“I have many friends,” Akhnetzov said. “Everyone, it seems, likes money.”
Scorpion sipped his drink. Whoever Akhnetzov had bribed, it wasn’t Rabinowich. If Dave had given Akhnetzov a list of ports, it was because the CIA wanted him to talk to Akhnetzov.
“So now that you’ve impressed me with how rich you are,” Scorpion said, gesturing vaguely at the salon. “What do you want?”
“I want you to stop something bad from happening.”
“Bad for whom?”
“For me,” he replied, tapping his chest. “Bad for my business. For my country, Ukraina. Bad for America too.”
“What makes you think I’m American? Or that I give a damn about you or your country?”
“I think you are American. You are CIA, but not CIA. My sources say you kill ‘the Palestinian,’ terrorist impossible to find, but you do in only two weeks. They say you are the best.”
“What else do you know?” Scorpion said quietly. The question of how much Akhnetzov knew about him was still very open and very dangerous.
“Listen, drooh. This is maybe your first Ukrainian word. It means ‘friend.’ I am billionaire from a part of the world that is not so simple. I don’t get this way by being stupid. I own Ukengaz Company. We do maybe eighty percent of gaz pipeline, natural gaz from Russia for Europe. Also chemicals, steel, television, real estate. This team, Arsenal,” tugging at his football T-shirt, “I own. I begin with nothing. My maty, my mother, clean toilets in Metro so I can be student at Shevchenko Kyiv University. One night I take money from nightclub where I am working as dishwasher. The shef, the boss, send krutoy paren gangsters to get money back. They beat me with iron bar so bad I am in hospital. But I do not tell them where is money. I keep. Later, I use this money for my first gaz trade. You and I, Scorpion, my drooh, we are both wolves. We must understand each other or we must kill each other, yes?”
The two men looked at each other. Akhnetzov leaned forward, his muscled forearms on his thighs. Scorpion sat casually, but he was ready to move. The code name Scorpion lay between them like a ticking bomb.
“What do you know about Scorpion?”
“Less than I want,” Akhnetzov said. “I know you were CIA then not CIA. Independent. It says you know Arabic from when you are child,” glancing at a tablet PC. “Real name unknown. Raised by Bedouin in Arabian desert.” He looked at Scorpion. “What is American kid doing in Arabia?”
“My father was an oilman. He was killed. The Bedouin saved me.”
“Is true? You’re unusual guy. Also tough guy. What were you? Navy SEAL? Delta? Marines?”
“Girl Scouts. I sold cookies.”
“Okay, you don’t talk. Like I said, tough guy. Only one thing important…”
“What’s that?”
“I know your enemies respect you. There are worse ways to judge a man than by how his enemies fear or respect him. For you, both I think.”
“So this is a job interview?” Scorpion asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“In a way. One thing I must know,” Akhnetzov said, tapping a cigarette on a gold case and lighting it. “Why did you leave CIA? For money?”
Scorpion smiled. “To tell you the truth, it never entered my mind. At the time, I hadn’t thought about making a living that way. I just quit.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t talk about that.”
“Listen, drooh…” Akhnetzov looked at Scorpion, his eyes ice cold, and Scorpion had a sense he was seeing the real man. “For what I am about to tell you, this is important. I don’t ask for nothing.”
“I don’t talk about missions.”
“I don’t care mission. I care why you leave, okay?”
Neither man spoke. The only sounds were the ship’s engines and the slap of the waves on the hull.
“It was a termination. A street outside the target’s location. He was supposed to be just with bodyguards, but his little boy was with him. They told me to go ahead anyway.”
“Did you?”
Scorpion shook his head. “No. At that moment, I realized I was through. Tvajo zdorovy,” Scorpion toasted in Russian, and drank.
Akhnetzov got up and poured himself a glass of Ukrainian Nemiroff vodka from a bottle on the bar. “Za vas!” he toasted back. He brought the vodka bottle over and put it on the table between them. “Listen, maybe you see on CNN. There is election for president in Ukraine.”
“What of it?” Scorpion said. From Akhnetzov’s posture, he could tell Akhnetzov was at the moment, in CIA- speak, when the Joe drops his pants.
“One of the candidates will be assassinated.”
“I see,” Scorpion said, putting his drink down.
“No, you don’t. It will mean war. Also end of Ukengaz. We must stop this. This is why I seek you out.”
“We…?” Scorpion raised his eyebrows.
“Let me explain,” Akhnetzov said, freshening Scorpion’s drink with a splash of Nemiroff. “There are two candidates: Kozhanovskiy, a good man, a man of the West, favored by Europe and the Americans, darling of the students and the Kyiv intellihensia. He wants Ukraine to be partner in EU and NATO. The other is Cherkesov. A strong man, tough like bull. He is supported by ethnic Russians and people in eastern Ukraine. He is for close ties with Russia. Like this,” smacking his fist into his open hand and holding it.
“Which one do you support?”
“Me, I do business with the devil so long we make money. Russia fears if Kozhanovskiy wins, Ukraine joins NATO, and worse, terminates lease of Sevastopol as base for Russia’s Black Sea navy fleet. For Russia, this is casus belli. My sources tell me there is a plot to assassinate Cherkesov.”
“Sources…?”
“The same sources that led me to you.”
“SVR?” Scorpion asked.
“I will tell you once we agree. These same sources assure me that if Cherkesov is killed, Russia will invade. Ukraine will call upon NATO. This will be most dangerous world crisis since Cuba.”
“You want me to stop this supposed plot to assassinate Cherkesov?”
“I want you to stop a war.”
“Over killing a single person?”
“Why not? World War One began with the assassination of a single person,” Akhnetzov said. Neither man spoke. There was a throb as the engines slowed. Through the salon windows, Scorpion could see the harbor and buildings of Monte Carlo piled against the backdrop of the Alpes Maritimes.
“You’ve got the wrong guy,” Scorpion said, putting down his drink. “This is not my type of assignment. Besides, I’m not a bodyguard.”
Akhnetzov shrugged. “Cherkesov has dozens of bodyguards. This is not what is needed. What I need is an operative, the right operative.”
“It’s no good. What makes me effective is a certain unique combination of skills,” Scorpion said, leaning forward. “Languages, for one. I don’t speak Ukrainian and my Russian is pretty limited.”
“But you speak some Russian, yes? Nearly all Ukrainians speak Rossiyu.”
“Just basic Russian plus some of the dirty words.”
“The best part of any language.” Akhnetzov smiled, but his eyes weren’t smiling. “But you are wrong. What makes you effective is your knowledge and ruthlessness. Like wolf, like me.”
Akhnetzov leaned forward and wrote something on a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Scorpion asked.
“A number,” still writing.
“Six figures?”
“Seven,” Akhnetzov said, turning the paper so Scorpion could see. It was a big number, enough for him to live comfortably for the rest of his life.
“That’s a lot of money,” Scorpion said carefully.
