Page 78 of Canyon of Deceit
Therese left me alone to think the case had morphed into an intricate series of crimes that leapfrogged to the next. I rode the fence on where the suspects fit in the plan to assassinate Edik Baranov, Daria’s murder, Alina’s kidnapping, Chandler, and the laser chips. But Rurik’s name linked through each crime, but how? Maybe he had more of a connection to Russia’s prime minister than originally thought.
I called Sergio. Our heated argument about Therese and I meeting Rurik in person went on far too long, but my stubbornness won out. Would my persistence pave the way for truth?
FORTY-FIVE
Right on time, a Ranger delivered the gray rental car, the color a blend of black and white, life and death. I had my new SIG, and Therese had a firearm in her handbag. The agents at Rurik’s home might confiscate them, but I wanted a weapon within easy reach going and coming.
Therese drove the thirty minutes to our destination, obviously absorbed in her thoughts. My headache roared like a lion, and I needed to clear it before talking to Rurik. “Do you want to head back to the hotel?” I said. “This has potential to be dangerous.”
She shook her head and offered a smile. Wasn’t a real one, but I wouldn’t comment. “I think facing a firefight might be safer than your driving.” She slid me a sideways glare.
“Not true, but I don’t want you hurt.”
“Every hour that passes means one more hour Falin has Alina,” she said. “Questions pelt me like someone throwing stones. How do you read people with accuracy?”
“Like I said before, it takes practice. Listen to what they don’t say, do say, choice of words, their body language, and follow your gut.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“The key word is caring. Whoever you’re talking to must be persuaded into believing you care what happens to them. Pure empathy.And we can’t be fake. In this instance, we’re unsure about Rurik’s stand. We don’t want anyone to die or be treated like manure. But let the courts deliberate Rurik’s fate, not me or you taking things into our hands.”
“I’ll be scribbling notes,” she said. “I spent time last night reading online articles about body language. I’ll be an expert in about ten years.”
“You’ll be fine.” My arm and head did their twinge of pain thing, and I sucked in a breath.
“Take three ibuprofens.” She held up a bottle of water from the console. “The meds are in your pocket.”
At the next stoplight, I obeyed. The last thing I needed was my bruised brain distracting me from the job ahead. “Rurik could have been using the burner phone to negotiate his daughter’s release.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too... Do the agents know he has a burner?”
“Good question. Doubt he’d offer the info.”
“That’s where I’d fail as a negotiator. I’d want to punch him.”
I placed my hand on her arm. “His truth or lies hit the bottom rung of our mission. If you see or hear something that shocks you, ignore it. Relay sympathy and concern. Put yourself in his shoes and pretend Alina is your daughter. How desperate would you be? Would you do anything illegal to save her? Are you ready to give up your own life for your child? Push aside all the frustration with Rurik. Our job is to rescue Alina.”
She swiped a tear rolling down her cheek. “I have no problem putting myself in his shoes. I won’t disappoint you.”
“You are one courageous woman, and your faith—our faith—tells us God won’t abandon us. My mother told me those same things, but I never believed them. Seems like the advice from my mother and grandmother finally took root. I’m too mule stubborn. But we’re a team, partner.”
FORTY-SIX
THERESE
Blane phoned the agents at Rurik’s home of our arrival soon, and I drove into an open garage. The moment we were inside, the door closed. Neatly arranged shelving and modest gardening tools were displayed in precise organization. Sort of creepy. An FBI agent entered the garage from the house and introduced himself—he stood over six and a half feet tall.
“Sir, we have a new development,” the agent said. “We found a burner phone that Rurik has been using to converse only with Jurg Falin. Since confiscating it, no calls have come in. We have orders for Rurik to take any incoming calls.”
Lies and more lies. I exchanged furious glances with Blane.
“We deal with it as negotiators,” he said.
The agent escorted us through the kitchen and down a hall to Rurik’s office where we met his partner, who sported dark, curly hair and a mustache. The office had a traditional style and was again neat and clean. The blinds and drapes were closed. Would the faint light filtering in be enough for Blane to read him? The agent flipped on a lamp, and the two left us alone.
Rurik’s gray pallor indicated a man who’d given up. Had he put on this facade for us? I wished my fears about his deceit were unfounded.
Blane and I sat across from Rurik in brown leather chairs with a small round table between us. A cup of coffee perched on a saucer, the cream forming a skin-like layer on top.
