Page 98 of The Nameless Ones

‘You really ought to look up “trust” in the dictionary,’ he said. ‘It could transform your life. All right, assuming we can trace Rafi, it’ll take time to assemble a team in Vienna.’

Louis hadn’t told Harris where he was calling from.

‘If you can trace this call so quickly,’ said Louis, ‘you can also find Rafi.’

‘It’s not just about finding him, but also removing him – and those around him, because I bet he didn’t arrive with just one other guy in tow.’

‘So hire a bigger van.’

‘In addition,’ Harris continued, as though Louis had not spoken, ‘wherever that cell phone is, you can be sure this Rafi, whatever his real identity, will be nowhere near it.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Louis, ‘it’s the point of contact. Once you’ve targeted that phone, you’ll have a location, and someone there will use it to get in touch with Rafi. And if you can capture the phone, you’ll have access to emails, too. Hell, you’ll even be able to listen in when they go to the bathroom.’

‘Okay,’ said Harris, ‘give me the number and send on the images. I’ll see what can be done.’

‘The Vuksans are about to turn to smoke,’ said Louis. ‘They have clean passports on the way. I might have a day left before they run, two at most.’

‘Jesus, you really want them dead, don’t you?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said Louis.

‘You know, I’m not entirely happy to have made your acquaintance.’

‘I hear that a lot from people.’

‘I’ll bet you do,’ said Harris. ‘Probably just before you shoot them in the head.’

Chapter LXXV

Bob Johnston had sent Angel another video of Pia Lackner. She was holding a copy of that morning’s Guardian in front of her, the date clearly visible. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Either Rosanna Bellingham was a gifted makeup artist or the strain was beginning to get to Lackner. Whatever the reason, it added to the authenticity of the footage. Angel had already ditched the SIM card used for the earlier contact with Frend and used a new SIM to forward the latest video to him, along with a message that read Five Minutes. Five minutes and five seconds later, Angel called Frend from the crowds by the Kunsthistorisches Museum, where his was just one more phone among many.

‘See,’ said Angel, his voice once again distorted, ‘your daughter is safe and well.’

‘She’s not safe, and she doesn’t look well,’ said Frend. ‘What have you been doing to her?’

‘Maybe we’ve been telling her stories about the company you keep. You’re a grave disappointment to her, but then, you probably already knew that.’

‘I’m doing my best to make up for it now,’ said Frend.

‘I’m sure that will be a source of solace to her – if she lives.’

Angel heard Frend draw a deep breath, but otherwise the lawyer’s voice displayed no signs of stress. Angel almost admired his equanimity, even as it caused him to suspect that Louis was probably right, and something deep inside Frend had been corrupted to the point of near-extinction.

‘The passports are ready,’ said Frend. ‘The handover takes place tomorrow morning.’

‘Where?’

‘The Cemetery of the Nameless, at Simmering.’

‘When?’

‘Six a.m.’

‘Will the Vuksans be present?’

‘No, only Zivco Ilic and me. Ilic is bringing the money.’

‘How much?’

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