Demond laughed harshly. “Are you kidding? Money. He pocketed fifty mil worth of our skag, and he just took the Africans for fifty. That’s a lot of glass beads, even in Moscow.”
A thin analyst with a wispy goatee tapped his pencil on the conference table as he leaned forward. “We need to hold the Russian accountable. Put it back on him. The man’s rich. He’s got to make good on his botched op – that’s all there is to it.”
“I agree. But he’s incommunicado for now. And frankly, that decision has to be made at a level considerably above our pay grade. Our job is to prepare a report that doesn’t read like a fairy tale so I can brief the brass first thing in the morning. No guesses, no best hypotheses. Just the facts.” Demond paused. “If the Russian’s trying to play poker, he’s out of his league on this one. It’s not the Africans he’s trying to take to the woodshed, it’s us.”
“If he’s behind it, sir. We don’t know that’s the case.”
“Right. But we can use Occam’s razor in the meantime, and the shortest distance between two points is that he’s been playing us all along, and we fell for it. That’s my operating assumption until proven otherwise.”
The first analyst scowled. “We have other entanglements with him.”
“As of now, consider them aborted.”
Chapter 55
Rostov-on-Don, Russia
Jet sat at a restaurant, sipping a cup of coffee, a newly purchased cell phone in hand. The crawl from the harbor over the slimy, barnacle-encrusted rocks that lined the shore had been painful, and she had more than a few lacerations on her hands. She’d dragged herself to safety and lain shivering until it had been safe to move, and had barely gotten out of the waterfront section when police cars arrived to block the roads behind her.
The hotel clerk hadn’t given her a second look when she’d entered wearing the hooker’s dress, her wet clothes in a bundle, and she’d spent two hours rinsing out the salt water and drying them on the radiator in the room before leaving for good and riding the reluctant motorcycle all night to the next big town.
She’d debated sticking around Novorossiysk, but had decided that could serve no good purpose. If Leo had survived and was still in the port town, he’d be under heavy guard and his location would be a secret. More likely, he’d have flown back to Moscow, where the hospitals were first rate compared to those in the far reaches of the Russian Empire.
As little as she wanted to undertake the thousand-kilometer journey on a crap motorcycle barely capable of beating her walking speed, she had no better option and had resigned herself to the slog north, grateful that it was still relatively warm out. Now, a third of the way to Moscow, she was feeling the effects of too little sleep and constant stress.
She took a long pull on the coffee, grateful for the stimulant effect of the caffeine reviving her, and pushed her breakfast away. The waitress took her plate and Jet glanced around to confirm there were no nearby diners to eavesdrop before dialing Matt’s number.
“So?” he answered.
“How did you know it was me?”
“Russian caller ID? I used my superpowers of deductive reasoning.”
“I’m a big fan of your superpowers, for the record.” She told him about the events on the waterfront. When she finished, she could hear the disappointment in his voice.
“Then you’re not coming back yet.”
“I have to finish the job, Matt.”
“The way you tell it, he might already be dead.”
“I checked the online news sources this morning already. Nothing about him. Some coverage of the explosion at the wharf, but no specifics. If he was confirmed dead, it would be news.”
“I suppose. Could be they’re just keeping a lid on it for some reason, and they’ll release it soon.”
“In which case I’ll have wasted a few days. What about your situation?”
“Nothing I can do about it. If they’re back on my trail, they lost it, at least for now, so I’m clean. But I’m thinking we might want to live in a cave in Afghanistan or something after this last nightmare.” Matt paused. “I pulled everything out of the bank, so sky’s the limit once you’re back.”
“Yes and no. Like I said before, my prints and my photo are in the system now.”
“Maybe time for that plastic surgery you’ve always wanted?”
“Believe me, it’s crossed my mind.” She hesitated. “This sucks, Matt. That we have to start all over again, uproot Hannah, find someplace we can disappear.”
“Look at the bright side. We’ve got money, documentation, our health and know-how, and each other. With that, it’s a big world out there.”
“Doesn’t seem that way right now.”
Matt was silent for a long beat. “How long do you think your errand in Moscow will take?”
“At least a few days. Maybe more. I have to locate the target, assuming my hunch is right, and then figure out how best to deal with him.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”