Devil's Keep Read Free Page B

this arrangement ensured that the call could not be tracked to its source.
    A woman’s voice came through from the other end, a curt “Yes.” Formalities were not required. She was speaking on a cell phone reserved for this purpose.
    “We have what you are seeking,” Andropov said. His English was crisp.
    Her reply came back several seconds later: “I’ll make the transfer.”
    “The price is now fifteen.”
    “What? We had an arrangement!”
    “That was for an item of ordinary quality. This one is exceptional. It’s literally a one-in-a-million specimen. You can’t do better.”
    Because of the transmission lag, speaking on the connection was like using a two-way radio. When Andropov stopped talking, he found that the woman at the other end had already launched into a diatribe. He caught the last few words:
    “—filthy thieving motherfucker, I’m not paying it! Do you know what I can do with fifteen million dollars?!”
    “If you don’t complete this sale, I suppose you can do anything you want with the money. At least for as long as you are able.”
    This stopped her. Andropov knew that it would. He often had this discussion with prospective clients,and it always ended the same: with Andropov getting what he wanted.
    “How do I know it’s true, about the quality?” she asked. “All I have is your word.”
    “We both depend on mutual trust and discretion,” Andropov said. This was an exaggeration: Andropov and his group were much less vulnerable than his clients. But it sounded good, and it always seemed to soothe those who needed reassurance.
    Andropov heard a long silence, longer than the circuit lag.
    “I can’t get it right away,” she said finally. “It’ll take a couple of days. I’m not that liquid. Fifteen million, I wasn’t ready for that.”
    “I’ll be watching for it,” Andropov said.
    He ended the call, sat back, and lifted the cup of coffee to his lips. Still hot. Fifteen million in less time than coffee needs to cool. Given the choice between life and cash, even those who truly love cash will always choose life. Just a chance of life was good enough. The choice had to become real, that was all. Then things became clear.
    What a business,
he thought.

Three
    Lorna Valencia was already awake, fixing breakfast for Ronnie before he left to harvest copra on the steep mountainsides beyond the village. She kept her phone in a pocket of her housedress, expecting that Marivic would call at any time, as soon as she arrived in Manila. This should have happened already, she thought. But perhaps the bus was delayed.
    When Ronnie woke and came to eat, he showed her the last text from Marivic:
    arrived
    The message was almost an hour old. This irritated Lorna. An hour in Manila, and the girl couldn’t find a few moments to contact her mother? Her brother, but not her mother?
    She tapped out a brief message to Marivic, trying not to seem upset, and brought Ronnie his usual breakfast: a plate of fried eggs, fried rice, and fresh fruit. As Ronnie ate, Lorna waited for a reply. Nothing.
    The boy scooped up the last of the food, swallowed, and stood. He left his phone on a wickerstand by the front door—there was no signal up on the mountainside—and picked up his bolo knife, which hung from a peg beside the door.
    “She’s probably asleep already,” Ronnie told Lorna as he left. “She’ll send another text when she’s awake.”
    “I hope you’re right,” she said.
    The entire day passed. No text, no call.
    When Ronnie came home, Lorna waggled her phone in his face.
    “You were wrong,” she said. “Nothing.”
    “She’s probably busy,” he said. “Wait until she has some time tonight.”
    By 9:00 p.m.—their bedtime—there was still no text.
    “Something must be wrong with her phone,” Ronnie said.
    “She could borrow someone’s phone for a text.”
    “Maybe she doesn’t know anyone yet.”
    Lorna laughed out loud at this: the idea that Marivic, friendly and vivacious,