“If there were, they’d be here too late to stop your men from putting a bullet in my skull.” Will shook his head. “I came here in good faith. On. My. Own.”
Schiller unclasped his hands and leaned back, drumming his fingers on his leg. Clearly, he was deep in thought.
Will muttered between clenched teeth, “We both hate the same organizations.”
Schiller stopped drumming. “Delage told me that you have access to blueprints. What are they?”
Will glanced again at the bodyguards. “I’m not going to talk to you while under duress.”
“And I’m not going to remove my men!” Schiller was motionless. “ If you are genuinely here to discuss a business transaction that is of mutual interest, then I give you my word that you’ll walk out of here unharmed.”
“Your word?”
“Yes, my word. I’ve spent thirty years in this business. I can tell you with certainty that I wouldn’t have survived that long unless my word meant something.”
Will shook his head. “Other men have said the same thing to me. I was proven right not to trust them.”
Schiller looked shocked. “I don’t have to earn your trust.”
When Will spoke, all traces of fear were now absent from his voice. “Yes, you do. Last year my company made eight million dollars profit. All of it came from business associates whom I trust. In the same year, I lost five million dollars to people who turned out to be completely untrustworthy. Trust equals money. It’s as damn simple as that.”
Schiller smiled again, but this time the look was less cold.
Will rubbed a hand over his face and flicked sweat from it onto the plastic floor. “All right. Blueprints of prototype suitcase nuclear bombs.”
Schiller narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen similar in the past.”
“No, you haven’t. These are different. The bombs’ range far exceed anything developed before. They weigh less, and so far trials with them have been one hundred percent successful. They’re perfect for special forces, commandos, or paramilitary units.”
“But the bombs can only be manufactured by people who have access to weapons-grade uranium.”
Will nodded. “That’s my problem, because I lack the contacts in that world. Most of my business is in conventional military matters. I tried the Iranians but got knocked back, and it quickly became clear to me that I needed another route in to potential buyers. I’ve heard that you have access to such people.”
“And where did you hear that?”
“From someone I not only trust but to whom I also gave my word that I would never reveal his identity.”
The German stared at him. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “If your specialty is in conventional matters, how’ve you come by these blueprints?”
“By chance.”
“Who’s the supplier?”
Will shook his head. “I can’t give you that information.”
“Then I can’t give you a buyer.”
The room was silent.
Will knew that he couldn’t be the first one to speak.
More silence.
Finally Schiller said, “I can’t approach a potential buyer unless I can persuade him that the blueprints are authentic. To do that, I must be able to say where they come from.”
Will looked frustrated. “I have to protect my supplier, including his identity.”
“And I have to protect my clients and my reputation.”
“Then it seems we are at an impasse.”
“I agree.”
Will thought through the problem. “How likely is it that you can get an interested buyer?”
“Providing the blueprints are authentic and accurate, it’s certain.”
Will was silent.
Schiller said, “If you could satisfy me that the supplier is authentic, that will be enough. I can tell my client that the source’s identity must remain a secret but that I can vouch for his credentials.”
Will looked unsure.
Schiller looked at one of the bodyguards and nodded. The guards left the room. He faced Will. “We’re going to have to exchange something. You need my client and money; I need a name and the blueprints.”
Will was hesitant. “I have your word?”
“I can give you that if you can give me your trust.”
Will lowered his head and stared at the floor. Finally he nodded and said, “Okay.”
He fixed his attention on the SVR agent. “He’s a Russian colonel named Taras Khmelnytsky.”
Part III
Chapter Twenty-three
Razin looked at the twenty-four men who were busy making preparations in the disused warehouse. They were his Spetsnaz Alpha troops, all handpicked by him for the training exercise. Tonight, their task was to infiltrate the base of the 104th Parachute Regiment in the ancient northwestern city of Pskov. It would be tough, though he wasn’t concerned, as he knew they’d succeed. What did concern him was that time was running out, because the exercise could be terminated at any time. If that happened before everything was in place, his plan would have failed.
He moved away from the men, their vehicles, and the equipment and sat on a wooden crate. Withdrawing his custom-made military knife, he looked at the long blade for several seconds before carefully sharpening it with a stone.
All of the MI6 officer’s agents had to die, but it was taking too long. That was why he needed to change tactics. The traitor had given him the names and the time and location of the next meeting, but this time he’d not only kill his target, he’d also capture his former agent handler-the man he’d recently found out carried the code name Sentinel. That would speed things up. Sentinel would be forced to summon all of his remaining agents to one location. Razin would slaughter them.
Everything depended on timing. The agents had to be dead before the three American cruise missile-bearing submarines sailed toward Russia. And the training exercise had to still be live when that happened so that he could plant the bomb.
He smiled as he looked at his faithful colleagues. They had no idea what they were really doing for him. It didn’t matter, because if they survived the war, he’d honor them for their role in preventing Russia from being crippled. But he’d never tell them the truth about the bomb. Instead he’d say that he’d removed its beacon and detonated it at sea or in one of Russia’s vast wastelands to prevent it from falling into American hands. By then no one would be asking questions. They’d be focused on far more pressing matters.
He thought about the big MI6 man he’d confronted outside the Saint Petersburg safe house. He could be a problem, for he was unlike anyone Razin had confronted before. No doubt he’d be with Sentinel at the meeting with General Barkov.
That’s where he’d kill him.
Chapter Twenty-four
Roger Koenig shook Will’s hand. “We’re a long way away from that drink in D.C.”
