aging pigeon feeders while he checked for countersurveillance, then drifted away and called Gage.
“They both went into the Ukrainian consulate. She presented a packet of papers to a clerk. I couldn’t tell what it was. But I saw Matson reach for something in his coat pocket and pull out airline tickets to get to it. The ticket jackets were for Aurigny Airlines. Bright red and yellow. Aurigny flies to Jersey, Guernsey, and Alderney in the Channel Islands.”
Gage thought for a moment. “There’s a company in Guernsey that’s connected to SatTek, Cobalt Partners. Find out what Hixon Two is doing for the next few days.”
“You don’t want to do it?”
“No. I’ve got something else to take care of.”
Matson and Alla returned to their car and drove directly back to the flat. After Gage was certain that they were in for the night, he returned to the hotel to start his something else.
CHAPTER 31
A llo,” the heavy voice spoke into the phone.
“ Dobredin, Slava, this is Graham Gage.”
“What can I say? Little misunderstanding. We friends again. Right?” Slava didn’t wait for a response. “Your little interpreter from America. What’s his name?”
“Pavel.”
“ Da, Pavel.” Slava laughed. “Saved your fucking life and he can’t tell nobody how.”
Pavel did it by losing bladder control when he thought the leader of Russia’s largest organized crime group was about to blow Gage’s brains down a Moscow street just weeks earlier. Gage smiled to himself as he remembered Slava’s shadowed face transforming from fury to puzzlement as he watched a puddle form on the sidewalk around Pavel’s shoes.
Slava laughed until he erupted in choking, wheezing coughs.
“Those cigars will kill you,” Gage said, after Slava’s coughing died down.
“No, other vory-v-zakone kill me, I just be smoking at time.”
“I read about that car bomb in Tbilisi in the Herald Tribune. Helluva close call. I didn’t even know you worked in Georgia.”
“I went hunting.”
“For whom?”
“For what. Wild boars.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine you hiking through the woods trying to sneak up on pigs.”
“ Nyet. Like farm. You sit in wood hut with bottle vodka, little fish satsivi, and rifle. After time, they come walking, and boom.”
“Speaking of boom…”
“I all sorry I…” Slava paused as if he knew he hadn’t gotten the phrasing quite right. “That how you say it?”
“Close enough.”
“That guy, you know who I mean, I can’t say name on phone, tricked me to think you set me up for hit. I not realize you just want to talk about natural gas deal. It broke my heart, you know, I thinking I have to kill you.”
“You didn’t look sorry.”
“I cry on inside, really.”
Gage didn’t believe it. He found it hard to imagine that Slava ever cried, even as a baby. He let it go.
“You’re almost forgiven.”
“ Spaseeba.”
“And you’re almost welcome.”
Gage heard Slava draw on his cigar, then clear his throat. “I know you not call to talk old times,” Slava said. “What you need?”
“To see you. Just an hour or so.”
“Sure. I owe you.”
“How about tomorrow in the city by the big lake?”
“Why not?” Slava once again erupted into hacking, followed by an explosive spit. “I want to visit my money anyway.”
By eleven o’clock on the following morning, Hixons One and Two had followed Matson and Alla to Victoria Station, then to Gatwick Airport, where Two followed them onto an Aurigny Airlines flight to Guernsey.
By 2:15 Gage was walking down the long neoclassical hallway from the reception area to the restaurant in the Metropole Hotel across a wide boulevard from Lake Geneva. As he crossed the threshold, he felt the enormous presence of Viacheslav Gregorovich Akimov, aka Slava. Gage’s eyes were drawn to his right as if by gravitation. He spotted Slava sitting at a corner table with a bodyguard who carried Slava’s same weight but on a frame that was a foot taller. Slava struggled to his feet as Gage approached. He was wearing his usual black wool suit and matching turtleneck, both in enormous sizes. He stuck out a hand and Gage shook as much of it as he could, then sat down. Slava introduced his bodyguard as Ivan Ivanovich, the Russian version of John Smith.
“You want little something?” Slava asked, signaling to the black-tied waiter, who approached with a menu.
Gage glanced at the first page, then handed it back. “Just smoked salmon and artichoke soup. What are you having?”
“Page two,” Slava said, then stuffed most of a dinner roll into his mouth.
“Just one bodyguard?” Gage asked when the waiter was out of earshot.
“Here. Neutral. Meeting back in ’92. Miami. Agreement. No hits in Switzerland.” Slava laughed. “Bad to bleed on money.”
Slava sniffed a half-filled glass of fifteen-year-old Bordeaux and smacked his lips. “Ah! Only good thing about France.”
Gage watched Slava take a sip, then close his eyes and slosh the wine around in his mouth; his ruthless criminality redeemed for a few seconds-but only for a few-in his willingness to suspend himself in the pleasure of the moment.
Slava opened his eyes, then nodded. “Sveta would like this.”
“How is she?”
“Good. Good. At spa in Montreux. Keep her relaxed. Thank God.” Slava looked heavenward, then sighed. He picked up a piece of dried Grisons beef and shoved it into his mouth just ahead of a much more aggressive draw on the Bordeaux.
“Hey, I got something for your wife.” Slava wiped his hands on the white tablecloth, then reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a satin pouch. He poured a ruby onto the white tablecloth.
“Is this hot?” Gage asked, picking it up and examining it.
“Stolen?” Slava stretched out his hands, palms up. “I not give you nothing stolen. I paid. Myself. Out my own pocket.”
“And the money?”
“Money is money.”
“Thanks.” Gage set down the stone. “But I’ll pass.”
“Gage, you always too straight for your own good. But that’s why I trust you…except that once. So what you want to talk about?”
“I need to see if you can identify some guys I saw in London.”
Slava narrowed his eyes at Gage. “How come?”
“A friend of mine is in a little trouble.”
“Good friend?”
“Best. Jack Burch.”
“Burch?” Slava glanced toward his bodyguard, then toward the entrance. He leaned forward, clenching his
