Free Double Vision by Fiona Brand

on a sheet of notepaper, along with the exact time he needed the swap to take place, and slipped it across the table. “I need twenty minutes exactly, no more.” Any longer and it was possible Lopez would understand that his telephone line had been hijacked.
    He slid an envelope across the table. It contained a substantial amount of cash. Half now, half when the job was done.
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    Xavier unlocked the door of an empty apartment with a pleasant but distant view of San Francisco Bay. The young actor he’d hired to impersonate Lopez followed him into the cramped sitting room and leaned against the wall while Xavier picked up the receiver of the cheap phone he’d previously had installed and dialed Vincent’s extension. After a short conversation, he set the phone down.
    Minutes later, Vincent rang back. The switch had been made. Lopez’s phone was still active, but he would be operating on a different number for twenty minutes. Lopez would be able to call out, but all of his incoming calls would be directed to Xavier’s phone. Xavier had twenty minutes, and counting.
    Xavier set the receiver down, then picked it up again and dialed. He checked his watch as he waited for the first person to pick up: two-fifteen. The next few minutes would be an interesting and intricate dance. Success depended on the precise timing and the greed of the people he had paid.
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    Dennison paced the floor of Lopez’s study, avoiding his cold stare and Vitali’s raw impatience. He checked his watch—two twenty-five—and resisted the urge to jerk at the collar of his shirt. The temperature was in the nineties, but that wasn’t the only reason he was sweating. They were waiting for a call from a source in the FBI, and confirmation about a two-year period Esther Morell had spent overseas.
    Frowning, he tried his contact’s number again and received the same reply. Johnson was away from his desk, which he already knew, since he hadn’t been able to reach him for the past half hour. Johnson had driven to a pay phone to make the call, and if Dennison were in his shoes, he would do the same. There was no way he would use his office or his home phone to pass on information that could be incriminating, but that kind of logic didn’t help Dennison where Lopez was concerned.
    He set the phone down. Almost immediately it rang.
    He snatched up the receiver and hit the speakerphone function. “What took you so long?”
    Johnson’s voice filled the office. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past fifteen minutes. Your line’s been engaged.”
    Dennison frowned. It was possible Johnson had tried to call at the same time he had been calling him, but that only amounted to a couple of minutes over the past half hour. They hadn’t had any other incoming calls. He should have gotten through.
    Lopez spoke. “What have you found out?”
    Johnson hesitated, no doubt put off his stride by the different voice. “Uh…all the records I have show what we already knew, that she worked as a banking executive mostly around the L.A. and San Francisco areas, but for two years while she was overseas she worked for a big international banking conglomerate. The reason we had trouble getting a job description was that she was never on their payroll. She set up her own consultancy company and billed the bank. The money was paid to a numbered account in Switzerland. No income was ever registered under her name or reached U.S. shores.”
    Johnson’s voice flattened out as he repeated the information he had received from his source in Bern. Like he’d said, Esther Morell hadn’t been involved in day-to-day banking, she had been contracted by Bessel Holt to investigate their client base. Apparently, she had a photographic memory and a knack for research, with particular regard to South America. He could also confirm that Esther had been instrumental in blocking a