Free Deception by John Altman Page B

went to work.
    4.
    Francis Dietz stood on the hotel balcony, considering.
    Before him, night had fallen. The town of Methoni was waking up. Tablecloths were unrolled in outdoor cafès as pretty hostesses took up spots on winding sidewalks to waylay tourists. Behind him, Leonard was grabbing some sleep on the room’s couch. Dietz could hear the sounds of his breathing, labored and stertorous in the heavy air.
    He returned to his thoughts. The Epsteins’ cabin had been empty. Leonard had taken care of the couple—yet they still did not have the formula. Perhaps this meant that there had been no physical copy. Perhaps this game was already finished, before it had truly begun.
    Leonard, however, had reported a young woman in the Epsteins’ company on the tour. If she was involved somehow, perhaps she could lead them to the formula.
    He would have to report back to Keyes, though. Keyes couldn’t be cut out of the loop just yet. That would create more troubles than it would solve.
    He moved into the room quietly, to avoid waking Leonard. He found the telephone near the front door and placed his call. Keyes was not in the office. Dietz left a message, then hung up, returned to the balcony, and took out his pack of cigarettes.
    Who would he approach? Yurchenko, he thought. Yurchenko had been a member of the FSB back when it had been the KGB. Yurchenko knew both the old guard and the new guard. In all likelihood, Yurchenko would put him in touch with Ismayalov. Vladimir Ismayalov, the agent’s cagey, self-promoting ex-boss, known as the vulture. The vulture’s network of contacts was international. He’d be able to find an interested buyer, Dietz was sure of it.
    But he was getting ahead of himself. When the moment arrived, he would make his move. Until then, he needed to be patient.
    He lit a cigarette. Patience , he thought.

SEVEN
    1.
    Hannah Gray accepted a vodka tonic from a waiter, signed for the drink, and then turned her eyes to the lounge before her.
    At minutes before midnight, the space was nearly deserted. The ship’s piano player was navigating a desultory version of “Summertime.” An elderly couple sat before the piano, singing along in soft, cracked voices. Except for two waiters and Hannah herself, there was nobody else in sight. The rough seas, combined with the shock of the afternoon, had driven most of the passengers on board to retire early. In a way, Hannah was surprised to see anybody at all here in the lounge. Death had intruded on this tranquil voyage; and in its face, the passengers had retreated to solitude.
    Then Yildirim was coming out of the rest room on her left, heading for the corner table where he had left a whiskey and a pack of English Ovals. Hannah counted to three before stepping into his path. When they collided, her carefully positioned drink spilled down the front of her blouse. She grimaced.
    â€œMy fault,” she said, as he said, “Forgive me—”
    He found a pile of cocktail napkins on a nearby bar, realized that he could not start mopping at Hannah’s blouse, and handed one to her awkwardly.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “Please, forgive me.”
    â€œMy fault. I’m still rattled, I guess.”
    â€œLet me get you another.”
    â€œOh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll just—”
    â€œPlease,” he said, and gestured toward his corner table. “Please. I insist.”
    2.
    â€œIf you ask me,” she said, “it’s a question of legality, not morality.”
    Yildirim was listening, his head cocked to one side. Before he had a chance to comment, she rushed on:
    â€œFrank and I fell out of love a long time ago. We’ve only stayed together for the children. But that’s a mistake, I’m coming to realize. It’s better for the children to have divorced parents than parents stuck in an unhappy marriage. Don’t you think?”
    He made a loose, careless