“Good. That is why I need you to arrange to meet Perez’s cousin and secure the product.”
Jorge said Carlos left this morning, so he will not get here until tomorrow morning. At the very earliest.
“Not a problem. I will handle it.”
Gurnov’s go-phone vibrated again, adding a new text:
215-555-3582
DEA HERE . . . DOG MUST HAVE SNIFFED IT OUT
DUDE LOOKS BAD
This time Gurnov stopped himself from saying anything.
But he thought: Bad? Of course!
As one should when he realizes he has just screwed up and got his beautiful young wife and son killed!
Damn it!
“Dmitri, are you there?”
“Sorry. I was distracted.”
“You must have lost something big.”
If only you knew. Which I cannot let happen.
“You have Perez’s number, yes?”
I actually have his and Carlos’s.
“I do.”
“Call me, Dmitri. Let me know how it goes. And find whatever it is that you lost—you need your head straight.”
“Of course.”
He hung up and looked out the windshield, thinking.
Then his go-phone vibrated.
Now what the hell is Julio going to tell me?
He looked.
Who . . . ? he thought, as he read:
831-555-6235
MAYBE I HAVE YOUR BOOKS. MAYBE I DON’T.
WHO IS THIS?
Dmitri Gurnov felt his anger flare. It bordered on fury.
Do not dare to play games with me.