Death Echo

Investigation involved?” Temuri demanded, his dark eyes glittering with temper.
    â€œThey always investigate crimes of violence on reservations. That’s what the chief said, anyway.”
    Temuri spit on the rug.
    Amanar winced but didn’t say anything.
    â€œAmateurs,” Temuri said.
    The knife flashed so quickly Amanar couldn’t see much beyond a metallic blur. He swallowed hard and didn’t ask just who the amateurs were that Temuri spit upon.
    â€œYou are telling me a cheap murder on a tribal reserve that is mostly scrub timber and blackberry bushes is worth the attention of no fewer than fifty federal agents,” Temuri said with a deadly lack of inflection.
    â€œFifty? Are you sure? The chief never said anything about that many feds.” Amanar shook his head in disbelief. “How did you find that out?”
    â€œI drove by the tribal headquarters building and counted the shiny four-door sedans parked there. That is called intelligence work. I know Chechens who can drive by a Russian barracks and tell you within five men the number of soldiers housed there. It is how we determine the number of bullets issued to our freedom fighters.”
    Amanar started sweating. “I don’t like this talk about soldiers and attacks. You told us this was a simple smuggling operation, like dope or cigarettes. That’s all we signed on for. We’re Americans, not freedom fighters or terrorists.”
    â€œYet you smuggle the narco to sell to children and addicts?”
    â€œIt’s not the same,” Amanar said impatiently. “It’s just a game. Dope doesn’t hurt anybody. Guns do. My cousin and I don’t want anything to do with anyone else’s wars.”
    Temuri stared at him, then tested the edge of the knife on Lovich’s wooden desk.
    Lovich worked hard on ignoring him.
    â€œWhat of the people of yours who disappeared at sea years ago?” Temuri asked. “Was that all part of the game that hurt no one?”
    The two boat brokers traded startled glances.
    â€œYou stupid son of a bitch,” Lovich said in English. “Why the hell did—”
    â€œI didn’t tell him,” Amanar said in the same language. “Now shut up. He knows more English than he lets on.”
    Sullenly, Lovich returned to staring out at the bay.
    â€œLook, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or what they’ve been saying,” Amanar said. “We never killed anybody. Accidents happen, especially when you’re in a small boat on big water.”
    â€œI know precisely what happened and why,” Temuri said. He carved another groove in the desk. Wood shavings fell on the rug next to neat slices from his nails. “So would your police, if they ever decided to investigate. Yet death at sea is a federal matter, is it not? I am told death has no limitation in the United States.”
    Amanar got the point: Temuri knew that the statute of limitations on murder had no end date.
    â€œAnd then the monies owed—taxes, yes,” Temuri said. “Is there a limitation on them?”
    Amanar and Lovich exchanged a long look before Amanar gave in, turned away, and asked the question whose answer neither cousin would like.
    â€œWhat do you want?” he asked Temuri.
    â€œA captain for my Blackbird. You have until tomorrow at dawn.”
    Neither Lovich nor Amanar asked what would happen if they failed Temuri. They really didn’t want to know.

23
    DAY THREE
ROSARIO
10:45 A.M .
    T aras Demidov swallowed the last of three hamburgers, squeezed the final drops in the tenth packet of ketchup over a pile of fries, and took a sip of the surprisingly awful coffee. No amount of sugar smothered the bitterness.
    But it did take the smell inside the van off his tongue.
    Eating fries, Demidov listened through his ear bug while the two cousins continued arguing over possible replacements for the Indian who had been taken out of the game. Demidov didn’t bother to sort out the voices. Only the topic mattered to him.
    â€œAnd I tell you, your wife’s nephew isn’t up to a boat that size.”
    â€œStupid shit deserves to die. He knocked up his own cousin.”
    â€œSecond cousin.”
    â€œStill a cousin. I say we use Durand.”
    â€œToo risky.”
    â€œWho’d miss him? No family, no friends except maybe Tommy, not even a regular hump in town.”
    â€œTommy was stupid. Durand