He smiled. “Of course. But I don’t really give a shit who they are and why they’re after you. So long as I get paid.”
“What if they’re lying about the money also?” pressed Kira.
“After I convinced them I could find you, they wired half a million into my numbered account as a gesture of good faith. A half million bucks buys a lot of credibility.”
“So this is just about money?” she said in contempt. “Betraying a client. Killing Jason in cold blood. With absolutely no idea of what’s really going on or what’s at stake.”
“What the fuck did you expect!” he snapped. “That’s the very definition of the word mercenary for Christ’s sake: someone who’s just in it for the money.”
“I thought you guys had some sort of code.”
Callan laughed. “Not for two million dollars we don’t.” He shook his head irritably. “And spare me your preaching. You’re not innocent. Innocent people don’t have flawlessly forged identities. And innocent people who feel threatened hire bodyguards. Guilty people hire mercenaries.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” said Kira bitterly. “But you’re wrong. You’re in way over your head, Bill. You’re playing with fire. The people who contacted you aren’t from the government. And you’re never going to see the rest of that money. In fact, no matter what else happens, you’re a dead man walking right now, Bill. You’re on borrowed time, and you’re too clueless to know it.”
She said it with such chilling conviction that she gave Callan pause. But this was her intention, he realized. She was bluffing. Trying to get him to second-guess himself.
“So you’re taking me to them now?” said Kira.
He nodded. “That’s right. At a location I specified,” he said.
“They insisted I had to be delivered alive and well or the deal was off, didn’t they? They told you that if you screwed up and I ended up dead, your own funeral wouldn’t be far behind. Didn’t they, Bill?”
“So what?” he said dismissively, trying not to show how much she was beginning to unnerve him.
“Any idea why they were so adamant?” she pressed. She shot him a look of disgust, as if unable to believe the depth of his stupidity. “Of course you don’t,” she continued, not waiting for an answer. “Because you have absolutely no clue as to what you’ve gotten yourself into. If you want any hope of living through the night, you’ll let me go now and disappear.”
Callan’s eyes narrowed. She was probably bluffing, but could he afford to take that chance? Maybe he was in over his head. As eager as he was to get his hands on the rest of the money, with stakes this high, perhaps it did pay to interrogate her properly and gain a clear picture of what he had gotten himself into. He could always reschedule the handoff. They wouldn’t be happy, but they’d go along with a short delay. He’d bet they’d do almost anything to get her.
“Turn the car around,” he said finally. “We’re going back to your house. Since you’re so eager to tell me what’s really going on, I’m going to give you that chance.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Bill?” she taunted. “I thought you didn’t give a shit who I was or why they’re really after me.”
“Turn around!” he barked angrily.
They drove for several minutes, maintaining a tense silence. They were in the far left lane, slowing for a red light that shined like a beacon against the night sky, a hundred yards distant, when Kira pressed the button near her waist, retracting her seatbelt.
“Put it back on,” ordered Callan.
“You bruised my shoulder and the belt is aggravating it,” she said.
“I said, put it back on!”
“Okay, okay,” she said as they neared to within fifteen yards of the intersection, reaching for her belt.
But she never touched it.
She threw the door open instead, and without a moment’s hesitation launched herself from the car onto the grassy median that paralleled the road. She tried for a gymnastics roll, but hit hard on her right shoulder and half rolled, half skidded into the trunk of a small palm tree planted in the median.