"The instruments are all here, all negotiable, and all ready to go," he said, stealing a quick glance toward Eva. One look at her eyes told him she also sensed trouble brewing. "Now, we're damn well going to move and move fast. We credit the funds here, then wire them to Westminster Union. And by God we do it immediately."
"Mr. Vance, you are no longer giving the orders," she replied sharply. "I'm in charge here now. As a matter of fact, I have no intention of wiring the money anywhere. There will be no purchase of debentures. As far as I'm concerned, it has now been returned." She paused for emphasis. "But first we will count it."
"Vera, my love," Eva said, cutting her off, "if you try and double-cross us, you're making a very big mistake. You seem to forget we've got that protocol. What we didn't get around to telling you is that we've deciphered it."
"You—?"
"That's right. As it happens, I don't think you're going to like what it's got to say, but you might at least want to know the story before you read about it in The Times day after tomorrow."
Alex Novosty's face had turned ashen. "Michael, Tanzan Mino's people are probably headed here by now. Unless they go to the main office on King William Street first." He was nervously glancing out the window. "We're running out of time."
The game's about to get rough, Vance thought. Better take charge.
But before he could move, Novosty was gripping a Ruger P-85, a lightweight 9mm automatic, pulled from a holster under the back of his jacket. He'd worn it where the MNB guards would miss it.
The two Victoria couriers were caught flat-footed. Bankers weren't supposed to start drawing weapons. They stared in astonishment as he gestured for them to turn and face the wall.
"Michael," he said as he glanced over, "would you kindly give me a hand and take those two .38's? We really must get this party moving."