had Sonya been standing, she would have indulged in a little end-zone victory dance complete with finger guns and high kicks. As it was, she was consigned to simply waving buh-bye to Grafton and Charles with her middle finger.
As Angel swerved out of the alley and onto the street, headed who knew where, she reached for the third button on her blouse, slipping it through the buttonhole and unsnapping it from the fabric.
“Uh…” Angel kept one eye on the road. The other was on her.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to do a striptease as thanks for saving my life. I need to download the pictures from the café onto my phone so I can transmit them to my boss. He’ll contact the Moldovan authorities and have the guy who sold us the uranium and the one who took possession of it arrested before they can leave the city.”
Digging in the lining of her purse, she took out the razor-thin smart phone she’d managed to smuggle into Grafton’s home. Inserting the little button into the side, she thumbed on the device and waited while the tiny camera inside the button downloaded the pictures she’d taken while sitting at the table. It would be a bit. The little button camera used most of its available digital capabilities for fast picture-taking, and that came at the expense of quick download speed.
“Sorry…” Sonya wasn’t sure it was possible for Angel’s voice to sound hoarse, since sounding hoarse was its regular MO. But there was an additional graveliness to his tone. And no, graveliness wasn’t a word either, but it should be. Suck it, Merriam-Webster! “Your boss?”
“Zhao Longwei, the president of Interpol. I work for Interpol.”
It’d been months since she’d said that out loud. She’d forgotten how good it sounded. She tried silently singing it like Beyoncé. Even better. How about rapping it like Jay-Z? Better still!
When Angel gaped at her in astonishment, she decided she liked that much more than the pity and disappointment she was used to seeing in his eyes.
Winking, she said, “You aren’t the only one who’s good at bluffing.”
Chapter 13
“Bloody fucking hell!” Grafton roared, his voice bouncing off the grimy walls of the alley. He slammed a fist into the side of a blue dumpster and immediately regretted it when pain exploded in his knuckles.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this infuriated and…and…what was that other feeling crawling around inside his chest like an army of centipedes? Oh yes. Fear. Fear!
He wouldn’t abide it!
“Ring up Richie,” he said to Charles, inhaling a deep breath and then immediately regretting that too. The alleyway smelled of old sneakers, rotting food, and the fetid aroma of stale urine. “Tell him to drive the car ’round to the alley.”
“Right-oh.” Charles scratched his whiskered chin. “But, uh, the crowds out front of the café might prove to be a problem. What are we going to do about them?”
“What?” Grafton scowled at his sole remaining security man. He should have listened to his instincts. Three strong-armed thugs were too few when going up against the likes of the mighty and mysterious Prince of Shadows. Damnit! Sodding shitting hell!
“They saw what happened inside the café.”
“No.” Grafton waved a dismissive hand. “They never saw us. The people on the street only saw Sonya and Majid…or Angel…or whatever he wants to call himself. My concern right now, my priority, is finding them.”
“Of course. You’re right.” The bodyguard bobbed his big, brutish chin and palmed his mobile from the inside pocket of his coat, holding the device to his ear.
Grafton did the same with his mobile, flexing the fingers on his free hand to relieve the ache in his knuckles. His call clicked a couple of times, a testament to it being encrypted on the other end, then Benton picked up. By way of salutation, the computer whiz said, “Please tell me you’ve changed your fool mind and have come ’round to my way of thinking? I’m all set to turn over the Prince of Shadows to the Iranians and collect that ten million quid so I can buy—”
Grafton cut him off. “Shut up and listen. We’ve a problem.” He outlined what had happened inside the café, hopping into the rented black sedan when it rounded the alleyway’s corner and pulled up beside him.
The interior smelled of fine leather and cedar air freshener. The plush surroundings, much more to Grafton’s taste than that disgusting alleyway, brought him a measure of comfort as he ripped off his wig and sunglasses. His blood pressure, which had been at a rapid boil, settled into a simmer.
Work the problem. All he had to do was work the sodding problem.
“I want all hands on deck,” he told Benton. “Call every source and asset we have. Hack into all those lovely floating satellites that record every keystroke, every phone call, and—”
“It might be easier than you think.” Benton’s voice sounded excited.
Grafton’s ears pricked up at that. “How so?”
“I had Lou plant a tracking device on Miss Butler a couple of weeks ago.”
Grafton’s eyebrows slammed into a scowl. “What? Why? And why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me? You’ve no right to—”
