Page 88 of Nightfire

She could choose?

“Miami.” The word came from nowhere but the instant it left her mouth, it felt good. Right. “I’d like to go to Miami.”

“Good choice. Lots of Hispanic Americans. Big cities are good to hide in. We’ll prepare new documents for you and a background story. Keep a low profile and after a year or two you’ll start to feel like this new person.”

Please.

“We’ll open a bank account for you in Miami under your new name and put another ten thousand in it for you. With what you have, it should be enough for a while. Wait a few months and then you can look for a job. Waitressing, or shop assistant. Nothing too fancy.”

Consuelo was almost beyond words. She shook her head numbly. No, nothing too fancy.

The Meteor was fancy. She wanted to be as far away from fancy as possible. Far away from the false luxury and sharp smells of expensive perfumes and liquors. She wanted a small, spare apartment that was just for her, normal clothes, she wanted to take long walks in the park and watch TV and sleep alone at night. She wanted that so much she shook with it.

And the people in this room were going to give it to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She blinked, and the tears began. “Thank you so much. You’ve given me my life back.”

Nicole rose, with the help of the rough-looking man who never left her side and walked toward her. This beautiful, elegant woman. A lady.

She put her hand on Consuelo’s shoulder. “You thank yourself, Consuelo. You got yourself out of this situation. We’re just helping. Follow the instructions you’ll receive from Harry and from Barney and you will be fine. We all wish you well in your new life.”

Consuelo placed her hand over Nicole’s without thinking, then, appalled at herself, tried to pull it back. But Nicole had grasped it, and wouldn’t let go.

“Good luck,” she said, bending down to whisper in Consuelo’s ear, and it was like a benediction.

Barney was at a side door, holding it open.

“Ma’am,” he said, his voice so deep it reverberated in her stomach. Or maybe it was the word. So insignificant. So important.

Consuelo rose and walked out the door.

The man who’d been fucking Chloe Mason on the balcony drove away. Nikitin watched the vehicle drive up from the underground parking lot. The side windows were smoked but the front windshield was clear and gave him an excellent view of the man’s face, which he’d last seen sweating as he humped the woman.

Chloe Mason was alone. And Chloe Mason was going to get him his thumb drive back.

He was going to need his trunk, and he was going to need Dmitri. But first he emailed Pirat.

Find coordinates of flat empty landscape around San Diego.

The answer came immediately.

Exceeded retainer.

Pizdets! Fuck!

Nikitin kept Pirat on retainer—30,000 euros a month. And yes, he’d exceeded it. Gritting his teeth, he transferred ten thousand dollars from his Bahamian account to Pirat’s account in Goa.

Happy now? He thought sourly. But he didn’t text it.

Three minutes later he had a set of coordinates, satellite photographs from 10,000 meters altitude, 5,000, 1,000, 500, 100 and so close he could read license plate numbers if there were cars around. There were none. It was a desert. Anza-Borrego Desert was written in white script along the bottom of the 1,000 meter resolution photo. Though his iPhone screen was small, Pirat had provided extensive maps and Nikitin spent ten minutes scrolling through them. Pirat had also provided a map with a course set in a blue line leading to the desert.

He made calculations in his head. If he drove fast, he could make it to the desert in forty minutes. It would give him time to set up the handover.

He called Dmitri, gave him the coordinates of where he was, told him to bring the trunk and to park two condo buildings down from La Torre.

While he waited, he watched the apartment on the fourth floor. The curtains in one room—the bedroom?—were drawn, but the rest of the apartment, which stretched out over five rooms, all connected by one balcony, with a small, separate balcony where the two had fucked, was open. He could see the woman moving around occasionally.

His jaw was aching and his fingers clenched the binoculars so hard it was a surprise he wasn’t denting the metal. Sweat trickled down his back.