“You are only on the first leg of the smuggling trip.”
Mac waited, watching the Russian with no expression.
“I hadn’t taken you for a fool.” Demidov glanced toward Emma. “But that would account for your companion.”
“I don’t screw her brain,” Mac said. “What am I supposed to be smuggling if the owner doesn’t show up-”
“He won’t,” Demidov cut in.
“-and I take
“You’ll be smuggling death,” Demidov said.
“In what form?” Mac shot back.
“Temuri trades in weapons, whether biological, nuclear, or conventional.”
Mac shrugged.
“You don’t care about your country?” Demidov asked sharply.
“Why do you?” Mac asked.
“Temuri is a traitor.”
“To Georgia?”
“If he was, I wouldn’t be here,” Demidov said. “He wants to hold an American city for political ransom. Or worse.”
Emma was glad she had already talked to Alara. Otherwise she would have jumped over the railing and landed on Demidov with both feet and a sharp knife, demanding information.
He spoke the words so calmly, as if terrifying and then wiping out a large city was a perfectly normal way to go about international politics.
“Why?” Mac asked, nudging the joystick.
Demidov hesitated, shrugged. “My people-”
“The Russian government?” Mac cut in.
“Yes. We assume Temuri plans to blame the entire episode on Russia.” Demidov connected the dots for Emma. “Then the U.S. would side with Georgia more forcefully on the Russian-Georgian border disputes.”
“If we lost a city, we’d probably do a hell of a lot more than take sides,” Mac said.
“If you could prove guilt, yes. Or perhaps, no. International politics is never what it seems.”
“No shit.” Mac nudged the joystick, waited to see the result, and asked, “What do you want from me?”
“We don’t know all of Temuri’s plot, just his goal, but we are certain that
But she didn’t so much as glance at Mac to find out how he’d taken the non-news.
“So where do I come in?” Mac asked.
“It’s quite simple,” Demidov said. “I will transfer fifteen thousand dollars to whatever bank account you give me. In return, you will tell me when you are contacted and what you are told to do. At that time, I’ll transfer another fifteen thousand dollars to your account. That will more than cover any loss you have from Lovich and Amanar.”
Mac thought about it. “Do Lovich and Amanar know what’s really going on?”
“Unlikely. They are too soft.”
Mac hated to agree with Demidov, but he did. “What if I take your fifteen thousand and blow you off?”
“I will kill you.”
“Figured that,” Mac said.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Keep talking.”
47
DAY FOUR
MANHATTAN
7:15 P.M.
Dwayne tapped on the door of the suite that was part of Ambassador Steele’s top-floor offices and residence.
Harley opened the door instantly. Behind him Manhattan blazed across the windows like a 3-D light show.
“Alara is here,” Dwayne said very softly.
“He just got to-” began Harley.
“I’m awake, Harley,” Steele called from the darkened room. “Help me into my chair.”
Dwayne winced. Steele must be really tired. Usually he only needed Harley’s help with stairs or narrow doors. Steele might be retirement age, but his arms and chest were strong from hauling the rest of him around.
“Has he eaten?” Dwayne asked Harley in a low voice.
“No.”
“Bring some omelets and fruit, toast, crackers, cheese, whatever. And tea. You could try herbal-”
“You’d end up wearing it,” Steele interrupted impatiently.
“On Harley it would look good,” Dwayne said. He watched as the big, muscular, bodyguard-nurse walked to Steele’s bed. “Is your partner still out of town?”
“Yes.” Harley bent and lifted Steele easily. “His mother is sick, so he stayed in Kirkland to help her.”
“Washington?” Dwayne asked.
“Isn’t that close to Seattle?” Steele asked at the same time.
“Right next door, why?” Harley said.
Steele hesitated.
“When your partner gets back,” Dwayne said quickly, “let me know. My girlfriend likes you better than she’s liking me lately. We’ll have both of you for dinner.”
“She cooking?” Harley asked, carefully settling Steele into his wheelchair.
“If both of you come,” Dwayne said, “you’ll get Cajun guaranteed to smoke your eyeballs black.”
“Stop,” Steele said. “I’m drooling like Pavlov’s dog.”
“I’ll get the recipe, boss,” Harley promised. “Meanwhile, I’ll start cooking those omelets.”
“Thank you,” Steele said. “On nights like these, you’re better to me than I deserve.”
“I’ll be sure to bring that up around bonus time,” Harley said mildly. “Do you want your tie back?”
Steele straightened the collar of his dress shirt. “No. Just a sweater. It’s a bit chill tonight.”
Dwayne and Harley exchanged a glance that Steele didn’t see. Harley went to the closet, took a soft charcoal pullover from the top shelf, and handed it to Steele.
A few moments later, Steele rolled his chair out to meet Alara.
“It would be terribly convenient to communicate by phone,” he said by way of greeting.
“As I told you the first time you brought it up, for some communications I don’t trust phones or computers,” Alara said crisply. “They’re too easily compromised. My hotel room has been bugged four separate times in the past few days.”
Steele made a sound of disgust, then shifted to ease the legs he wasn’t supposed to feel. “If only our various government agencies would stop fighting one another and concentrate on the designated enemy.”
“That will happen about the time lions become vegans.”
Steele would have smiled if he wasn’t so tired.
“We agree with the ID of Taras Demidov as a Russian shooter,” Alara continued. “The woman, Galina Federova, is one of the many abandoned sleepers gone to earth beyond the shores of former empire. She was a minor player. Demidov ran her along with his other numerous agents. The files are so old, they should be classified as historic rather than active.”
“So should we, but we live on anyway.”
