He pushed the screen away in disgust, even as his eyes scanned the doors and windows.
“Think he knows where we are?”
“Not a chance,” I said confidently.
“Why?”
“Because if he did, he wouldn’t be sending pics. He’d be sending people.”
Colson’s shoulders seemed to lower, ever so slightly, at my assessment.
“He’s applying pressure.”
“Psychological warfare,” I agreed. “Yes.”
“Which means?”
“He wants to imagine the rest. That he’s got us. That it’s only a matter of time.”
The door to the café blew open again, and a giant of a bearded man stepped inside. He stomped his feet, then ordered an espresso on his way to the bathroom. Colson’s eyesfollowed him the whole way.
“So what’s our response?” he asked.
I looked at my screen again. The photo of the little fishing shack stared back at me, tauntingly.
“Right now? Money.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
Colson looked suddenly interested. “You meanhismoney?”
I laughed. “Of course. Isn’t that the best kind?”
“You’re talking about his accounts, aren’t you? The ones on the locket?”
“I’ve been studying them,” I acknowledged. “He’s got eight major offshore funds, all connected via shell corporations to his leverage network. That’s the one he uses to blackmail everyone.”
“Okaaay…”
“They’re all layered through additional securities and corporate entities, then subdivided by—”
“Speak English.”
“I want to drain them.”
Colson stopped talking at once. He looked half-scared, half-excited. His expression was all intrigue, however.
“Can you do that?”
“Sure,” I beamed.
“Without him noticing?”
“Well… that’s the trick. I can move them, but I need to doit slowly, methodically. That way Donovan doesn’t feel the ground, shifting beneath him.”
“Death by a thousand bee stings,” smiled Colson.
