Corbu said, “I would imagine that women have been trafficked from Romania. They have a lot of missing-person cases. Young, impressionable girls. Girls who, quite simply, have vanished from our streets.”

“So . . . this is personal to you in some way, isn’t it?”

There was no empathy in the captain’s words, no concern about trafficked women or the investigator claiming to be looking for them. No, she was darkening by the minute, reaching a tone and demeanor that conveyed outright malevolence.

Talyssa Corbu looked into the woman’s eyes and felt certain now this Croatian knew all about the pipeline, and she saw Corbu as a potential threat.

The Romanian kept control of her voice. “It’s my job, Captain. Just as keeping people safe here in Dubrovnik is yours.” She took a pen and a notepad from her purse and jotted down the address of her room, well aware of a tremor in her hand. “Here is where I’m staying. I’ll be here for several days, I imagine.”

The captain looked at the paper, then back up at her foreign guest. “This location. A small third-floor pension in the Old Town? Are things so tight at Europol that they send you to a backpacker’s residence?”

Harry had told her that her accommodations would cause suspicion with the police. This was by design, although it was yet another gamble that might cause her to be held in the station while her dubious story was checked out. She fought tears of dread, controlled her voice as best she could, forced a smile, and said, “It’s fine. Fewer questions on the monthly expense report if I keep costs down.”

“I won’t hear of it. Let me put you in one of our better hotels. A single call and I can have you in a room at the Marriott. Close by.”

Corbu felt herself losing it. The captain was already trying to take control of her, to put her somewhere she or men involved in the pipeline could easily access her.

“No . . . thank you very much, but my accommodations are of no concern to me. I’ll just stay where I am.”

She stood now, as did the captain.

The middle-aged Croatian said, “One more question. I have to ask. Were you, in any way, involved with what happened to Chief Vukovic?”

Talyssa was quick to answer—perhaps, she recognized after the fact, too quick. “No. Of course not. I was on my way to speak with him when he disappeared.” She held out her hand for her credentials. Once they were returned, she thanked the captain and left the police station, all the while terrified someone behind her would call her name and ask her to step into some side room, where her liberty would be stripped from her.

* * *

• • •

I sit against the wall of a bank, the car in view up a street to my right, the front door of the police station ahead on my left. I know I told Talyssa I’d be waiting for her in the car, but I haven’t survived this long by sending an agent into the enemy’s hands possessing knowledge of my exact location. No, I got out just after she disappeared from my view, and now I’m waiting for her, careful to do my best to keep myself low profile and out of sight of any cameras.

At this point I’m so worried about the girl that I’m fantasizing my way through an intricate one-man attack on the police station to rescue her, Terminator style. But even in my imagination, it doesn’t go as well for me as it did for Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Probably because I’m no cyborg.

No, if they do keep Corbu for questioning, then there is nothing I can do but hope like hell they release her in one piece, and not in many pieces tossed into the Adriatic Sea.

I lean back against the wall of the bank, my eyes shifting regularly to the front door of the police station in the distance. The rain has stopped, but the low clouds and mist are hastening the onset of darkness. I check my watch and see that Corbu has been inside less than thirty minutes, although it seems quadruple that.

Then the door of the police station opens for the dozenth time since Talyssa entered, but this time is different, because I see what I’ve been praying for. The young redhead in the black raincoat is alone, moving at an assured pace back in the direction of the car. She seems okay, so I begin looking behind her, curious if anyone follows her from the station.

No one exits the building while I watch, which is very good news.

A few minutes later I meet her back at the Vauxhall, and she is agitated.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Making sure you weren’t followed.” I climb behind the wheel. “Get in.”

She heaves her chest, annoyed by me, but she does as I ask.

I fire up the little car and I drive off without saying another word.

SEVENTEEN

   It’s only when I’m deep into the late-afternoon traffic and I’ve scanned all my mirrors and convinced myself there is no tail that I begin talking to her.

“Well, they let you out, so that’s a win. You okay?”

I can feel the tension in her and I worry she’s about to cry, but she takes a few breaths and answers me. “I’m okay. I was very scared.”

“You were very brave.”

“Just desperate.”

The comment means something, but I’m not going to pursue it now. I ask, “Do you think they found you suspicious enough to check out your story?”

She looks down at her hands. I can see them shaking. “Suspicious enough? The police chief didn’t believe a word out of my mouth.”

“Good.”

“She’s a woman. And I’m sure she’s involved.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Just . . . just the way she acted. We are fellow law enforcement professionals. There should have been a courtesy extended. I mean . . . there was, at first. But then I mentioned the pipeline and the Consortium, and she turned to ice before my eyes. She showed no respect for the trafficked women. She dehumanized them, as is often the case with those who exploit them.”

I find myself wishing I had been in the room to evaluate the chief for signs of deception. Still . . . Talyssa seems to know what she’s talking about, so I take her word for it. It’s not enough proof to snatch this police chief and pump her for info like we did Vukovic, but it’s good information nonetheless.

I ask, “Does it surprise you that women can be just as terrible as men?”

“No . . . I guess not. But in this type of crime? It’s just extra horrible that it is someone of the same sex doing the exploitation. Isn’t it?”

“It’s pretty bad.”

“What now?” she asks after a moment more collecting her thoughts.