They drove close enough to the wharf to catch the smell of the fresh catches filling the bottom of a couple small fishing boats before Jude turned left to travel three more blocks. He halted before a two story building in a state of advanced disrepair, got off and went inside without a word. This time Mia stayed on the scooter. There were fewer people on the street in this neighborhood, and only a couple bars. The buildings huddled close to the curbs. Next to the doorway Jude had disappeared into a man sat slumped against the wall, head on his chest. After she stared for several minutes without him moving, she began to wonder if he was asleep, drunk or dead. The few people who shuffled by never gave him a glance. They seemed far more interested in Mia.
Her hand crept under the hem of her tee shirt, withdrawing the knife she had strapped there. She kept it hidden as two men approached, making a wide circle around her. They would be as interested in the vehicle as they were in her. They’d get neither.
One man looked back at the building Jude had disappeared into. Emboldened, he drew close enough to run his fingers over the handlebar closest to him. “Pretty, pretty.” He spoke in Vietnamese as he leered at Mia’s chest. His hand moved to her thigh. “Dẹp.”
She withdrew the knife in a flash and drew it across the back of the man’s hand in one smooth slice. He leaped back, howling, his free hand clapped around his wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
Jude picked that moment to exit the building, and was on the stranger in a few long strides. “Cut đe! Tao sẽ giết may!” He grasped the man’s shoulders with both hands, spun him around, and sent a hard right punch to his mid-section. The smaller man folded, gasping for air. Jude gave him a shove to send him on his way and turned toward Mia. “Are you hurt?”
His words were muffled by the helmet she wore but she could read his lips. Shaking her head, she fumbled for the hem of her shirt, replaced the knife beneath it. He reached her, opened the helmet’s visor to look at her face. Whatever he read in her expression must have reassured him. “Come with me.” She got off the motorbike, faintly shocked when he took the handlebars and walked it back to the building. Up the two steps to the entrance, and then inside and down a long dark hallway lined with doors. At the fifth one on the right he stopped and fit a key into the lock. Swinging the door open he waved for Mia to precede him and followed her in with the scooter.
The door had an old-fashioned slide lock rather than a dead bolt. Mia secured it as Jude wheeled the vehicle inside and stabilized it with the kickstand. He did a quick search of the small space, moving in swift economical movements to check under the narrow swayed bed and inside the minuscule bathroom. After examining the lock on the single window in the room, he drew the shade and turned back to her as she was removing the helmet.
Mia set it on the floor and bent over, raking her fingers through her damp hair. She was a hot sweaty mess and wanted nothing more than a shower. Something told her it would be a while before she got one. She straightened, shoving her hair back from her face and stopped in mid-action when she caught him staring at her with that mesmerizing green gaze.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He walked to one corner of the bed and sat down gingerly. The mattress sagged beneath his weight. “Your hair is longer.”
“It matches the picture for the Samantha Simmons ID.” She’d worn wigs for two of the photos, Mia recalled. One ID matched her hairstyle at the time, another had her as a redhead and the third was very close to the length her hair was now. She’d used all three passports to move in and out of countries anonymously.
“Tell me again what happened.” The command in his voice was familiar. His employees had responded to it. She had not. Rather than seating herself on the bed beside him, Mia moved to take up position near the window. A quick peek under the torn blind showed it faced another building, as shabby as this one.
She repeated the story she’d told him earlier, ending with, “The Vietnamese government insists that anyone renting a room or an apartment be reported so they can be placed on a list. That’s how they keep track of visitors to their country. I met Hoa my first week here, through Quyen, the owner of the coffee shop you saw me at. After we met a few times she invited me to live with her, to share the rent. She’s an international airline stewardess and is rarely home.”
He eyed her impassively. “Which means she is in and out of the country all the time. Interacting with strangers every day. Did she ever mention having a problem with a passenger? Do you have any reason to suspect she might be involved in…” He hesitated for an instant. “…illegal activity?”
Turning to face him, she said flatly, “Those options might be feasible if I hadn’t recognized the woman who assaulted her. Hoa wasn’t the target today. I was.”
“Because you know the stranger.”
It was her turn to pause. “Not in the way you mean.” When the man who called himself their master was absent, there had been cameras running. Every movement, every sound they made was recorded. Talking amongst each other was prohibited. Using a given name would result in a brutal beating that would take weeks to recover from. “I don’t know her by name, only by face. He called her Four. She was almost as sadistic as he was.”
“Would he be with her?”
Giving word to her fear had gooseflesh breaking out on her arms. “I think so, yes. I can’t imagine him allowing any of the women in his captivity this kind of freedom.”
Jude stared at her in silence for a long minute. She sometimes went days without talking to another person face to face. It had never bothered her. But the long quiet seconds under his gaze had all her nerves tightening. “Okay.” He got up and without another word started for the door.
“Wait!” Because her voice held a thread of panic, she worked to steady it before continuing. “Where are you going?”
“To check on some things. Find a way out of the country. You’re going to stay here and wait for me.”
The self-assured tone set her teeth on edge. “I’ll go with you.”
He turned toward her with exaggerated patience. “She’s looking for two of us now, Mia. She’ll recognize you, but probably not me.” He reached into his back pocket and took out a dark ball cap he’d had stuffed inside and put it on, the bill pulled low over his face. “When I leave, move the scooter to block the door. That will slow down anyone who tries to break in, and give you time to get out the window.” He unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
She resecured the lock, her mind whirling frantically. The last hour and a half was like something out of a nightmare, with a jumble of disjointed pieces that didn’t make sense. How could he be here, now? Four’s purpose for coming had been all too evident. But…Jude Bishop?
She went to the motorbike and wheeled it to block the door, as he’d ordered. Commands came a little too naturally to him. She remembered the research she’d done on him years ago when her father’s lawyer had recommended Bishop’s firm for security. He was ex-military of some type. Maybe that’s where he’d gotten in the habit of snapping out orders and expecting them to be followed unquestioningly.
Because there were few other choices in the room, she sat on the bed. It was all almost too much to take in. First discovering Dr. Halston’s death, and then seeing Hoa… When memory of her roommate threatened to make her nerves quiver, she clamped them tight. Forced herself to think about the incongruity of Jude’s appearance.
Coincidences always made her paranoia worse, and Halston had advised her on ways to work through it. Look for links. Construct viable and unviable scenarios. Weigh them carefully. Usually Mia found the exercise calming.
But in this case the quiet time spent thinking filled her with ice. Because there was no escaping the fact that despite all her precautions, somehow Four had found her.
And the only person who could know the names Mia traveled under was Jude Bishop.
* * * *
The open area on the dock was a prime location to use the satellite cell he traveled with. Open water all around him. No buildings to block the signal.
And an opportunity to observe the boats punctuating the horizon. To think about how to approach an owner. Jude took his time with his calls, content to watch the activity around him, taking mental notes.
First he sent Raiker a text. Two words, no more.
Found her.
At this point he had little else to share. Tracking down Mia Deleon hadn’t been an issue. The scenario he’d discovered her in was. Like everything else about the woman’s life it was messy and murky and he still couldn’t separate her version from reality. Although he’d seen enough to be certain the Caucasian woman in the blue car had been bent on injuring her.
He just couldn’t be sure why. Not yet. He dialed Kacee; used the intervening time to take the sunglasses out of his pocket, slip them on. The sun was scorching, but he’d been in hotter places. Lying completely still. Waiting. Watching. Compared to the searing sands of Afghanistan, the Da Nang wharf was a walk in the park.
“Did you locate the POI?” Kacee’s voice was brisk on the other end when she came on. Probably dealing with a dozen other things during the call. Her multi-tasking ability made her invaluable at keeping the operational details of his business running.
“Finding the person of interest wasn’t the problem. Figuring out what the hell is going on is.” Briefly he filled her in on the events of the day.
Kacee was silent for a moment. “Her kidnapping story just got a little more implausible.”
Jude grunted. The thought had crossed his mind. “I need information, fast. I have to know what I’m dealing with. Get an interpreter in there and put Hunter on the Da Nang police scanners, or whatever they have here that’s comparable. Local radio and TV stations. I need to know if the story about the roommate checks out, and if so, what they think happened. If that doesn’t work, put out an Associated Press feeler. The fact that she’s a foreigner will make international interest believable.” The Samantha Simmons ID was British, if he recalled correctly, via the Cayman Islands. That would misdirect the Vietnamese police interest and buy them some time.
Them.
The use of the word made him uncomfortable. He owed a favor to Adam Raiker. He owed nothing to Mia Deleon. He was in this only as long as he could trust her. And right now that wasn’t very far.
“I’ll want airline tickets bought under Mia’s first ID, and my third. You can start researching them now, but I can’t give you a departure date yet.” Vietnamese banks didn’t offer lockboxes, and there were no lockers at bus depots and train stations. He’d be willing to bet that Mia carried everything of value on her person, the same way he did. “Best route would be through Paris. Or London. Then we’ll use alternate IDs to get back to the US.”
“Destination?”
“DC. For both of us,” he added, thinking of his promise to Raiker. If he discovered that Mia had nothing to do with her roommate’s fate, he’d help get her out of the country. If she did…she could face the Vietnamese police alone, after he facilitated a call with Adam. Whatever the tactics he sometimes employed, Jude had his own moral code. Steering clients toward high quality phony IDs and hacking government databases were acceptable. Helping a killer avoid justice was not.
“Departure city?”
He had to think about that one for a moment. Hong Kong would be closer, but the Philippines would be a safer bet. “Manila,” he told her, then thought of one more thing. “See if Logan can get the incoming airline manifests for Vietnam this last week. Looking for a woman, likely American, mid to late twenties.” The driver of the blue car would undoubtedly be using an alias, but even a false name would be useful when tracking her passport. “Call me when you have something.”
“You got it.”
Jude disconnected, certain he wouldn’t have to wait long for results. He employed people he trusted and they maintained that trust by producing outcomes.
A river of sweat snaked down his back. Slipping his phone back in his jeans pocket he turned and retraced his steps, heading to the nearest tavern. He’d order a Vietnamese beer and if he couldn’t find someone there who spoke at least a little English, he’d continue to the next bar, and then the next until he found one. Sometimes the most casual of conversations could yield the most interesting details.
He stepped back up on the curb swiftly, narrowly avoiding having his foot run over by a driver on a scooter who’d maybe already imbibed a few too many. Jude wasn’t sure the food could be trusted around here, but eventually he’d find something to take back to Mia.
The only question was whether she’d still be where he’d left her. He couldn’t assume that the last five years had made her any less unpredictable.
The first bar he tried was the sort of dive that he was all too familiar with. It was a type to be found the world over, with shifty-eyed occupants and questionable sanitation. The beer was warm, the flies thick, and if any of the customers spoke more than a word of English, they were keeping their linguistic skills to themselves. After forcing down half a beer, Jude made a point of looking at his watch and hastily took his leave. No one seemed any more interested in his departure than they had his arrival.
The next one was across the street and boasted a neon Coors sign in front that was half burned out. The inside was almost a twin for the establishment he’d just left, with wobbly wooden tables ringed with equally unsteady chairs. Backless barstools faced a marred counter top overseen by a pudgy woman with a grim expression and guarded eyes.
“English?” Her expression never changed. “Coors Light.” She turned and snatched a glass off a rack next to the sink and went to pour him a draft. Turning to set it in front of him, she said, “Five dollars.”
“So you do speak English.” He peeled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her, gesturing for her to keep the change.