The Lost Throne(68)

“So,” Payne said, shifting his attention back to Allison, “what’s your take on Richard?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you trust the guy?”

Her cheeks turned pink, her standard reaction anytime she was embarrassed. In the world of poker, it would be a horrible tell. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s dead. What good would it do to criticize him?”

“I’m not asking you to make fun of him. I want to know if you trusted him.”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

Payne glanced to his right and saw St. Catherine’s Armenian Church. Its façade was painted turquoise, a color that sparkled among the grays and beiges of the surrounding buildings.

“Was he a criminal?”

Her face registered surprise. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

“Why? Because he was killed by a professional. It seems like a legitimate question.”

She remained silent while she sorted through all the thoughts that had plagued her during the past two days. And Payne didn’t press her. He just kept walking, taking in the architecture, keeping an eye on all the people who filed past them on the busy sidewalk. Every once in a while, he glanced over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being followed. He did this casually, using his peripheral vision or looking at the reflections in store windows.

Up ahead he saw the Grand Hotel Europe. Adorned with gold letters and stylish maroon awnings, it looked far more luxurious than where they were staying. At least from a distance. A black Mercedes limousine was parked in front, while a chauffeur waited nearby. If they’d had more time, Payne would have glanced inside the lobby—just to see what it looked like. For some reason, he had always been fascinated by fancy hotels, especially in foreign countries.

“Yes,” Allison said out of the blue.

Payne glanced at her. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I think he might have been a criminal.”

Payne stopped on the busy sidewalk. Chagrin filled his face. He gently grabbed her elbow and guided her through the crowd until they were up against the wall of the closest building, out of the way of all the people who continued to surge past. “What kind of criminal?”

“I don’t know. A smuggler, a thief, I’m not really sure. It’s just a gut feeling I’ve had.”

“Since when?”

“Since he was shot.” Her cheeks were redder than Payne had ever seen them, as if she had been running a marathon. “For the last two days, I’ve been sitting in my hotel room, thinking about all the cloak-and-dagger stuff: the secret meetings, the change in travel plans, the unexpected trips, the fake IDs. Either he was breaking the law or he was onto something big. Something worth all the trouble.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged in frustration. “I honestly don’t know. If I did, I would tell you.”

Payne felt his cell phone start to vibrate. It was a brand-new device he had purchased in K-Town when he was shopping. One for him and one for Jones. They had left their other phones, Jones’s computer, and their personal effects in a locker at Ramstein Air Base. One of the easiest ways to be compromised on a mission was to carry personal information of any kind—whether that was a credit card, a hard drive, or a BlackBerry with an address book. Payne’s new cell phone had no names or numbers. If he needed to make a call, he had to do it by memory. However, all of the calls placed to his old phone were forwarded to his new one, so he was able to stay in touch with the outside world without fear of being traced.

Payne answered it, expecting a call from Jones. “Hello.”

“I’m at the Astoria. I’m pretty sure I’m clean. Am I clear to go?”

“Hold on.” He covered the mic and asked Allison, “How far are we from the hotel?”

“Ten minutes or so.”

Payne returned his attention to Jones. “We’re ten minutes out. Can you hold?”

Jones glanced around the square. It was filled with dozens of people. All of them white. “I don’t know. I’m feeling slightly conspicuous here. Jackie Robinson comes to mind.”

Payne smiled as he started walking again. “It’s your call.”

“In that case, I’m going in.”

Turning from the plaza, Jones strolled toward the entrance of the hotel. In his experience, people were less likely to stop someone who was talking on a cell phone. Sometimes, if necessary, he pretended to be on a call even when he wasn’t. “I have her room key, so I’ll grab her research first. That will buy you some time before I hit Byrd’s room. That’s more likely to be hot.”