Page 57 of The Atlas Maneuver

“We saw Citrone on the boat with two men, one armed. But were they there to take him? Or protect him? Or were they all working together? I just met the man, but he strikes me as a true opportunist. His house is like a museum. He likes rare, expensive things, some of which are really odd. Perhaps he saw an opportunity with the Japanese? They want the map. He certainly knowsa lot about that gold. Information they need. He has the map secreted away. Sounds like the perfect scenario for a deal.”

“And what does Citrone get out of it?”

“Money. Probably a lot of it. With his lifestyle, I assume he needs it.”

“And the house being trashed was for my benefit?” Koger asked.

“Did he know we were coming?”

He nodded. “I spoke with him earlier, while you were inside the wine vault. I told him that if there was no gold, we were coming to see him.” Koger paused a moment. “So he prepared a little show for us?”

“I noticed that nothing was broken, or ripped, or destroyed,” she said. “As if it had all been carefully laid down to look like a search.”

She saw that Koger was connecting the dots too.

“You don’t think the PSIA is involved?” he asked.

“I think the whole thing was designed to make us think they are involved.”

“The two on the boat did respond quickly when I showed the tube,” he said. “Damn. He knew exactly what I would do.”

“When I climbed onto that boat, in the instant before I took those guys out, I locked eyes with Citrone. There wasn’t a shred of fear or gratitude.”

Koger ran a hand through his hair and sharply exhaled. “You a hunter?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

“Me neither. Not now anyway. Years ago? Different story. I was huntin’ once in Appalachia and watched as two bucks got into it over a doe. A chocolate-horn lowered his head and crashed into the antlers of a rival so hard it sounded like a board cracked in half. The white-racked buck was thrown back, his hooves scrabbling over snow-covered oak leaves. But, being a buck, he dug his hind feet in and pushed back. For nearly ten minutes those two bucks mashed antlers. Twice they stood in a stalemate, their flanks exposed, heaving. That’s when it occurred to me that I could sendsome hot lead into one of ’em. Or both. Easy kills. But it didn’t seem right. So I stood there and watched.”

It seemed to her the memory was a good one.

“The white-racked was definitely stronger, but each time he’d shove, the chocolate-horn would slide his back legs into the ground and hold. Finally, he drove hard, twisted his head, and flipped the white-racked on its side. Then he plunged his tines into the exposed ribs. Amazingly, the white-racked popped to his feet and fled. The chocolate-horn then chased him out of sight.”

She wondered about the point of the story.

“Here’s the thing about that fight. The doe, the whole reason for the encounter, just stood off to the side and watched. Then she slipped into the brush. A smaller buck, who’d watched the whole thing too, followed her. Chocolate-horn got nothin’ for his trouble.”

Now she got the point.

“Am I being played too?” he asked her.

“There’s one way to find out.”

CHAPTER 32

CATHERINE UNDRESSED AND SLIPPED ON HER NIGHTCLOTHES. THEevening had been a resounding success. Mexico seemed slated to become the next government to fully adopt bitcoin as both their reserve and the national currency. One by one they were bringing country after country into the fold. All the planning and hard work was paying off. It helped that the nations that had already made the move universally applauded their choice. The media coverage had been exemplary. All of the respective economies were prospering, no longer tied to the dollar or the euro or dependent on others for the value of their own money. Instead, they now determined their own destinies.

Or so they thought.

The Mexican finance minister was back in Luxembourg City, safely ensconced in a five-star hotel suite paid for by the bank. Normally he would have stayed at the Mexican consulate. But this trip was off the books, unofficial, part of a previously scheduled European vacation. As was the fifty bitcoin that had been quietly transferred to an e-wallet under the minister’s control. All part of the miscellaneous “expenses” incurred by the bank to ensure that the Mexican congress made the right decision. For that to happen it was imperative that the finance minister be on board.Sadly, few people in this world acted without either provocation or consideration. Either one worked for her. Some violence had been necessary within Mexico to persuade a few of the more stubborn representatives, but bribery had proven far more effective. Well-placed payments had added grease to the rails and guaranteed no sudden curiosities. Thankfully, that had only been required with a handful of key delegates since, as she’d come to learn, the more joints a pipe contained the greater the chance of a leak.

She found her silk bathrobe and slipped it on, tying the sash around her waist. The clock beside her bed read 10:20P.M.Though late she was still alert, her mind stirring with scene after scene from the past few hours.

The house was quiet, only a handful of overnight staff on duty, cleaning up from dinner and closing things down for the day. She opened the bedroom door and walked down the wide hall to a staircase that led up to a private wing on the third floor. At the top she navigated another short hall and lightly rapped on a plain wooden door. She did not wait to be invited inside and turned the knob. The bedroom beyond had been specially created for its occupant. Soft colors. Hardwood floors. A low-sitting poster bed, dresser, and armoire, along with two rocking chairs. All of it crafted by a Dutch carpenter to the delight of the room’s occupant.

Madeleine Gledhill sat in one of the rocking chairs, a blanket draped across her lap, before a stone hearth with a crackling fire. Her mother slept little. Maybe three or four hours a night, a trait she’d passed down to her only child. They both agreed with Margaret Thatcher.Sleep is for wimps.

“Is it over?” her mother asked in Luxembourgish.

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