Persuader

They'll have to react. Their pride is at stake. Even if he was legit, he took a hell of a big risk. Half a million big risks. They'll be coming after him. And he can't just disappear. He'll have to stay on-post. He'll be a sitting target." I paused a beat. Looked at her. "If he's not going to disappear, why was he moving all his money?" She said nothing. I looked at my watch. Thought: This, not that . Or, just perhaps, just for once, this and that.
    "Half a million is too much money," I said.
    "For what?"
    "For the Syrians to pay. It's just not worth it. There'll be a prototype soon. Then there'll be a preproduction batch. There'll be a hundred finished weapons down at the quartermaster level within a matter of months. They could buy one of those for ten thousand dollars, probably. Some bent corporal would sell them one. They could even steal one for free. Then they could just reverse-engineer it."
    "OK, so they're dumb businessmen," Kohl said. "But we heard Quinn on the tape. He put half a million in the bank." I looked at my watch again. "I know. That's a definite fact."
    "So?"
    "It's still too much. The Syrians are no dumber than anybody else. Nobody would value a fancy lawn dart at half a million bucks."
    "But we know that's what they paid. You just agreed it's a definite fact."
    "No," I said. "We know Quinn's got half a million in the bank. That's the fact. It doesn't prove the Syrians paid him half a million. That part is speculation."
    "What?"
    "Quinn's a Middle East specialist. He's a smart guy, and he's a bad guy. I think you stopped looking too soon."
    "Looking at what?"
    "At him. Where he goes, who he meets. How many dubious regimes are there in the Middle East? Four or five, minimum. Suppose he's in bed with two or three of them at once? Or all of them? With each one thinking it's the only one? Suppose he's leveraging the same scam three or four times over? That would explain why he's got half a million in the bank for something that isn't worth half a million to any one individual."
    "And he's ripping them all off?" I checked my watch again.
    "Maybe," I said. "Or maybe he's playing for real with one of them. Maybe that's how it got started. Maybe he intended it to be for real all along, with one favored client. But he couldn't get the kind of big money he wanted from them. So he decided to multiply the yield."
    "I should have watched more cafés," she said. "I shouldn't have stopped with the Syrian guy."
    "He's probably got a fixed route," I said. "Lots of separate meetings, one after another.
    Like a damn mail carrier." She checked her watch.
    "OK," she said. "So right now he's taking the Syrian's cash home." I nodded. "And then he's heading out again right away to meet with the next guy. So you need to get Frasconi and get some more surveillance going. Find Quinn on his way back into town. Haul in anybody he swaps a briefcase with. Maybe you'll just end up with a bunch of empty briefcases, but maybe one of them won't be empty, in which case we're back in business." She glanced around the inside of the truck. Glanced down at her tape recorder.
    "Forget it," I said. "No time for the clever stuff. It'll have to be just you and Frasconi, out there on the street."
    "The warehouse," I said. "We're going to have to check it out."
    "We'll need support," Duffy said. "They'll all be there."
    "I hope they are."
    "Too dangerous. There are only three of us."
    "Actually I think they're all on their way to someplace else. It's possible they've left already."
    "Where are they going?"
    "Later," I said. "Let's take it one step at a time." Villanueva moved the Taurus off the curb.
    "Wait," I said. "Make the next right. Something else I want to check first." I directed him two blocks over and one up and we came to the parking garage where I had left Angel Doll in the trunk of his car. Villanueva waited on a hydrant and I slipped out. I walked down the vehicle entrance and let my eyes adjust to the gloom. Walked on until I came to the space I had used. There was a car in it. But it wasn't Angel Doll's black Lincoln. It was a metallic green Subaru Legacy. It was the Outback version, with the roof rails and the big tires. It had a Stars and Stripes sticker in the back window. A patriotic driver. But not quite patriotic enough to buy an American automobile.
    I walked the two adjacent aisles, just to make sure, although I already was. Not the Saab, but the Lincoln. Not the maid's missing notes, but Angel Doll's missing