me make you into a YouTube star a couple of years back. He was recording it, and right now he’s copying it and sending it to his mates for security. You just confessed to conspiracy and attempted murder and Christ knows what else, so it’d be a real shame if the video got sent to, I dunno, the Justice Department. And The New York Times. And the BBC. And—”
“I get the picture, damn you,” spat Dalton.
“So will everyone else. Fool you twice, eh?” His voice became harsher. “So first off, you keep quiet about me being here. Second, next time this Glas bloke calls, you tell him to call off anyone he’s sent after Nina.”
“I don’t know when he’ll contact me next,” said Dalton, sweating.
“You’d better hope it’s soon.” Eddie tossed the panic button onto the chair. “Anyway, I’ll be off. You have a nice night.” He opened the door, then paused halfway through it. “You’ve got more to be scared of than this Group, Dalton. You’ve got me.” The door closed behind him.
Dalton stared after him for several seconds, then scurried to the chair. He picked up the panic button … but didn’t dare use it. Instead, trembling with fear and anger, he threw it down on the carpet and returned to sit on the bed, head in his hands.
FOURTEEN
New York City
The arrivals area of John F. Kennedy Airport’s Terminal 7 was far from welcoming, but to Nina reaching the huge, impersonal structure felt oddly like coming home. Since joining the IHA five years earlier, she had done so much international travel that she imagined her total mileage would stretch to the moon—yet no matter how far-flung her travels, at the end the comforting sight of Manhattan was always waiting for her.
There was the usual rigmarole to endure first, however. Standing in line at immigration control, the interminable wait for her baggage … and then she would still have to battle for a cab.
Which was why the sight of a card reading DR. NINA WILDE was such a pleasant surprise when she reached the concourse. It was held by a mustachioed man in a chauffeur’s uniform and dark glasses, who stepped forward as she approached. “Dr. Wilde?” he said. His accent had a European tinge, but she couldn’t place it precisely. “Mr. Penrose sent me to bring you to the United Nations.”
“Oh. Huh. Y’know, I was kind of hoping to go home first. I’ve had a long couple of days.” She had attempted to sleep on the flight, but despite her exhaustion from the chase in Rome her rest had been fitful. And now Penrose probably wanted to drag her into another lengthy meeting with senior UN officials to explain how death and chaos had followed her to two foreign capitals … “Well, guess not,” she said, on the chauffeur’s silence. “Okay, let’s go.”
She waited for him to take her luggage, but instead he started to turn away before halting, as if belatedly remembering that his duties extended beyond simply driving a car. “May I … take your bags?”
“You certainly may.” Nina relievedly passed them to him, then followed him through the concourse.
He led her to the sprawling parking structure beyond the AirTrain light rail station. Nina stifled yawns on the way. Fortunately, her chauffeur didn’t seem inclined to be talkative.
The chauffeur had his own reasons for not wanting to engage her in conversation. Large among them was that he was not actually a chauffeur.
His left arm nudged with every step against the gun concealed beneath his jacket. He was sweating, the perspiration due in varying degrees to the weight of the bags, the wig and false mustache he was wearing to shield his identity from the airport’s surveillance cameras, and the enormity of what he was about to do. He was no stranger to violence, but straight-up assassination was something new and troubling.
He knew it had to be done, though. He had complete faith in his boss, and if Harald Glas said that the innocent-looking redhead was a threat to the entire world, he believed him.
She was famous, wasn’t she? Some kind of scientist. Pretty, too, for an egghead …
He forced himself not to think about her. All he had to do was get her into the back of the blacked-out limo, then draw the gun and fire. Three shots to the head would do it. She wouldn’t even have time to be scared.
They descended through a stairwell. He had parked in a quiet corner with limited CCTV