“That’s right. But the reality is, if it was a Chinese government flight, our job is much more difficult. There are certain countries that are very hard to take on, and China is one of them. The triads here in London are a real problem—very powerful and impossible to infiltrate. So we’re hoping to find the plane in another location.”

“So what can I do?”

“Nothing. You have to stay with us while our people do their work. You don’t know London. It’s a huge city and you’ll only get in trouble. There are Albanian factions that we are not friendly with who we need to avoid. You know how it is. I’m sure it’s the same with you.”

Burim nodded. There was always a certain amount of factional warfare going on among rival Albanian clans.

“Have a beer and try to watch the snooker. It’s a cool game.”

Harry smiled and Burim shrugged. He’d play along, for now.

Chapter 61

61.

PAUL CALDWELL’S APARTMENT, BOULDER, COLORADO

WEDNESDAY, JULY 31, 2013, 10:35 A.M.

George Wilson was amazed by Paul Caldwell’s ability to compartmentalize his life. Paul was going to work, doing night shifts, putting in long hours. Every couple of hours he’d call George to check in, but George never had anything to report. The police hadn’t called him back; Nano wasn’t responding to his emails. He still couldn’t find a phone number for Zach Berman, and Burim Grazdani had not been in contact, either.

George found that he was unable to concentrate on anything. After returning from a quick visit to Will McKinley in New York, where there had been no change, George came back to Boulder, where he spent his time pacing about Paul’s apartment. He had never been so depressed or frustrated in his life; he knew there was nothing he could do, and it was driving him crazy.

This day, he had checked in again with the Boulder police, who now were shunting his calls to a civilian liaison. Paul had come home and switched his attention to trying to find Whitney Jones and was working his way through the phone book in an attempt to locate a relative of hers. The same 411 operator that had come up with Mariel Spallek’s apartment had given him an address, but he quickly discerned it was the postal address for Nano, LLC. Perhaps the woman did actually live in the office. All the while, he cursed Whitney for being a Jones and not a Johansson or any other less popular name.

Then, as George was about to make a call himself, his phone rang. A stream of numbers appeared on the screen. More than the usual ten. An international call. It’s Pia, he thought hopefully, she’s safe. He picked up.

“Pia?”

“No names, remember.” It was a man’s voice, gruff and terse. It took George a second, then he placed it. Burim.