BooksBarbecue
Back Motive X Save as PDF
Chapters (99)
  1. MOTIVE X
  2. The Fabian Risk Thrillers
  3. MOTIVE X
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Contents
  6. Prologue
  7. PART I
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. PART II
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. 78
  87. 79
  88. 80
  89. 81
  90. 82
  91. 83
  92. 84
  93. 85
  94. 86
  95. 87
  96. 88
  97. About the author and translator
  98. Acknowledgements
  99. An Invitation from the Publisher

There was no information on when she’d entered the bank, so to be on the safe side he’d scrutinized the footage from the entrance camera for two full hours before until one hour after the withdrawal. He’d pressed pause several times, reversed and zoomed in to make sure he hadn’t missed her. But his hours in front of the screen hadn’t turned up shit.

She hadn’t been let in through a staff entrance either, if the branch manager was to be believed. But maybe he wasn’t the right person to talk to. Sure, there was a rule that said customers could under no circumstances use the staff entrance. But he hadn’t personally served her, so in reality, he had no fucking—

He realized she could just as easily have been helped by someone unconnected with the bank. He sat back down. Of course that was how it’d been done.

He woke up his computer and pulled the time marker to fifteen minutes before the withdrawal. The surveillance footage started playing; he once again watched the customers pass in and out of the front doors. This time, it wasn’t the women he studied, but the men. But none of them jumped out at him.

The time marker passed the time of the withdrawal; he decided to give it another half an hour before giving up. But he never got that far. Just six minutes later, he spotted a man with a backpack, leaving. He was short, didn’t even reach the yellow field on the height indicator.

He recognized the man, an Indian, from twenty minutes earlier, when he’d entered the bank, without a backpack. Now he just needed to look for the backpack entering, which took him no more than a few minutes.

It was only when he paused the clip and zoomed in that he realized the woman carrying the backpack through the lobby really was Dunja. No wonder he’d missed her.

Her heavy boots, worn jeans and camouflage top had been enough to redirect his attention to all the other women. Her hair was shaved now, too; if not for the lipstick and large earrings, he would have taken her for a cancer victim.

He had his answers, but they were anything but uplifting. What he had somehow sensed and suspected all along had been confirmed, and then some. She not only had money, she was also being helped by some little cunt Indian, and unless the grainy image was misleading, she even looked fitter.

Even so, he felt excited. He’d managed to find her. Granted, only for a few seconds in CCTV footage. But he was on her trail now, and that was usually all that was needed.

74