Deadline by Craig McLay Page B

the courtesy phone, and then sit down in the chair opposite. Devries sat chewing his nails in the parking lot for 30 minutes before he went in. It was a good thing he was wearing his suit jacket or the guy would have seen the massive sweat stains under his arms. Devries had debated whether or not to bring the Glock in with him and in the end had decided against it.
    Devries had been sitting in the chair for only about 30 seconds when the man emerged from the elevator and sat down opposite him. Externally, he appeared to be as relaxed as Devries was tense.
    Of course, Devries reminded himself, this guy probably killed people for a living. Or knew people who did. As the special executive assistant to the justice minister, the guy was used to dealing with crooks.
    The man glanced down at the briefcase, then looked up at Devries and smiled. Devries wondered how many people might have left the earth with that very same smile being the last thing they saw. He tried not to think about being one of them.
    “How much?” the man asked quietly. His voice was soft. He might have been asking about the price of rolls in a bakery.
    “Two fifty,” Devries grunted.
    The man reached forward and poured them both a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. “Less than a third of what you owe us, Mr. Devries.”
    Devries waved away the offered water. His hands were so sweaty that he was sure he’d drop it on the floor. “Yes, I know.”
    The man looked around the room. “I don’t enjoy being sent to places like this,” he said. “It’s not what you might call my natural habitat.”
    “I can get it,” Devries said. “But it’s a lot of money. You’ve gotta give me more time.”
    The man didn’t appear to be listening. “You know, when I was watching the news earlier, they said there was a 40 per cent chance of rain this afternoon. I wondered: what does that even mean? Something either happens or it doesn’t. It’s not like I can bring 40 per cent of an umbrella with me, now is it?”
    Devries shook his head. What in the hell was this guy talking about?
    “I prefer certainty myself. Those are the only terms worth dealing in. The minister is quite nervous that recent developments may interfere with the noble work we are trying to accomplish.”
    “Don’t worry about that,” Devries said. “That was just some Indian chick who pissed off her boyfriend. The cops are looking for him right now. We’ve got guys on the inside who’ll make sure nothing damaging leaks out.”
    The man smiled and took a sip of his water. “Let us hope not. It would be a shame if we had to terminate this arrangement prematurely. Particularly if it jeopardized significant future developments. The minister asked me to put particular stress on that final point.”
    “Don’t worry,” Devries whispered. He didn’t like having these conversations out in the open. He looked nervously over at the front desk, where a tall blonde woman with a red travel case was checking in. “We’ve got this thing under control.”
    The man put down his water. His face was unreadable. Devries couldn’t tell if the guy believed him or not.
    “This man the police are looking for,” he said. “He was part of the program?”
    Devries nodded. “He was, but not anymore. There’s no way they’ll be able to trace him back to us, I guarantee it.”
    The man picked up the briefcase and rose from his seat. “Just as I’m sure you will be able to guarantee delivery of the remainder of the funds owing by the end of the week. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Devries.”
    Devries watched the man stroll through the lobby and out the front door. He yanked his tie loose and gasped for air. His plans to take the rest of the week off were dead and buried. He desperately hoped he wasn’t going to follow suit.

-17-
    C olin stood in the entryway for a moment, holding the door open with one hand and the hammer with the other. He heard a click as a locker door was closed somewhere on