“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.
Chapter 57
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.