CHAPTER 101

I didn’t need to ask why. I knew why. I was sure of it.

Foxx couldn’t yet guarantee von Oehson’s safety. The Hungarians were getting their money back, but they weren’t fully ready to give a pass to the man who so brazenly stole it from them. Maybe they were trying to leverage the situation, bargain for some other concession. Maybe the hard feelings needed a little more time to soften. Whatever the exact reason, they weren’t officially calling off the hit just yet. International diplomacy always happens at the cross section of power and patience.

That was the reason for Foxx’s visit. It was all about von Oehson. Like it or not—and for sure Foxx didn’t like it—he’d inherited a billionaire for a day or two. This still wasn’t official agency business. He wasn’t about to arrange a pickup. There’d be no delegating in the dark of night. He would see to this personally. That’s how Foxx rolled. That’s why he was coming. Yep. I was sure of it, all right.

And I was wrong.

“Where is he?” asked Foxx, the second he walked through the last of Julian’s security doors. Of course he’d been there before.

“He’s in my office,” answered Julian. At least, I think that’s what he said. I was too busy staring at the folder in Foxx’s hand. Immediately I had a bad feeling. His folders hadn’t been boding well for me.

“Let’s talk anywhere but there, then,” said Foxx. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for von Oehson’s ears.

We ended up in Julian’s communications room, if for no other reason than the walls were lined with sound dampeners. Julian closed the door behind us.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “They still want von Oehson dead?”

“I’m sure they still do, but it’s not going to happen,” said Foxx. “Contract halted.”

The hit was off. “That’s good news,” I said.

“It is. Unfortunately, there’s a hitch.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s you,” said Foxx.

Of all things, Julian laughed. He couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t blame him. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. It didn’t make sense.

“You’re saying the Hungarians have a contract out on me?”

“No, that’s not it,” said Foxx. “They’re cooperating. In fact, they claimed they offered the hit man the back-end payment on von Oehson even though the job was botched.”

Now it was starting to make sense. Contract killers can get a little touchy when someone tries to kill them. “So you’re telling me it’s personal,” I said.

“Apparently very personal,” answered Foxx. “This guy wants you dead. That’s the prevailing theory.”

“Based on?”

“He initially went dark, didn’t respond to his handler. When he finally did, he turned down the back-end offer. A significant sum, I was told.”

“You said it yourself, he botched the hit. He’s a pro,” I said. “He’s not going to take the money.”

“Exactly.”

“So why the theory about me?”

“This is why,” said Foxx, reaching into the folder.

The picture was a screen capture from a security camera. Black and white, a little grainy, but it was clear enough. The time stamp was only a couple of hours earlier. I didn’t recognize the man, but I sure knew where he was standing. It was the lobby of my apartment building. As if I needed any more proof, there were cuts and bruises on his face. The car wreck variety. “How did you ID him?” I asked.

“I told you,” said Foxx. “The Hungarians are cooperating.”

“They sold the guy out?”

“They provided a photo but not a name. I ran him with facial rec through every intel file we have. Nothing. The guy’s a ghost.”

I stared again at the picture. “But at least with his face—”

“Right,” said Foxx. Big Brother’s always watching. “I was able to track most of his movements since he arrived in the country. He landed at JFK a couple of days ago, is staying at the Dominick downtown, and took a quick field trip upstate to procure the rifle and scope that killed Brunetti, as well as a few Glocks.”

“A purchase?” I asked. Gun laws in this country have more loopholes than a piece of knitting, but buying with a fake ID still remains a stretch.

“No. A robbery. Scared the shit out of the gun shop owner, too. Toyed with him. He likes to play games.”

So that’s what Foxx had, and it was more than enough. I didn’t need a name to know that this guy didn’t come to my apartment to call a truce.

“If he wants me dead, I suggest we give him a shot,” I said.

Foxx nodded. “I figured you’d say that.”

Which was all he needed to say in return. Foxx hadn’t come for von Oehson. He’d come for me.

“It’s not worth it,” said Julian, chiming in for the first time. He always knows how to pick his spots. “Go be with your family. Go see your little girl.”

In other words, go into hiding. Let Foxx dispatch an operative or two to track this guy down.

“Fine,” I said. Still, there was one last thing I needed to know. I couldn’t imagine that this guy got a good-enough look at me at von Oehson’s house in Darien. Even if he had, how was he able to ID me?

I was about to ask Foxx when it suddenly hit me. I already knew the answer. It explained why the Hungarians were cooperating. It wasn’t from the goodness of their hearts. It was more like guilt.

“What is it?” asked Foxx. He could read it all over my face. Panic.

I turned to Julian. “If he knows who I am,” I said, my voice trailing off.

It only took Julian a heartbeat. “Oh, shit. Then he knows who she is, too,” he said.

Elizabeth.