frowned. Already a fine gauze of mist was filtering out sunlight. It was just as well they were flying out of San Jose; San Francisco and Oakland airports would be closed within the hour.
Rina’s gaze was sharp. “Is Dad coming?”
“Not right now. Maybe later. Don’t worry,” she said quickly.
“What’s wrong? Are the police going to arrest Alex Lopez?”
The accuracy of Rina’s observation and the mention of Lopez’s name made Esther’s fingers tighten on the wheel, sending the Saab over the centerline. A truck swerved, its horn blaring. Heart pounding, she corrected her course and forced herself to slow down. She had to remain calm and take care not to draw any attention. She couldn’t afford the delay an accident or a traffic ticket would entail. With jerky sentences she explained what had gone wrong and why they had to leave town. “The police will arrest Lopez, after we’re gone.”
An intersection loomed. Esther braked, jaw clamped, fingers tapping on the wheel as she studied the thickening fog while she waited for the lights to turn green. A car nosed close behind and she frowned, trying to remember if she had noticed the charcoal-gray sedan before she’d stopped off at the school. In the murky light, colors could be deceptive. Seconds later, she accelerated smoothly across the intersection.
When she got to the airport she would ring Cesar and tell him to get out, but she wouldn’t do that until just before they boarded the flight. She couldn’t risk being stopped, or found. Despite the danger he was in, Cesar had forfeited any right to her loyalty. Rina was her priority.
Vitali’s face was oddly blank as he handed the receiver to Lopez. “It’s gone. The account’s empty.”
Dennison’s gaze sharpened as he listened to Lopez’s clipped conversation and the replies, which were audible on speakerphone. Paperwork authorizing the transaction had been received via special courier just after two that afternoon. The signature matched the sample they had on file.
Lopez’s expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes looked strange, the pupils fully dilated, blacking out the irises. “Who rang to clear the transaction?”
“You did, sir. We followed the instructions.” There was a pause. “I spoke to you myself, just a few minutes ago.”
“I haven’t called you. I didn’t authorize the movement of any funds and I haven’t received a phone call.”
“The call was made.” He cleared his throat. “We have it on tape. I’ll play it back for you.”
Dennison listened, studying the taped conversation. The sound quality wasn’t great, but whoever it was, he was good. The voice was almost indistinguishable from Lopez’s own; close enough to match the sample tape the bank had been instructed to keep as a check.
With cold precision, Lopez ended the call, disengaged the speakerphone and made a number of calls in quick succession.
Dennison retreated a step, on the pretext of propping himself on the edge of the desk. He had never viewed Lopez, who was lean and slight and had an aversion to physical contact, as physically dangerous, but he was revising his opinion. The change in Lopez’s eyes had literally made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Dennison wasn’t normally privy to Lopez’s financial arrangements—that was Vitali’s area—but what had happened was now clear. Approximately thirty minutes ago, someone with the expertise and knowledge to access Lopez’s bank account and security details had stolen an amount so huge that when he’d heard the figure, Dennison had broken out in an instant sweat.
The scam was multilayered and complex. Given the bank’s dual controls and the extra security measures Lopez had put in place, it shouldn’t have succeeded—and wouldn’t have, if the phones hadn’t been tampered with.
The reason for Johnson’s inability to ring in was now clear. They had been outmaneuvered. Whoever had stolen the money had gotten into the phone system and rerouted the number to another address for the brief window of time in which the bank’s security call had been made. Lopez’s phone hadn’t been disconnected, so a new number would have been issued for the few minutes required, which was why Dennison had been able to ring out but no one had been able to contact him.
When Johnson had tried to call him, claiming the line was engaged, it had been because Lopez’s number had been busy; the funds transfer had been taking place.
Lopez stared at Dennison, sending an involuntary shudder down his spine. “Where is Esther Morell?”
Dennison checked his watch. That, at least, was covered. Mistakes had been made, but not by him. “She should be on her way home from school.”
The phone rang, breaking the eerie intensity of Lopez’s stare. The call was for Dennison. Stomach suddenly tight, he took the receiver. Seconds later he barked out a precise set of instructions and set the receiver down. “Collins just lost her on the Bay Bridge in fog. He thinks she could be headed for Oakland International.”
Esther glanced in the rearview mirror. Adrenaline pumped. Despite a few unscheduled twists and turns, the charcoal-gray sedan she thought she’d managed to lose had slotted back into traffic behind her. The probability that whoever was driving the vehicle was taking the same route out of sheer coincidence had just played itself out.
For the first time, she faced the very real possibility that they weren’t going to make it. “There’s a notepad and a pen in the glove compartment. Get them out and write down the numbers I tell you.”
Rina, who had been silent and unnaturally still, retrieved the pad and pen.
Esther checked the rearview mirror as she recited the numbers of two Swiss accounts. The first was the Swiss account she had arranged Lopez’s money to be transferred into, after Xavier had stolen it; the second was her own private account. If Cesar had gone broke, the money in her Swiss account would have been the capital to start again, but now…“Recite the numbers back to me.”
Rina read the numbers out: they were correct.
“Okay. Now look at the sheet and remember the numbers. When you’ve done that, put the pad in my handbag.” At the first opportunity, she would destroy it.
She waited until Rina had slipped the pad inside her handbag, then pressed her foot more firmly on the accelerator and overtook a slower vehicle. Her gaze moved rapidly over buildings and road signs as she tried to figure out exactly where her evasive tactics had taken her and how quickly she could get back onto a state highway. The fog that had blanked out downtown San Francisco had also drifted in here, gradually blotting out the landscape and making it even more difficult to pinpoint her position.
The gray car loomed closer. She pressed her foot on the accelerator, widening the gap again. Ahead she could see an interstate sign and the symbol for the airport. She could also see two cars parked across the on-ramp, one with a flashing light. Traffic was already backing up.
Braking, she jerked the wheel and darted down a side road. The car behind shot past the turnoff. She didn’t know what the blockade was for, but she wasn’t going to risk it. The car tailing her was confirmation that Lopez knew she was headed for San Jose Airport, and that he had found out his account had been emptied.
Esther spared a glance for Rina, who was half out of her seat, craning around, studying a second car that had come
