Death Echo

was, I wouldn’t be here,” Demidov said. “He wants to hold an American city for political ransom. Or worse.”
    Emma was glad she had already talked to Alara. Otherwise she would have jumped over the railing and landed on Demidov with both feet and a sharp knife, demanding information.
    He spoke the words so calmly, as if terrifying and then wiping out a large city was a perfectly normal way to go about international politics.
    â€œWhy?” Mac asked, nudging the joystick.
    Demidov hesitated, shrugged. “My people—”
    â€œThe Russian government?” Mac cut in.
    â€œYes. We assume Temuri plans to blame the entire episode on Russia.” Demidov connected the dots for Emma. “Then the U.S. would side with Georgia more forcefully on the Russian-Georgian border disputes.”
    â€œIf we lost a city, we’d probably do a hell of a lot more than take sides,” Mac said.
    â€œIf you could prove guilt, yes. Or perhaps, no. International politics is never what it seems.”
    â€œNo shit.” Mac nudged the joystick, waited to see the result, and asked, “What do you want from me?”
    â€œWe don’t know all of Temuri’s plot, just his goal, but we are certain that Blackbird is key to the matter.”
    Where have I heard this before? Emma thought. When even the bad guys don’t know who’s on first, the game is beyond lunatic.
    But she didn’t so much as glance at Mac to find out how he’d taken the non-news.
    â€œSo where do I come in?” Mac asked.
    â€œIt’s quite simple,” Demidov said. “I will transfer fifteen thousand dollars to whatever bank account you give me. In return, you will tell me when you are contacted and what you are told to do. At that time, I’ll transfer another fifteen thousand dollars to your account. That will more than cover any loss you have from Lovich and Amanar.”
    Mac thought about it. “Do Lovich and Amanar know what’s really going on?”
    â€œUnlikely. They are too soft.”
    Mac hated to agree with Demidov, but he did. “What if I take your fifteen thousand and blow you off?”
    â€œI will kill you.”
    â€œFigured that,” Mac said.
    â€œDo we have a deal?”
    â€œKeep talking.”

47
    DAY FOUR
MANHATTAN 7:15 P.M .
    D wayne tapped on the door of the suite that was part of Ambassador Steele’s top-floor offices and residence.
    Harley opened the door instantly. Behind him Manhattan blazed across the windows like a 3-D light show.
    â€œAlara is here,” Dwayne said very softly.
    â€œHe just got to—” began Harley.
    â€œI’m awake, Harley,” Steele called from the darkened room. “Help me into my chair.”
    Dwayne winced. Steele must be really tired. Usually he only needed Harley’s help with stairs or narrow doors. Steele might be retirement age, but his arms and chest were strong from hauling the rest of him around.
    â€œHas he eaten?” Dwayne asked Harley in a low voice.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBring some omelets and fruit, toast, crackers, cheese, whatever. And tea. You could try herbal—”
    â€œYou’d end up wearing it,” Steele interrupted impatiently.
    â€œOn Harley it would look good,” Dwayne said. He watched as the big, muscular, bodyguard-nurse walked to Steele’s bed. “Is your partner still out of town?”
    â€œYes.” Harley bent and lifted Steele easily. “His mother is sick, so he stayed in Kirkland to help her.”
    â€œWashington?” Dwayne asked.
    â€œIsn’t that close to Seattle?” Steele asked at the same time.
    â€œRight next door, why?” Harley said.
    Steele hesitated.
    â€œWhen your partner gets back,” Dwayne said quickly, “let me know. My girlfriend likes you better than she’s liking me lately. We’ll have both of you for dinner.”
    â€œShe cooking?” Harley asked, carefully settling Steele into his wheelchair.
    â€œIf both of you come,” Dwayne said, “you’ll get Cajun guaranteed to smoke your eyeballs black.”
    â€œStop,” Steele said. “I’m drooling like Pavlov’s dog.”
    â€œI’ll get the recipe, boss,” Harley promised. “Meanwhile, I’ll start cooking those omelets.”
    â€œThank you,” Steele said. “On nights like these, you’re better to me than I deserve.”
    â€œI’ll be