“Stop,” he said finally. “Stop.”
But they didn’t. Francesca slipped her hands to the back of Rosa’s dress, unzipping it. Then Francesca hooked her fingers around the top and pushed it down. Rosa let her arms fall and the dress slipped down, revealing a pink lace push-up bra. In a moment this, too, was unhooked, and Francesca began licking the other girl’s nipples.
Rostislawitch tried to push them apart. Rosa reached for his hands, grabbing at him to join them.
“No,” he told her. “No.”
Rostislawitch pulled back. Rosa fell onto Francesca and they collapsed giggling onto the bed.
The scientist felt completely out of place. As a young man at university, he’d seen clandestine nudie shows and been turned on by them, but somehow now either his age or the setting had the opposite effect. He felt as if he’d walked in on the middle of an argument between two friends rather than a sex act.
The two women were now completely naked.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he told them finally. “And when I come out I hope that you will be gone. Tell Atha that I appreciate — thank him for his generosity.”
“Join us,
Rostislawitch felt a last twinge of temptation, the slightest urge to be caressed. If he closed his eyes, he might be able to convince himself that they were not hookers bought by an Iranian who was trying to make a deal.
But who would they be? Not Olga, certainly. And not the girl, Thera, who had been so kind to him.
If she were here, he would make love to her. He’d been a fool not to invite her upstairs.
Perhaps it was a trap, Rostislawitch thought. Maybe Atha thought he could blackmail him.
“When I come out, I hope you will be gone,” said Rostislawitch, going to the bathroom and locking the door.
15
“Hell of a show,” said Rankin, watching.
Thera crossed her arms. She felt embarrassed for Rostislawitch, and angry that he had let the girls in in the first place.
Ferguson, meanwhile, sat in the overstuffed chair opposite the couch, considering what the girls had said about having been sent by Atha. If the Iranian was behind the botched assassination, why would he now send two whores up to Rostislawitch’s room? To throw him off the trail? To keep him in the room? Clearly the girls weren’t assassins themselves, since they were unarmed. Unless they intended to kill the scientist by giving him a heart attack.
Ferguson got up and went into the bedroom, where a small carry-on bag held some of their backup equipment. He took a new SIM card for his local cell phone; after installing it, he dialed the number Hamilton had left and got the British MI6 agent’s voice mail.
“So we’re having fun,” Ferguson said. “What are you doing? Call me back at this number.”
Ferguson grabbed a new pair of pants to change, but was interrupted when his sat phone began to ring.
It was Parnelles.
“Hey, General.”
“What’s going on, Robert? Corrigan tells me you were with T Rex in a bar. Did you grab her?”
“Corrigan’s wrong. I wasn’t with T Rex. I was with Kiska Babev.”
“Robert, I’ve seen Corrigan’s report. There’s good evidence there.”
“One possible coincidence. Some parallels. We’re still working on it.”
“If she’s not T Rex, who is?”
“I’m not sure yet. It may be me for all I know.” Ferguson laughed.
“This isn’t something to joke about,” said Parnelles sharply. “This is good information about the Iranians,” he continued, softening his tone. “It’s good. You should develop it. But I want you to get T Rex. That has to remain a priority.”
“I don’t think Kiska Babev is T Rex. And even if she was, at this point I can’t just haul her back. She’s not going to come easily.”
“Don’t let that be a problem. You know how to take care of this.”
“You want me to shoot her?”
Parnelles cleared his throat. Ferguson could picture him, sitting at his desk, his face tinged slightly red. His brows would be low on his forehead, a look of disappointment on his face.
Was that how they did it in the old days? The Deputy Director of Operations, or maybe someone even lower on the chain of command, would call his dad and say,
Ferguson didn’t like to think of his father as a killer, though he knew that his father had killed people.
Less than Ferg had.
“Robert, I’m counting on you to do the right thing,” said Parnelles finally.
“I try.”
Parnelles hung up. Ferguson turned off the phone and once again grabbed the fresh pair of jeans, but Rankin was calling him from the other room.
“They’re going through his stuff,” said Rankin, pointing at the computer screen as he came out.
“Turn up the volume,” said Ferguson, squatting down to get a better view of what was going on. One of the girls, naked, was standing by the bathroom, talking softly. The other was going through Rostislawitch ‘s wallet.
“She’s got something,” said Rankin.
“We don’t need the play-by-play,” said Thera.
They watched as Rosa examined a small piece of paper in the wallet. She opened the desk drawer and took out a pad, copying something from it.
“Zoom this,” Ferguson told Rankin.
Rankin had already started to try. He selected the area of the screen and then the zoom tool, but the girl’s naked back blocked the view.
“Has to have something to do with what the Russian wants to sell the Iranian,” said Rankin. “That’s got to be it.”
“Yeah. Did you scan that room for bugs when you went in?”
“Yeah. It was clean. Why?”
“Just wondering who I have to share this with.” Ferguson sat back down, considering what to do.
Were the girls working for the Iranian, as they said? It would be clever of Hamilton to tell them they were, a kind of misdirection play while he had them look for information.
Ferguson would have to trail them to find out.
“All right, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ferguson told them. “Thera, you’re going to get some sleep. Use the other room. But go to sleep. We’re going to need you later. Rankin, you watch Rostislawitch. If you need backup, call Imperiati’s people. Here’s his number.”
“I got it already.”
“What are you going to do?” Thera asked.
“Change my pants,” said Ferguson.
16
