“Might need a while longer. Your guy is squeaky damn clean, Jon. So clean it’s enough to think he’s gotta be hiding something. But we’ve found no criminal record. He doesn’t party. He runs miles every day. Lifts weights. Does yoga—”
“Yoga? For Pete’s sake.”
“Yeah. Yoga. He’s into the holistic health shit. Shops for fresh produce at the market. Likes to buy local, spends weekends visiting galleries. Passionate about sports. Snowboarder in winter. Kite boards in summer. He’s got a steady girlfriend. She moved to Vancouver with him. She works in finance.”
“Finance?” John’s pulse blips. “Like what kind of finance—banking?”
“Yeah, you got it. She’s with a firm based out of the UK. Works long distance, but also travels a lot for her work.”
Jon’s hand tenses around his phone. He peers into the shadows of the parking garage. “What’s her name?”
“Listen, buddy, I thought you didn’t want to do this on the phone. Thought you preferred in person.”
“Just give me her damn name.”
“Mila Gill.”
“Mia?”
“No, Mila.M-I-L-A.”
“Where’s she from? What nationality?”
“British.”
“You said you’d find dirt, Jake. Ineedsomething, dammit. What you’ve told me—I could’ve scored all that myself. It’s worthless. I need something I can use. Now.”Before something comes down on me.“You promised you’d find it.”
“I said I’d find it if it was there to be found. Manufacturing kompromat, Jon, is a whole other kettle of fish. I told you at the outset I needed to know where we were to draw the lines. Planting kompromat comes with a whole other price tag, too.”
Jon drags his hand through his hair.Mia. Mila. Banker. Finance. Foreign. Travels a lot...He has a horrible feeling. “Plant the dirt,” he says. “I don’t care what it costs. Just do it.”
Jon kills the call, exits and locks his car, and goes up in the elevator. With each floor that the elevator goes higher, the heavier the sense of trepidation pushing down on his head.
He exits the elevator and walks into the office. Anna the receptionist is dressed like Morticia, and Jon is instantly reminded it’s Halloween today.
“Morning, Anna,” he says.
She stares at him from under her black wig as he approaches. Her face is powder white and her black-lined lips are unsmiling. There’s aweird atmosphere in the air. Jon notices Ahmed in his glass cubicle. His rival meets his gaze. Ahmed doesn’t smile, either. His mouth is set in a grim line. Ahmed watches Jon steadily with dark, unreadable eyes behind his round glasses, and a warning bell begins to clang in Jon’s head. He tells himself they’re just pissed because he forgot to dress up. They think he’s not being a sport, spoiling their fun.
“Jon,” Anna says, clearing her throat before she speaks again. He notices fake blood dripping out of the corners of her mouth. “Darrian wants to see you in his office.”
The big boss.
Jon stills. “Why? What’s up?”
Anna won’t meet his eyes. “He just said to go through as soon as you come in.”
“Right.” Jon starts toward his own office.
Anna lurches up from her chair and hurries after him. “Jon! Darrian said straight through, Jon—”
“I’m just putting my damn briefcase down first, okay?”
She swallows and looks freaky with her bloody mouth. “I’m sorry, Jon. It’s just that he insisted you go directly to his office.”
Jon holds her gaze. In his peripheral vision he can see others in their glass cubicles, looking up, watching him. All still. Silent. And he knows. He just knows.
The other shoe has already dropped.
