“I want a name. Who is he?”
Weese shakes his head.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Officer Ceepak. Shame. Are you really such a male chauvinist pig? Remember: behind every great man, there is a woman. Why, I believe … yes … I believe I even handed you several clues that should have pointed you in that general direction. Perhaps my subtle allusions were a tad too sophisticated for someone of your limited abilities. The Phantom card? The first one?”
“Yes?”
“Why, I believe there was a woman standing behind the man. And card number two? The Avenger? Why, look-another woman, wreaking revenge. Third card? Another from The Phantom and our hero is standing with
Weese has this shit-eating grin on his face like he's oh-so-fucking-clever.
“But none of that really matters now does it? It's high noon. All is in readiness. The multitudes have assembled on the beach and boardwalk. I understand from my father that the Chamber of Commerce is expecting quite a turnout. Thousands and thousands of happy holiday revelers, none of whom, I'll wager, are particularly interested in dying today. But, alas, some may have to. For it is time for the triumph of the son! Time for the world to experience life under the son, as they say!”
“Who is she?”
“Someone quite capable of doing her job as well as I have done mine. You see, Mr. Ceepak, I did everything I could to help you catch me so you'd drop your guard and open the big Boogaloo BBQ on schedule. What a stupid name. Boogaloo BBQ.”
“Who?”
“Tell me-when you were with the army, did you study much military history? Specifically,
“Some.”
“Then you must know about the legendary Lyudmila Mikhailovna Pavlichenko, the greatest female sniper who ever lived! I'm certain you've heard of her fabled exploits, how, during World War Two she single-handedly killed hundreds and hundreds of Germans.”
“Your wife?”
“Did you know that the Russians still encourage their little girls to become snipers? Oh, yes. Quite a proud tradition of it, actually.”
“Your wife?”
“I met her on the Internet, you know. Russian Brides Dot Com. The new world order of mail-order brides. My father helped, paid for everything. He was rather desperate for grandchildren but feared I couldn't bed a wife on my own, not given what he perceived to be my overwhelming lack of manliness. So, he bought me a wife when I graduated from college. Some children get a year in Europe, other a flashy sports car. Me? I got a Russian virgin.”
Ceepak heads for the wall phone.
“Natalia Shevlyakova Weese,” Weese continues, his eyes glazing over.
“Gus? Ceepak.”
“Oh, she's no beauty, I'll grant you that.”
“We need to find George Weese's wife.”
“Squat. Homely. Rather dour. But then again, the poor girl grew up in Kemerovo. It, I assure you, is a squalid armpit even more dreadful than fetid Sea Haven.”
Ceepak concentrates on the phone, blocks out Weese. “Malloy was with the wife yesterday,” he says to Gus.
“All she was looking for, like so many Russian girls these days, was a ‘nice, generous, American man.’ Translation? She wanted money. Preferably, cash. Hard currency. U.S. dollars.”
“Have Kiger check to see if any of the Weese family vehicles are missing.”
“Now, that would be stupid, Officer Ceepak, and Natalia is not stupid. Ugly, yes. Stupid, no.”
“Have them run her photo past any and all rental car agencies within a twenty-mile radius.”
“We're actually quite smart. Brilliant, really. You'll see. Natalia's tough, too. Scrappy. Resourceful. And, as you might suspect, she's also very heavily armed.”
Ceepak hangs up the phone.
“Where is she?”
“So much of this was her idea-a way to make our American fortune while simultaneously wreaking revenge on my childhood tormenters
“Where is your wife?”
Weese glances up at the clock again.
“Where?” Ceepak barks.
Weese smiles.
“Waiting for a phone call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Shall we cut to the chase, gentlemen?”
Weese leans forward, brings his hands together.
“My father and his Chamber Of Commerce cronies must immediately transfer ten million dollars to an offshore bank account, the number of which I will provide to you. Their deadline is two P.M. When certain friends of ours, certain-oh, how shall I put this? Certain Russian mobsters? When these gentlemen advise me that the transfer is complete, I will instruct them to contact Natalia on her secure satellite phone with orders not to shoot a single sunbather.
“Once the money matter is taken care of, you, Officer Ceepak, you will escort me to the airport, where I will board Aeroflot flight fifteen to Moscow. Tomorrow, when I have arrived safely and have no Russian police or KGB or CIA following me-and we'll know if they are because, as I said, we have several financially interested, high- powered friends-when I reach my undisclosed location in the motherland, Natalia will lay down her weapon and depart from these shores.”
Weese has a faraway look in his eyes. Like he's been waiting ten years for this one moment. It hits me: he's the Mad Mouse. A timid, mousey guy we made so mad one day that now he's ready to wipe out an entire boardwalk full of innocent kids like maybe he used to be.
“By the way, you will never catch Natalia before she slips out of the country. She will not book passage on Aeroflot, so don't waste your time with amateur airport theatrics. Just know that she and I will one day reunite on a Baltic beach to split our share of the ten million dollars. Perhaps we'll even nibble caviar and sip vodka. Everything will be
Weese sighs.
“You gentlemen should know that Natalia's sniper post is well stocked with provisions. Food. Water. She can remain hidden for quite some time now that I have kept you engaged long enough for her to properly secure her position.”
“What about your children?” asks Ceepak.
Weese shrugs. “My father wanted grandchildren so damn much, he can keep them. They're loathsome little creatures, actually. Filthy.”
The lawyer nervously twists his ear lobe. “I'm not certain the town fathers can raise ten million dollars in under two hours.”
“Of course they can,” scoffs Weese. “I'm not asking for actual cash. It's all electronic banking, counselor. We can do it online. Don't forget, my father is a mortgage broker with access to all sorts of lenders willing to provide
