Jet (31 page)

Leo continued his punctuated instructions, his breathing ragged and wheezing.

“I need…time…to raise…money.”

They’d been discussing the probable fallout from the disastrous transaction. Leo knew he’d be held responsible and would have to come up with enough money to replace the diamonds. But like most entrepreneurs, most of his cash was deployed in assets that weren’t easy to liquidate: shares of real estate partnerships, private equity deals, land parcels, buildings. Even his share of the plane would take months to sell for anywhere close to reasonable value, assuming he could find a ready buyer.

Covering the loss would nearly wipe him out, but if he was clever about it, he could make it back with future profits. At least, that was his hope. Rudolf wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t voice his doubts. He was there to follow instructions, not offer counsel, unless specifically asked.

“Yes, of course, Leo. I understand. I’ll try to stall them as long as possible. But they’ll want meaningful commitments.”

Leo’s phone trilled from a portable table next to the heart monitor, and he motioned for Rudolf to answer it, his voice having given out with his last few words.

Rudolf moved to the table and held the cell to his ear. “
Da?
”

“Leo?” an American voice asked.

“He’s unavailable,” Rudolf answered in English.

“Make him available. Now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Who is this?”

“I could ask the same.”

“I have business with Leo. You’d be well advised to put him on.”

Rudolf recognized the voice of the CIA official he’d interacted with on security aspects of the wharf debacle. “This is Rudolf. We’ve spoken before.”

“Right. I need Leo.”

“I’m afraid I’m not being clear. He’s badly injured and can’t speak. So it’s not a matter of him not wanting to talk with you. He simply can’t.”

“Can he read?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to write him a note. Tell him that his friends are very upset at how he handled the deal, and expect him to make full restitution for the lost stones and merchandise.”

“We anticipated that. I’ve been authorized to tell you that as soon as he’s able, he will take steps to do exactly that.”

“How long?”

“The doctors are guarded in their optimism. But he is showing improvement with each passing hour.”

“What’s wrong with him, exactly?”

Rudolf gave the man a brief rundown on Leo’s condition. When he was done, the American sounded annoyed. “What the hell happened?”

“We were hoping you might shed some light on that. We have no idea.”

“Have I told you how much we dislike surprises?”

“With all due respect, we all do. Leo and I were almost killed, and he lost a fortune in addition to my men.”

“Right. But you had control over the game board. Whatever happened was on you.”

“He recognizes that. But as I said, he’s in no condition to talk.”

The CIA man hung up, and Rudolf relayed the discussion. Leo motioned him closer and managed a few whispered words. Rudolf nodded.

“I’ll handle it.”

~ ~ ~

Mortimer Levins stared at the speakerphone and shook his head at the other members of the crisis management team that had been created after Demond had delivered his pessimistic report. It had been two days since the events at the wharf, and the Africans were growing increasingly agitated, as was senior management at the agency. He and his working group had listened in on the call to the Russian, patched in via an encrypted channel, and Levins clearly didn’t like how the call had gone.

“They’re stalling us,” he said flatly. “Which is exactly what I’d do if I’d set this up to look the way it does. They know we have no idea what happened beyond the obvious, and they’re kicking the can down the road to buy time.”

One of the men nodded and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “They can be positive we don’t have any idea if they were behind it. That seems to be the assumption of our best minds, doesn’t it?”

“We’ve been tracking his cell phone, and it hasn’t moved from the clinic. So he’s stationary. Our contact inside confirms that he’s injured. Perhaps he’s telling the truth?” another man said.

“Whether or not he sustained damage isn’t the question. What’s material at this moment is whether he has the means to make good, or if he’s going to disappear on us. I want opinions on this.”

“His portfolio of known assets is impressive, but it hardly amounts to the necessary amount, even under the most generous valuation,” the first man said. “He’s actually quite leveraged. Some of his petroleum-based speculations are underwater, and the drag on the economy has put his two largest construction investments in jeopardy.”

“Which sounds to me like a man who could use an extra fifty or more million, does it not?” Levins asked the room.

The first man nodded slowly. “It’s certainly troubling.”

Fifteen minutes later the meeting dispersed, tough decisions made, and the men now turned to the next problem to be addressed. Levins was the last to leave. He sighed as he switched off the lights, and his steps were heavy as he moved down the hall to deliver difficult marching orders to the field.

Moscow, Russia

Jet shifted on the bench where she’d spent the better part of the afternoon watching the entrance of Leo’s office building, which she remembered well from her prior visit when she’d reconnoitered the area in preparation for the sanction against his brother. She knew there was no rear entrance, just the twin steel and glass doors at the lobby level, so from her perch across the street she could keep track of everyone’s coming and going.

The motorcycle ride north had been grueling. She’d taken the opportunity to switch license plates twice along the way, both times with other motorcycles, figuring a quick check of the license wouldn’t reveal a stolen vehicle. Most owners didn’t verify their plates were actually their own until it came time to register, so Jet felt safe buzzing around Moscow on the little bike.

So far she recognized two of the clerical workers from the law offices, but there was little traffic in or out of the building, and no sign of Leo. She had no plan other than to watch and wait, although she’d made the decision to follow the lead secretary home that evening and question her. Jet hated collateral damage, especially an innocent like an employee, but she didn’t see much choice if she wanted results in a timely manner.

Toward the end of the day, she stiffened at the sight of a familiar profile marching down the sidewalk toward the entrance: Rudolf. Jet stood and walked slowly across the small park, blending in with the other pedestrians – a prudent measure, because the security chief was studying the surrounding vehicles for signs of surveillance, she could tell, and a lone woman on a bench might attract attention.

He entered the building, and she continued to a corner market, where she bought a loaf of cheap bread, taking her time as she watched the doors of the law office from the register. She carried the loaf to the park, tore crumbs from it, and tossed them to the pigeons scavenging beneath the trees, all the while watching for Rudolf to reappear.

Jet didn’t have to wait long. She was only halfway through the loaf when Rudolf exited carrying a briefcase and a laptop bag. Jet moved to the motorcycle and pulled on the helmet just as Rudolf threw open the rear door of a BMW X6 that was double-parked down the block and climbed into the SUV, which promptly cut into traffic and accelerated away.

Jet maintained a prudent distance, allowing the crossover to pull ahead until there were two blocks separating them. There was no guarantee that Rudolf would lead her to Leo, but it was reasonable to assume that he’d stopped by the offices for a reason, and the likeliest was to pick up something for his boss. She growled along past Red Square and then over a bridge to an outlying area as the X6 made its way through the clog of traffic.

The SUV stopped in front of a building with a glowing green cross mounted over its doors, and Jet drew to a halt fifty meters past the sign and watched the BMW in her handlebar mirror. Rudolf got out, moved to the entryway, and vanished inside.

She illegally parked the bike along with a half dozen others in a red zone, and approached a café on the corner where she could maintain her watch of the BMW and the building entrance. An hour later Rudolf returned to the car empty-handed. The SUV pulled away, and Jet paid for her drink before walking hurriedly down the sidewalk, a woman late for an appointment or preoccupied with private demons. She passed the entrance and glanced inside, where a small metal plaque announced the Temple Clinic and the street number, a single black intercom button beneath it. Two armed guards stood inside the foyer with submachine guns, and she could tell from a brief look that the thick glass door was bullet resistant.

Jet turned the corner and paused. Rudolf had brought the cases from the office to a high-end clinic, the sort of place that catered to the extremely rich in a city where kidnappings and assaults were commonplace. Given those circumstances, that Leo was in the clinic was a certainty.

She peered up at the building’s two stories – the windows didn’t open, she could see, and the exterior’s contemporary styling meant no handy footholds or sills from where she could gain entry. The edifices on either side of the clinic were six- and eight-story office complexes, also with smooth exteriors of glass and steel, whose flat façades mirrored the setting sun.

Of course, it might be possible to access one of them and rappel down the side onto the clinic roof – assuming there were no motion detectors or other sophisticated security measures, which was a fifty-fifty proposition in Moscow at a facility that housed drugs and expensive equipment.

Jet kept walking and, after confirming there was no back alley down which she could sneak, turned as though she’d forgotten something and retraced her steps to the café, her professional discipline winning over her impulsive desire to enter the clinic with some ruse and simply kill her way to wherever the Russian was. There was no question she could take that approach, but the guards looked like they knew what they were doing, and with Leo having been recently attacked, she had to assume those watching over the clinic were alert to the possibility of another attempt.

Still, she reminded herself, this was progress. The prior day she’d been astride a motorbike of questionable dependability in the Russian hinterlands, hoping to pick up Leo’s scent, and now she’d narrowed the possibilities down to a clinic only footsteps away. That she had only gotten a few short hours of sleep last night at a flophouse that hosted more cockroaches than a septic tank was definitely wearing on her, but she’d gone many days with only snatches of rest before, and she’d survived. She simply needed to pace herself and avoid squandering her remaining resources while she waited for a break or conjured a way inside.

Jet asked the waitress about the bar two doors down, and the woman told her that it stayed open until at least two a.m. and sometimes later. Jet gave her a smile and ordered tea, outwardly calm, but behind the placid exterior her mind was working furiously on the problem of how to gain access to the clinic.

Several hours later, the night crowd began to trickle into the bar, and Jet watched the collection of spiked-haired young men in punk rock garb grow to a small mob, their female counterparts putting in appearances with the quick smiles and darting eyes of the chemically compromised. The faint thumping of a bass drum grew louder as the hour grew late, and more of the youths remained in the chill air of the sidewalk, smoking and laughing. When the café closed, Jet gravitated to the bar, faintly amused by the eagerness with which a young man with a stubby dyed-black Mohawk bought her a beer and announced that he was in the Internet film business, looking for new talent.

“Really?” Jet said, one eyebrow rising a centimeter. “Internet film? What is that, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, it’s more like an art film. Edgy.”

“I see. Is there sex involved?” Jet asked, her tone bored with the clumsy, obviously pornographic approach.

“Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Well, there’s the audition process…”

“Of course. Can’t have just anyone in an art film.”

Jet’s eyes tracked through the open doors to a set of headlights approaching down the darkened street, and she lost interest in whatever the hopeful young scammer was saying. An ambulance eased to a stop in front of the clinic and two orderlies got out. They moved to the rear of the van, opened the cargo doors, and rolled a gurney to the entrance. Jet watched through hooded eyes as they disappeared inside, and then set her undrunk beer on a nearby table and made for the exit, leaving the aspiring director gawking at her in puzzled anger.

She was down the block on her bike when an attendant emerged from the clinic entrance. Two more security guards framed the doors with their weapons as paramedics rolled a gurney to the ambulance. She noted the driver carrying the same briefcase and laptop bag Rudolf had arrived with earlier, and wouldn’t have required the glimpse of Leo’s profile she got as the men hoisted the gurney into the back of the van to confirm that the Russian was on the move.

Jet waited until the ambulance was down the street before following, her headlight off until more vehicles appeared. She felt at the small of her back for the pistol, her eyes locked on the van, and allowed it to gain ground before she accelerated and ran a yellow light to keep up at the next intersection.

Her pulse quickened as the neighborhood deteriorated and transitioned to industrial parks, expanses of vacant lots interrupting the stretches of bleak sameness every few blocks. Her mind worked over the possible destinations as the ambulance slowed, and she pulled behind a dumpster on the deserted street and killed the engine when the van stopped by one of the open fields.

She watched in incomprehension as the passenger door opened and one of the paramedics climbed out and scanned the street. Seeing nothing, he moved to the rear of the van and swung the doors wide. She resisted the urge to rush the ambulance, gun blazing, and instead remained motionless as the driver joined the passenger at the back of the ambulance. Voices carried across the expanse, angry and threatening, and then Leo appeared, hands raised over his head. The driver pushed him in the small of the back, and as Leo stumbled forward into the field, the other paramedic removed a suppressed pistol from his jacket and fired into the back of the attorney’s skull twice in rapid succession.