Excerpt of The Tourist by Olen Steinhauer
(Page 4 of 5)
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Really? he said, though he knew what she meant.
Like theyre living in their own little compound, surrounded
by barbed wire. They pretend theyre keeping everyone out, when
in fact theyre locked in.
It was a nice way to put it, and it made him think of Tom
Graingers delusions of empireRoman outposts in hostile lands.
Once they hit the A1 heading southwest, Angela got back to
business. Tom fill you in on everything?
Not much. Can I get one of those smokes?
Not in the car.
Tell me what you know, and Ill fill in the rest.
Thick forests passed them, pines flickering by as he outlined his
brief conversation with Grainger. He says your Frank Dawdle was
sent down here to deliver a briefcase full of money. He didnt say
She nodded at the road.
Charles continued: He was last seen at the Hotel Metropolin
Portoro by Slovenian intelligence. In his room. Then he disappeared.
He waited for her to fill the numerous blank spots in that
story line. All she did was drive in her steady, safe way. Want to tell
me more? Like, who the money was for?
Angela tilted her head from side to side, but instead of answering
she turned on the radio. It was preset to a station shed found
during her long drive from Vienna. Slovenian pop. Terrible stuff.
And maybe you can tell me why we had to learn his last whereabouts
from the SOVA, and not from our own people.
As if hed said nothing, she cranked the volume, and boy-band
harmonies filled the car. Finally, she started to speak, and Charles
had to lean close, over the stick shift, to hear.
Im not sure who the orders started with, but they reached us
through New York. Toms office. He chose Frank for obvious reasons.
Old- timer with a spotless record. No signs of ambition. No
drinking problems, nothing to be compromised. He was someone
they could trust with three million. More importantly, hes familiar
here. If the Slovenes saw him floating around the resort, thered be
no suspicions. He vacations in Portoro every summer, speaks fluent
Slovene. She grunted a half-laugh. He even stopped to chat with
them. Did Tom tell you that? The day he arrived, he saw a SOVA
agent in a gift shop and bought him a little toy sailboat. Franks like
I like his style.
Angelas look suggested he was being inappropriately ironic. It
was supposed to be simple as pie. Frank takes the money down to
the harbor on Saturdaytwo days agoand does a straight phrasecode
pass- off. Just hands over the briefcase. In return, he gets an
address. He goes to a pay phone, calls me in Vienna, and reads off
the address. Then he drives back home.
The song ended, and a young DJ shouted in Slovenian about the
hot- hot- hot band hed just played as he mixed in the intro to the next
tune, a sugar- sweet ballad.
Why wasnt someone backing him up?
Someone was, she said, spying the rearview. Leo Bernard.
You met him in Munich, remember? Couple of years ago.
Charles remembered a hulk of a man from Pennsylvania. In
Munich, Leo had been their tough- guy backup during an operation
with the German BND against an Egyptian heroin racket. Theyd
never had to put Leos fighting skills to the test, but it had given
Charles a mea sure of comfort knowing the big man was available.
Yeah. Leo was funny.
Well, hes dead, said Angela, again glancing into the rearview.
In his hotel room, a floor above Franks. Nine millimeter. She
swallowed. From his own gun, we think, though we cant find the
Excerpted from The Tourist
by Olen Steinhauer. Copyright © 2009 by Olen Steinhauer. Excerpted by
permission of St. Martin's Minotaur, a division of Macmillan, Inc. All rights
reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted
without permission in writing from the publisher.