“Granted, he may have a Russian connection, but what does that have to do with the attacks on Mac?”
“Hammond’s angry because of the bitcoin deal that you and Mac cooked up last year, and added to that are the murder of the Russian UN diplomat whom a Hammond moneyman was involved with. And then the supposedly accidental death of the Hammond guy. A lot of coincidences, don’t you think?”
“Too many,” Otto said. “After lunch, we can talk to Lou.”
“Way ahead of you, sweetheart. She upped a Hammond connection to 48 percent after I gave her the new data. That’s almost fifty-fifty, close to betting odds.”
“Do we have a name, someone in Moscow we can prove Hammond is connected to?”
“I haven’t gotten that far, but between us, I think we might be able to come up with something this afternoon. Maybe in time to give Mac and Pete at least a slight edge tonight.”
“Whoever the Russian is would have to be connected with the SVR or GRU, so maybe we can reverse engineer the thing.”
“My bet would be the GRU. They’re the people who control the general staff.”
“Who control the Spetsnaz.”
It was just before nine when Hammond took a seat at the baccarat table with a one-million-euro marker he’d established with the pit boss. He was well known, and his credit was without limits. All he had to do is say the word.
Susan stood behind him wearing a stunning off-the-shoulder slinky yellow dress with a strip of fabric around her narrow neck like a choker. The dress was cut low and loose enough so that when she bent forward to say something in Hammond’s ear, her nipples were momentarily exposed. All the men in the private salle loved her, the women despised her. It was exactly the effect she loved.
First out, Hammond took the banque for €200,000, winning it with a five and a four, and spilled his champagne. The win, the wine, and Susan’s dress all made for an unforgettable alibi, something he thought they needed.
His only concern, which he hadn’t shared with Susan, was the Russian seated at the far end of the table. The man was Ivan Metropov, a multibillionaire with a big stake in Gazprom, whom he was sure Tarasov had sent to keep an eye on things.
As far as he was concerned, his main objective this evening was to beat the son of a bitch into the ground and let the bastard report that back to Tarasov.
“Two hundred fifty thousand,” he said.
“Banco,” the Russian immediately responded.
The aircrew showed up at eleven, fully two hours before they’d been scheduled to take off, and immediately busied themselves in the cockpit.
Vetrov went forward. “You’re early. Is something wrong?” he asked.
“We got word that the DANS has taken an interest in us,” Captain Borisov said. DANS was the Bulgarian national counterintelligence service.
“What sort of interest?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell not going to stick around to find out. I was given a warning that they would be here within the hour, so we’re leaving now. Are your people ready?”
“Our drop is not until 0200.”
“Are you ready?”
“Three hours from now, Captain,” Vetrov said, his right hand on the butt of his pistol in its holster on his chest.
“And that’s when your drop will be,” the copilot said. “Go strap in, because we’re number one for takeoff once we get out of this hangar. And we will take off, Senior Lieutenant, whether you are ready or not.”
“Your drop will be as scheduled,” Borisov said. “We have plenty of fuel to hold in international waters until it is time.”
“Won’t someone take notice?”
“No,” the copilot said.
Vetrov went aft to brief his people as the hangar doors began to open. Darina came aft and closed and dogged the hatch, then went forward. Moments later, the engines began to spool up and a tow vehicle showed up, attached the bar to the front wheel strut, and pulled the aircraft out of the hangar and onto the tarmac.
The mission and the exfiltration from the island after the op were foremost in Vetrov’s mind, but killing the crew, especially the bitch in the right seat, would give him pleasure.
At the lighthouse, Pete had fixed them a platter of canned meats, cheeses, bread from the freezer, and an herb-infused good olive oil. Afterward, McGarvey had gone over what he expected would happen and how he’d originally planned on dealing with it.
“I’m not particularly happy that you’re here, and I’m sure that Mr. Kallek won’t be very pleased when he finds out,” McGarvey said.
“Only if we get shot,” Alicia said.
“If I had my druthers, I’d drive you back into town myself, but I won’t leave Pete here alone, nor do I want someone to show up while we’re both gone and set up a trap for us. So here you are.”
“Here we are,” Alicia said. “If something’s going to happen tonight, when do you think it’ll go down?”
“Two or later,” McGarvey said.
“When you’re supposed to be sound asleep.”
“The one clear advantage we have is they won’t make any noise. Afterward, they’ll want to be extracted without having to shoot their way off the island.”
“When are you going out?” Alicia asked.
“One thirty.”
“For how long?” Bender asked.
“Until dawn,” McGarvey said. “We’re going to get behind them, and if possible follow them here, where you two will be waiting, and we’ll catch them in a cross fire.”
“Why haven’t you called the local cops?” Bender asked.
“I don’t want innocents hurt.”
Bender said nothing.
SIXTY-SIX
The shade of lavender on all the monitors in Otto’s office turned darker, which meant trouble, the moment he asked for a search of recent GRU activities in the U.S., especially within a fifty-mile radius of Washington, D.C., and the same for Manhattan from Midtown South.
Mary stood leaning against the tabletop monitor as Otto sat with his feet up on the desk, his favorite pose ever since he had done away with all but one of the
