Page 23

Karl added, “If he already had the courier bag, why have us come all the way out here?”
“Exactly.” Sam took one last look around to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind, then closed the tailgate. “Only one reason I can think of. A setup, to begin with. He’d already been out to the plane, found this courier bag, didn’t want you or Zakaria to know he was in possession of it, and decided to use you as the means to an end.”
“Unfortunately for him,” Remi said, “the plan backfired.”
12
Gere kept one hand on his prisoner as he kicked at the door, then yanked Zakaria in by his arm. The man murmured something through the gag around his mouth. Whatever it was, Gere wasn’t interested. He dragged him upstairs, then locked him in the office. When he came back down, he started to go over what he was going to tell the boss. For a man who liked the outward appearance of only being semi-interested in the whereabouts of this plane and the courier bag that was supposed to have been on it, Rolfe Wernher was definitely into micromanaging.
That meant if he didn’t call him right away, the guy was likely to have a heart attack. But before he could think of a good story, Rolfe walked in. As usual, he was dressed in a silk suit—gray today—his only concession to the heat was the open collar of his crisp white shirt. “I expected a call before now,” Rolfe said.
“The bag wasn’t there.”
A vein pulsed in Rolfe’s temple, and his nostrils flared slightly. Several seconds of silence passed before he spoke. “Where is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“We got there just as the Americans returned from the downed plane. They didn’t have it with them. Durin thought maybe they’d already been out to the plane. It makes sense, since they got back far sooner than it should’ve taken. At least according to what Durin told me.”
“Where is he?”
Gere glanced away before meeting Rolfe’s gaze. “Dead.”
“How?”
“The American killed him.”
“Fargo killed Durin?”
“To be fair, Durin tried to kill them first.”
Rolfe’s lips pressed together as he processed the information. “You’re a fool. Durin set us up. The Fargos couldn’t have had the bag. They flew in the night before. When would they have had time to get out there?”
Gere was almost afraid to ask the obvious. “Then who has it?”
“Durin, you idiot. Which presents a big problem, since he’s dead.” Rolfe’s gaze bored into him. “You’re the one who handled him. You don’t find it odd that he didn’t take you out to the plane before now? Why would he have let the Fargos go searching for those two brothers without being there himself? Especially when he knew how valuable that bag was to us?”
Gere shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“He already had it.”
“He couldn’t,” Gere said. “He had to go visit his sister. She was sick or something.”
“And how long was he gone?”
“A couple of days . . .” Gere felt his face heat up at the apparent realization that Durin had played him.
“Where does he live?” Rolfe demanded.
“I don’t know.”
Rolfe drew his gun, pointing it at Gere. “Then you’re completely useless to me. Aren’t you?”
His eyes went wide. “I—I . . . Maybe Zakaria knows where it is. I brought him here.”
Rolfe lowered the gun, waiting.