Page 120 of The Thief
"And the financial angle?"
"Handled. Trace just lost his war chest."
I spread the files across Stephen's desk, photographs and documents. Maverick shows the pictures he took on his phone. Everything shows us exactly what we thought: Trace Harrington has been planning this for a fucking long time.
"Look at this," I say, pointing to the document that shows what we've feared. "Payment records for sources within our organization."
"Code names only," Maverick observes.
"But look at the amounts. This one, Raven, has been paid over two hundred thousand euros in the past six months."
"Someone high up. Someone with access to valuable information."
"And this," I continue, indicating another file. "Detailed layouts of all our properties, including the safe house where Alastríona was staying."
Stephen studies the documents with growing anger. "Whoever this is, they've been planning our destruction for months."
"The question is: how to catch them without alerting them that we know?"
"Bait," Emmanuel suggests. "Feed different information to different suspects and see which version makes it back to Trace."
"Good idea, but it'll take time. And time's something we might not have."
My phone rings. Unknown number.
"Kinnock."
"Well played, Mr. Kinnock. I have to admit; I didn't see that coming."
Trace. Calling from whatever hole he's crawled into.
"Trace. Enjoying poverty?"
His laugh is cold, bitter. "Temporary setback. I've got resources you don't know about."
"Do you? Because I've got account numbers for all your shell companies. Want me to empty those too?"
"You can try. But money isn't everything. I still have something more valuable."
"Which is?"
"Motivation. You took everything from me, Freddie. My wife, my child, my future. I've got nothing left to lose."
"Good. Makes this easier."
"Does it? Because I'm not done. Not with you, not with your precious Alastríona, not with any of them. This war doesn't end until you're all dead."
The line goes dead. I look around the room at my brothers, seeing the same determination in their faces that I feel in my chest.
"He's not backing down," I tell them.
"Neither are we," Stephen replies.
"What's the next move?"
"We find him. And we end this."
I think about Alastríona in the other room, probably worrying about what we're planning. I think about the fear in her eyes when she wakes from nightmares; the way she flinches at unexpected sounds.
