Revenge (David Shelley #1) - James Patterson Page 0,72
in the middle of the road facing toward him, was a black Jeep Cherokee, headlights on half beam. Shelley stopped. A stretch of road lay between his Mini and the Cherokee.
Taking a look around, it struck him that with the undeveloped site on one side and the cover of the burned-out buildings on the other, they were shielded from view. Anybody coming down here would be doing so by accident. The other units were vacant, so with Foxy Kittenz and the building next door out of commission, there was literally no reason for anyone to use this road.
He switched off the engine and then reached into his trousers to drag out his phone, about to dial Dmitry when it rang in his hand.
“Hello?” he said, raising it to his ear.
“Hello? Is that Captain Shelley?”
“It is.”
Pause. “I mean to say, is that Captain Shelley whose car I am looking at?”
Shelley flashed his lights twice.
“One, two, three in a row, please, just to satisfy me.”
Shelley did as he was asked.
“And you have come alone?”
“It’s in our interests to keep up our end of the bargain, Dmitry. I only hope you feel the same.”
In the rearview mirror he saw the shape of a black Transit van about a hundred yards at his six. They were boxing him in.
“Who’s that behind?” he said sharply. “Is that your men?”
“Why, yes, of course. There is a need to prevent anybody accidentally using the road, no? We do not want to be disturbed.”
Okay, thought Shelley. Stay frosty. He’s making sense.
On the other hand, they could be blocking the road to stop Shelley and Susie leaving.
But no. Everything so far pointed to Dmitry wanting a smooth exchange. Shelley had to go with his gut on this one.
“Well then, Captain, would I be right in assuming you have brought the necessary details you need to make the transfer?”
“I need to know something first,” said Shelley.
Dmitry sighed. “Really?”
“Just humor me.”
“Go on.”
“Emma’s death,” said Shelley. “You said you weren’t involved . . .”
“And I wasn’t.”
“. . . but what about someone else in your organization?”
“You see,” said Dmitry, “this is what I am trying to tell you, Captain Shelley. This is what you don’t understand. There are two types of people in this world. There are the bosses, and there are those who have bosses.
“The bosses, there are very few of them, and they’re people like Mr. Drake, who answer to no one and nothing, not even the law. And it is their attacks of pride, their whims, to which we must attend. They are the reason we find ourselves in positions such as this one.
“Then there are the second type of people. That is people like us, Captain, you and I, who must do the bidding of our masters. Carry out their orders. Now, in most instances, people like you and I have only one aim. And that is to not displease bosses, and we do that by doing what is good for business. And what is good for business is making money.
“Bodies, on the other hand, are bad for business. Because as soon as you have a body you have emotion. You have angry rich fathers, you have policemen becoming interested, ex-SAS men trying to make a quick buck. All of it is bad for business.
“I would have had nothing to do with the killing of Emma Drake simply because it was bad for business and that would displease my bosses. My own employees would have nothing to do with the death of Emma Drake because that would displease me. Do you understand?”
Now Shelley got to the point: “Okay, so not you. Not your men. What about your wife?”
“Karen?” said Dmitry with a mixture of surprise and affrontedness. “What on earth do you mean?”
“What I say. Did Karen have anything to do with Emma Drake’s death?”
“Karen works for me,” laughed Dmitry loudly, “I am her boss. She also understands the need for good business. No. The answer to your question is no. Now,” he sounded irritated, “shall we proceed? You have a smartphone, I take it, or did Mr. Drake furnish you with a laptop?”
“I’m using my own smartphone. I’ve memorized the information I need . . .”
“Of course you have. I would expect nothing less.”
“But here’s the deal,” said Shelley. “I’ll transfer half to you now. I get Susie to the car, drive to the end of the road where your men are stationed, and only then do I transfer the other half.”
He could hear Dmitry suck on his teeth. “And if you fail to do it?”