Dan shuddered at the mere idea and Kozlov regarded her for what seemed like an eternity, a muscle twitching fitfully in his bruised jaw.
“And if that doesn’t convince you,” Chelsea continued, “how about this? You either cooperate with me, or I’ll make it known to anyone who will listen—the president, the world press, whoever—that Russia was actively seeking to procure stolen information about foreign governments from a rogue U.S. spy. Given the trouble you guys are already in with the international community regarding that bad business in Ukraine and Crimea, I’d think you’d want to avoid another black eye on Mother Russia’s pretty face. You and I both know your country can’t survive another round of sanctions.”
Wow. As Aretha Franklin would say, “R.E.S.P.E.C.T.” Special Agent Chelsea Duvall had some serious props. Dan tipped an imaginary hat to her.
“Fine,” Kozlov hissed. “Ask your questions.”
Chelsea grinned. “See? It’s an easy decision when you think about it, isn’t it? So first things first. What’s your beef with Winterfield?”
Kozlov cocked his head, his one good eye narrowing. “I do not understand this expression.”
“Oh, sorry.” Chelsea shook her head. “Let me rephrase. We intercepted a phone conversation you had that led us to believe you’re here to kill Winterfield.” Something strange passed over Kozlov’s features, but it was so fleeting Dan wondered if it was anything or just the play of shadows. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Ha!” Kozlov’s bark of laughter echoed down the alley. “So contrary to what you would have the world believe, you Americans are not gods. You do not see all and know all.”
If only he knew just how true that was, he’d be dancing in the street…uh…alleyway.
“Feel free to gloat with your cronies over vodka shots when you’re back at the Kremlin,” Chelsea growled impatiently. “For now, answer the damn question. Why are you here for Winterfield? What has he ever done to you?”
Kozlov reveled in his own self-importance for a second or two more. If Dan thought it would help move things along, and if his hands weren’t currently occupied with the Contender, he would have slow-clapped for the jerkwad.
Finally, Kozlov shrugged. “It is not what Winterfield has done. It is what he has.”
“And what’s that?” Chelsea asked.
“We have reason to believe Winterfield knows the location of Stanislav Rubashkin.” By the way he said the name, it was obvious he expected them to recognize it.
Dan glanced at Zoelner. Nope. The former CIA agent shrugged with his eyebrows. One quick look at Penni’s ya-got-me expression had his gaze landing on Chelsea. Bingo. She was blinking rabidly behind the lenses of her glasses.
“Is that why he’s here in Cusco? To sell you Rubashkin’s information?” The color was running high in her café au lait cheeks.
“No.” Kozlov shook his head. “Our sources say Winterfield is here to meet a man who goes by the name of Khalid al-Rahma.”
“Which sources would those be?”
“Those ones we have inside the AQAP,” Kozlov admitted. All Dan’s mental bells and whistles started clamoring at mention of Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. Not good. This is so not good. Fuckin’ Winterfield! “Al-Rahma is one of theirs. He has a reputation for procuring the unprocurable.”
“And what unprocurable thing is al-Rahma supposed to get from Winterfield?” Chelsea demanded.
Kozlov shrugged. “That we do not know. And we do not care.”
Dan blinked. Was it just him? Or was this thing getting ridiculously convoluted. Damn spies and their pretzel machinations and twisty, turny logic. He much preferred the kind of work that had clear parameters and precise objectives.
Chelsea started pacing back and forth, her brow furrowed in concentration. “So let me see if I have this right. You think that among the reams of Intelligence Winterfield stole from the CIA is the current location and alias of Rubashkin. You heard from your sources inside the AQAP that Winterfield would be meeting this al-Rahma character here in Cusco to do some kind of deal. So then you’re here to what?” She suddenly stopped pacing and turned to pin her golden gaze on Kozlov. “Wait a minute. You’re not here to kill Winterfield.” She blinked at Kozlov. “You’re here hoping to approach him to make a deal about Rubashkin.”
And that had been the shadow Dan saw pass over Kozlov’s face when Chelsea made that comment about him being here to take out Winterfield. She’d made a wrong assumption based on his side of the phone call. They all had.
“It is past time Stanislav Rubashkin pay for what he has done.” Kozlov spat on the ground like saying the man’s name left a bad taste in his mouth. Justice for Mother Russia… It suddenly made sense. Even though nothing else did yet. Who was Rubashkin?
“There you go dropping things again, Andrei,” Zoelner muttered.