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And so, it was something of a classic stalemate. They knew that Alex Karpov was still involved with the famous nightclub. And yet they hadn’t been able to keep track of him. The rumors were that he would sneak in the back with a limousine. But security cameras that they placed were often found destroyed. Employees they tried to slip into the nightclub were never hired. A couple of times, if they got back past the first round of interviews, the moles would turn up dead. Or not turn up at all.
The planetarium itself was run like any business. Clean tax records and clean customers.
Of course, there were some known entities. Organized crime types.
But it was a giant mess. More than once, it had been proposed that they ought to simply raid the place and find what they could.
But the same tactic had been attempted nearly seven years ago. Not only had they failed to find anything, but they had been sued by the nightclub owners for damages and won. The DA and the Attorney General at the time had done little to back up the FBI.
And so, the stalemate continued.
But now, Cora decided it made some sense. If the mayor of Miami was involved with the Karpov brothers, enough to even hire one of the nephews onto his own security team, then the chances of finding something shady had just skyrocketed.
And organized crime was exactly the sort of place that one could find killers, the sorts of terror she had seen in the mayor’s eyes could easily be traced back to such an organization.
She nodded to herself, slipping into the taxi. The driver started the car, glanced in the mirror. “Where to?”
She glanced in the rearview mirror, studying the open horizon behind them, the waves crashing to the shore. Frisbee players splashing in the water, laughing. Carefree. It was like none of them suspected that at any moment it could all end. The happiness, the play. As if they all thought the sun would stay out forever.
She frowned. “The planetarium. You know it?”
He stared at her. She stared back.
“You’re sure?” He said nervously.
She nodded.
He shrugged, and then put the car in gear, pulling away from the kiosk and out of the parking space. The scent of Italian beef mingled with the odor of cigarette smoke, neither quite managing to take dominance in the small, cramped taxicab.
And as they picked up speed, Cora glanced down at the phone she held. Part of her wondered if she ought to just call the number she had memorized. A good way to decide who owned it would be to get in touch. But for the moment, she knew about them. They didn’t know about her yet. The element of surprise was on her side. Besides, organized crime, the Karpov’s, it would all culminate in something. She could feel it.
And so, she leaned back and closed her eyes but didn’t drift off. A couple of hours of sleep was all she could afford.
She had gone on less for longer. It was part of what made her suited for this job. And whatever Brady thought, whatever he thought was best for her, she wasn’t even close to done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Of course, his real name wasn’t Tom. He had always liked the cartoon growing up. He thought of himself as the cat. They were the mice. But in this version of the show, he won.
He watched a new mouse scamper into the alley. The sweet thing had a sweet smile. She had long, cascading brown hair. With an expression like a saint, she handed food to a couple of the men who had been diving in the dumpster. He had watched as she hurried past the alley, noticed them, suspended whatever she had been doing in the moment to enter the restaurant, by a couple of meals, and then headed back out.
Very touching.
He leaned back in the car, studying her. Touching or not, she had the awareness of a dumb rock. He’d been following her for nearly three hours. She hadn’t noticed him once.
Vaguely, Tom wondered what it would feel like to wander through the world with such naivety.
He supposed he would never know.
He glanced dispassionately down at his flip phone. He changed it every day. A new number. He would text the number to one correspondent only. If the people who wanted to hire him didn’t have the correspondence contact information, then it meant they weren’t connected enough to find it. This served as enough of a screener for him.
His plastic appendage tapped against the window, tracing the glass, the prosthetic finger trailing the woman’s head as she emerged once more from the alley.
She was still smiling.
And he found he hated her a bit for it.
A sneer twisted his features, and his good hand crept into his suit, fiddling with the weapon. He stroked the cold metal. The silencer would be necessary for the job if things went sideways. But he managed to do everything by the book, so there would be no need.
