The Russians had been skeptical at first that they even needed a front man in Western Europe until Hammond had convinced them of his connections. At the moment, most Europeans, especially the French, were mistrustful of the new American president but even warier of the Russians, especially since Putin had been reelected. He was being called the New Stalin, and it made a lot of people nervous.
Hammond was selling his personal connections. Along the way in the dot-com boom, he had made a fortune, but he had been smart enough to include a lot of hungry people in government—especially in places like the Netherlands and Belgium, and even France, where Russian oil and gas only accounted for small percentages of their energy needs.
“Talk to me, Thomas, as a friend and a business partner. Please.”
Hammond held his silence as he considered his options. Either trust Tarasov and whoever the man was connected with in Moscow or back away from the deal.
The South African shooter who’d been hired through Susan’s expediter—who was now dead—only knew the expediter. Even if he were given drugs to make him talk, he could never produce any link beyond Bell.
In the long run, it didn’t matter if Slatkin was dead or alive. Hammond turned back to Tarasov.
“It is a game,” he said. “One that will end up where we want to end up.”
“Tell me.”
“Actually, I wanted the South African to fail. I was almost 100 percent certain that he was no match for McGarvey.”
“Then what’s the point? We want Mr. McGarvey dead, and we don’t want it traced back to Moscow. There are no other considerations.”
“Including how I conduct my business?”
“Yes, but be careful you don’t make a fatal mistake.”
“Are you threatening me, Mikhail?”
Tarasov pursed his lips. “There are certain people in Moscow who feel that we should let this go. Just turn our backs on the entire deal and perhaps sweep up whatever debris is left behind.”
“But there are others who think differently.”
“Yes, and these men do not take mistakes lightly. Too much is at stake here, even beyond our deals in Greece and Spain.”
“McGarvey will die, there’s no doubt of it.”
“But?”
“It’s the how of it.”
Tarasov turned away. “Yeb vas.” It was a common, very vulgar Russian expression that roughly meant fuck your mother.
“I want to have some fun.”
“Explain to me your fun.”
“Big-game hunting.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m hunting Mr. McGarvey for sport. The South African was my first shot, which I was almost certain would miss. Cost me only two hundred and fifty thousand. I’ll double that offer for the next try. Four times that for the third, if needed. Eight times, ten times, whatever.”
“Don’t you think that he’ll come to realize what’s going on and hunt you back?”
“I hope so.”
“He’s good. Maybe the best.”
“He’ll make a mistake sooner or later.”
“He has his own resources; supposedly, he’s a millionaire.”
“I’m richer,” Hammond said.
“It’s your life on the line.”
“My shooters will never meet me face-to-face.”
“I have a specialist waiting for you at the hotel.”
“Does he know you?”
“Yes,” Tarasov said.
“I’ll videoconference with him, my voice electronically altered. It’s actually very simple. The device isn’t bigger than a cell phone, and in fact, I own the half-dozen patents. And I’ll have an expediter for now who he will work with but never meet unless they fail.”
Tarasov sat back. “It appears that you think of everything.”
“Not really. But I can buy just about anything or anyone.”
“But not me.”
“No, which is why we’re friends.”
Tarasov nodded. “His name is Donald Hicks, and he was a Canadian Special Operations sniper.”
“What’s he doing on your side?”
Tarasov smiled. “You’re not the only man on the planet with money, Thomas. And Hicks is very hungry since they put him out to pasture.”
THIRTEEN
All Saints, set back from the street not far from Georgetown University, was guarded in front by an electrically controlled iron gate and from behind by a tall spike-topped fence, beyond which was a broad line of trees.
It was dark when Pete, driving her green BMW, dropped McGarvey off in front. “How long are you going to wait for someone to show up?” she asked. She was nervous.
“Overnight, at least,” McGarvey said. “Maybe twenty-four hours. If they’re sending someone, it won’t be long.”
“Whoever’s gunning for you wants to get it over with in a hurry, is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that.”
“We could put up a chopper, or at least drones to watch the place. Anyone comes within a hundred yards, we’ll know about it.”
McGarvey had known she would object to what he was doing. Just as Mary had tried to talk him out of it. Only Otto saw the logic, and the why, of it. “Our people would swoop in and arrest him?”
“Yes.”
“Take him down to Belvoir for interrogation, which you would be a part of, but not in charge since you’re not with the Company any longer. You’re a freelancer, just like me.”
“What’s your point, Mac?”
“He would have rights. Constitutional rights that wouldn’t let us do much more than waterboarding and maybe drugs—and even that would be pushing it. But in the end, if we couldn’t prove anything other than trespassing, we’d have to release him.”
Pete saw it. “But not you.”
“If someone shows up here wanting to take a shot at me—or anyone else, for that matter—he’s lost his rights as far as I’m concerned.”
“You want that to happen.”
“No. But if someone is gunning for me—”
“Which you think is the case.”
“If it’s true, then I don’t want to screw around sitting on my thumbs waiting for it to happen. Either someone comes here tonight or tomorrow at the latest, or I’m going to start pushing back.”
“Start where?”
“The White House and the Pentagon.”
“If
