as the Englishman pulled back. ‘But it won’t last for ever. He’ll keep sending people after her, and sooner or later one of them will succeed. Unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘You’d like to go home, wouldn’t you, Chase? Be reunited with your wife?’ The smarminess of a politician making promises returned at full slimy intensity. ‘I can arrange it. Bring the statues to me, so I can show Glas that they’ve been destroyed, and I’ll get him to call off his dogs. I’ll even do what I can to get you off the hook with Interpol.’
Eddie stared at him for a long moment. ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’
It wasn’t the response Dalton had expected. ‘What?’
‘I trust you about as much as I could shit an elephant. Soon as I go, you’ll scream for the Secret Service, and then either I’ll be dead or every cop and government agent in the country’ll be looking for me.’ He regarded the gun. ‘Unless I make sure you can’t.’
Dalton went pale. ‘No, no, wait. There’s no need to kill me – I can help you, I really can! Whatever you need, I can get – I still have the connections. I do!’
Another silence, the gun fixed on the trembling man . . . then unexpectedly Eddie let out a sarcastic chuckle. ‘You’re right, I don’t need to kill you. I can do something worse.’
‘W-worse?’
Eddie crossed the room to a dresser, on top of which was a collection of framed photos of Dalton in his presidential days – and picked up a phone that had been propped, half hidden, behind one of the pictures. ‘Did you get that?’ he said into its camera.
‘Came out great, mate,’ said an Australian voice from the other end of the line. ‘Bluey’ Jackson, the friend who had provided Eddie with his fake US passport.
‘Cheers. You know what to do.’ He turned the phone round and tapped its screen to disconnect.
Appalled realisation hit the former president. ‘You recorded this?’
‘Worked last time, didn’t it?’ Eddie said cheerily as he pocketed the phone. ‘That was a live video call to a mate of mine in another country – the same mate who helped 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, 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 on to 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.
14
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