“He has someone with him right now.”
He took a chance. “I know. It’s Hank Reed. They’re expecting me.”
The look on her face confirmed that he’d guessed right.
“Let me call up.”
She reached for the phone and announced his presence. Apparently permission was granted as she motioned toward the top of the stairs. He loped up two at a time and rushed across the second-floor foyer. At the closed door markedPRIVATEhe entered.
“What brings you here?” Hank asked, standing and coming toward him. Hank still wore his dress shirt, cuff links, and tie from the morning negotiation session. Greene’s ensemble of a wrinkled pale-blue shirt, dark pants, and yellow tie looked like he’d slept in it the night before.
“We need to talk, Hank. It’s about the list of names you showed me.”
He knew Hank had brought Greene into the loop.
“What’s happened?” Hank asked. “Have you found out more?”
“You could say that.”
He tossed the files he was carrying to the floor. Now that he was away from the mill, inside a closed room, not susceptible to observation, the composure he’d used to successfully get him here dissolved. All he could see was the sight of his father’s body, laid out in a coffin. He’d sat with him for hours before the funeral.
Hank stepped over and gripped his shoulder, seeing he was upset.
“How bad is this?” his old friend asked.
He grabbed hold of his emotions. “Really bad.”
“Tell me what you know,” Hank said.
“Hank, you have no idea what you’re into. These bastards are deadly serious.”
“You need to get ahold of yourself. Relax. Sit down. Tell me what this is all about.”
“They’re killing people, Hank. One by one. Systematically, they’re killing people for profit.”
His voice had risen. Hank looked at Greene, who sat up in his chair. He reached into his jacket, found the envelope, and handed Bozin’s narrative to Hank. “Read it.”
Greene stepped over and read over Hank’s shoulder.
“My God,” Hank said, when he finished the last appendix. “I know just about every name here.” Hank looked at him. “And your father was one of them.”
“We’re next.”
Hank said nothing, but the look on his face said he agreed.
“Not necessarily,” Greene said, wedging himself back down in the chair behind his desk. “They’ve got to be unsure what you know and what you have. They can’t take a chance on the unknown. They’ll be sure before they act.”
“I don’t think these guys really give a damn,” Brent said.
“Sure they do. If they’ve really done this, which apparently they have, they certainly don’t want to get caught.”
“If we’re dead, they won’t have to worry about that.”
“Not necessarily. Bozin went to a lot of trouble latching on to you. They’ve got to be wondering about that, just like you are.”
“They’re following us.”
“If they are, then they know both of you are here right now,” Greene said.
