Grigenko sighed and then held up his index finger to Feodor, gesturing for him to give him some privacy for the call. The jolly arms dealer nodded and walked to the far end of the warehouse, his entourage of bodyguards accompanying him.
Grigenko snatched the phone and barked into it: “Where the hell are you? I haven’t heard anything for almost twenty-four hours.”
He listened intently, the color slowly draining from his face. “What do you mean, all dead? That’s impossible,” he said, then listened again. “All right. I’ll deal with this disaster later. I’m busy right now. Get whatever resources you need flown in and get the job done. Am I clear? You knew about the failure of the prior attempt. These men were supposed to be better than that. You promised me.” His voice had begun rising in volume, and the final phrase was almost a shout. “You promised me.”
He threw the phone back to his bodyguard and fought to control his emotions, pacing as his mind raced. When he was caught unawares like this and didn’t get his way, he had a tendency to be volatile – a by-product of the steroids he injected to increase his athletic prowess. But that would be unacceptable in the current setting, he knew. Fingers clenching and unclenching furiously, he took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax, then gestured to the arms dealer to return to the crate.
“I want all twenty. I also want twenty percent off the shipment,” Grigenko stated flatly.
Feodor pretended to study the missile as his eyes darted to the side. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen as he’d approached the young man again, and something about his tone froze the blood in his veins. He considered his response carefully before offering it.
“I’ll need to check with the fellows I’m handling this for. In the end, it is their decision.”
Grigenko’s face flushed and he took a few steps towards Feodor, until his bulk was invading the small man’s space.
“Listen to me, you cockroach. You either sell me what I want for the price I have offered, or you will be dead by sundown. Don’t play games with me. I know your partners’ cost basis is zero. I would suggest you consider carefully whether you’d rather make an enemy out of me, or figure out the right combination of words to use on your associates to convince them that this is a good deal. I am not in a mood to be trifled with today,” he warned, and then reached down and clamped the smaller man’s hand in his.
Feodor’s bodyguards moved towards them but he shook his head, even as Grigenko squeezed until the pain was unbearable.
“If I exert just a little more pressure, I will shatter most of the metacarpal bones and you’ll be unable to wipe your filthy gypsy ass ever again without help. I would gladly do it just for the insolence you’ve displayed, but out of respect for our ongoing business transactions, I won’t. But listen, little man. You dance for me. Not the other way around. So say yes, go tell your partners that you had to sell the missiles for that price because otherwise I was going to chop you up and use you for fertilizer, and consider yourself fortunate that you are still breathing when the moon rises tonight. Am I clear?” Grigenko gave his hand a little more pressure and Feodor’s breath caught in his throat, and then he released him, smiling, looking angelic as he waited for an answer.
“You miserable shit. You don’t know who you are–” Feodor’s response was cut off by Grigenko’s hand clamping on his throat, cutting off the airway. Before anyone could reach them, he twisted Feodor’s head with a sharp wrench. The snap of his neck was as audible as a gunshot, and Feodor’s lifeless body dropped to the floor. Grigenko turned to Feodor’s bodyguards.
“Put your guns away. Anyone that wants to now works for me – in spite of the fact you were unable to protect your boss. Anyone that doesn’t put their weapons away will be dead within five seconds. Choose which you’d rather be,” he said evenly. His security detail had drawn its weapons and had them trained on the arms dealer’s men, who looked uncertain.
The leader of the group held up his pistol and then replaced it in his shoulder holster. The others followed. Grigenko allowed a smile to flash across his face.
“You. You’re the leader, yes? Go back and tell this man’s associates that he mishandled our negotiation. Suggest to them that they don’t want to do the same. Tell them that I want an agreement to buy twenty of these missiles, delivery to occur by the end of the week. I will pay twenty percent less than their asking price. If they decline, they can expect the same fate as their toad here. If they do the deal, they will have eliminated a middleman and I will be able to take whatever they come up with in the future. That’s the deal.” Grigenko grinned. “Try to be convincing. As you might have guessed, I don’t tolerate failure.”
The man, fifteen years older than Grigenko and a hardened ex-Spetsnaz commando, simply nodded. He had never liked the arms dealer anyway. Four years in his employ and he’d never gotten a raise. This young buck might be completely crazy, but perhaps he was more generous.
“I’ll call when it’s done.”
Grigenko turned and walked the length of the warehouse, leaving his men to deal with the new additions. The pounding in his temples was easing, the pulse throbbing in his ears diminishing as he moved. Perhaps I should have reconsidered killing Feodor. Then another part of him dismissed the thought. All any of these people respected was power and strength. If he was feared and was utterly ruthless in his dealings, he would prosper. If he showed any sign of weakness, he would be eaten alive. That was just how the world worked, and he understood it well. His mother had drilled that into him since he was a small boy, and her counsel was sound. Never apologize, never allow another man to insult you, and periodically shock everyone around you with an act of brutality.
Grigenko didn’t fear any retribution. Feodor’s partners would drool at the chance to make a larger cut now that he was out of the picture, and Grigenko’s reputation had preceded him, even though he was young. He had already made a name for himself in certain circles, and they would be happy to align themselves with a financially strong group like his. Grigenko’s strong network of contacts for arms in Africa and the Middle East ensured that he could move whatever they wanted to sell. Feodor had been a parasite, glomming onto the profit in the middle and sucking what he could out of the transaction. Everyone would be better for his removal from the equation.
Grigenko stepped out of the building and rolled his head, trying to break the tension gripping him like a vise. The failure in Uruguay was a blow, but one he could recover from. He had read all the background information on the woman and understood that she was as deadly as a cobra, but he had been assured by Grigori that she would be dispatched. That had obviously been overly optimistic, but the game wasn’t finished and he had infinite resources to throw at the problem. She was one woman. He was a force of nature.
But he would have to break the news to his mother, and he almost dreaded that more than anything else.
Mother wouldn’t be happy.
And he hated making her unhappy.
A few minutes later his men exited the building and climbed into their SUVs. Ensconced in his Mercedes stretch limousine, he listened to Chopin nocturnes to soothe his frazzled nerves.
Perhaps he would wait a little before telling Mother.
That seemed wisest.
Chapter 17
The officers approached the car and ordered Alan to open the trunk, telling him they needed to go through the luggage. Jet caught his expression, frozen in friendly amusement, and rolled the window down to ask the police what was going on. One of the younger officers explained that they were looking for weapons or other evidence of criminal behavior, and she laughed, her eyes dancing.
“You mean like a two-year-old daughter? I’m pretty sure she’s not a mafia kingpin. I can vouch for her,” Jet teased, and the officer relaxed even as he tried to keep his face straight.
“We have our orders, Señora. We’ll try to make this as fast as possible.”
“Can I stretch my legs, then? While you’re verifying that we
don’t have a bomb in the trunk?”
His eyes darted to his superior, and then he nodded. “Just stay by the car.”
Hannah jumped out, already bored sitting in the back seat, and made engine noises as she played with her toy. Jet opened her purse and removed a tissue, then moved to Hannah and had her blow her nose before dropping it back into the bag.
After a cursory search of their luggage and finding nothing incriminating, the officers waved them back into the car and moved to the next in line. Jet herded Hannah into the back seat and Alan pulled cautiously forward, then merged back into traffic without saying a word. A minute went by before he glanced at her in the mirror.
“You have both guns in your purse?”
“I thought it might be prudent in case we were searched. You had yours in your bag, but I figured that nobody was going to go through my purse, especially if it was filled with kid-mucous-soaked towelettes. No male on the planet would sign up for that.” She gave him a sweet smile.
“You’re right about that.”
Traffic was thin once they made it past the little suburb of Pinamar, and they meandered up the coast, stopping to pay tolls on their way east. When they hit the lake area of Laguna del Sauce, just south of Maldonado, Jet turned her cell phone back on and checked for a signal before calling Magdalena and getting directions to her new place.
Alan wound his way through town, and in another fifteen minutes they had parked outside of a relatively new condo complex in what appeared to be a clean, well-maintained section of the city. Magdalena came out to greet them and Hannah ran to her and hugged her – an auspicious sign to Jet, who was conflicted about having to leave her in a strange town with their housekeeper. But out of all her options, that was the safest one for Hannah, as well as the least disruptive. It might have been different if Jet had family or close friends, but she was alone in the world, and the truth was that Magdalena was probably the closest person to her.
They moved inside and did a tour of the condo. Jet nodded with approval. It had a security guard at the main entry and the interior was nice, and Hannah lost no time exploring her new surroundings with childlike curiosity.
Jet and Alan spent an hour with Magdalena. Jet explained the financial arrangements and the paperwork she had brought, while Alan did his best to keep Hannah entertained. But soon the excitement of the trip and the new situation had taken its toll on Hannah, and her eyes began drooping from fatigue, and Jet knew it was time to say goodbye.
“Sweetheart, come here. Mommy needs to go take care of some things, so you’ll be staying with Magdalena for a little while. I want you to promise to listen to her just like it was me, and be good. Can you do that?” Jet had gotten down on one knee, as she usually did when she had something serious to discuss with her.
Hannah gazed at her with a look that broke her heart and nodded earnestly, unsure of what was being discussed, but eager to make her mother proud of her. They had talked about Jet’s having to leave during the car trip, but now that the moment of truth was here, Jet was choking up at the sight of her beautiful daughter, whose company she’d been deprived of for so long, and now she had to spend yet more time apart from her.
Hannah threw her arms around Jet and hugged her tight, and then spoke the words that broke her mother’s heart.
“I love Mama. Hannah be good. Promise.”
Jet squeezed her, tears rolling down her face, and Alan and Magdalena busied themselves elsewhere, leaving them alone.
“I know you will, sweetie. I know you will. I love you. And I’ll be back really soon.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, and then Hannah pulled away and Jet blotted her eyes with her sleeve.
“Why Mama cry?” Hannah asked, uncertainty written across her face. As far as she was concerned this was only a short day or three without her mother, which was best.
“I just love you so much. I hate us being apart.”
“I be good. Come back soon.”
The simple sentence conveyed more than a thousand paragraphs.
Mother and daughter looked into each other’s startlingly similar eyes, and an unspoken message flashed between them, their bond stronger than ever before.
Yes, she would indeed come back soon. And she would make those who had forced this upon her pay a very high price.
She would see to that.
~ ~ ~
Back on the sidewalk Jet turned to face the condo balcony and waved to Magdalena and Hannah, who were standing behind the sliding glass door, watching her. They both waved back, and then Jet turned and forced herself to move forward, past the moment. The danger wasn’t over, and she still needed a plan – and a clear head.
She turned to Alan.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“I will be. I’m obviously not delighted about this.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to be.”
“Tell you what. Let’s go find someplace to spend the night, and then figure out our next steps. We can’t just hang around in Uruguay.”
“I know. I’m involved in an active mission. I have autonomy, but ultimately I’m chartered with figuring out what the terrorist group is planning, how Grigenko is involved...and I have to stop it. I didn’t have any new leads for the last week, but I have to get back. I’m sorry, Jet, but that’s a top priority. These turds are dangerous, and the information I was able to get from my contact before he went dark was that they were meeting with Grigenko’s people to try to work a deal. We never found out what kind of deal, but I have a distinct feeling it’s nothing good.”
“Then maybe helping me take Grigenko out will actually work into your planning.”
“Possibly, but I don’t have any evidence that Grigenko is supplying these groups with anything. That’s one of the problems I have.”
“What about the terrorists? Who are they?”
“That’s one of the other problems. This is a new organization. It’s not associated with any of the usual suspects. We started hearing about it, or more specifically, about its leader, a year ago, and the more we discovered the worse it looked. Its rhetoric makes Hezbollah sound like moderates. I’m talking Al Qaeda times ten. Its charter is to bring the jihad to the enemy – and of course, the enemy is Israel and its hated ally, the United States.”
“So just another group of angry crazies. How is that news?”
“They appear to be much more organized and far better funded. Before I had to get out of the Yemen situation, the rumor was that the new group was coordinating a large play that would change everything. Some of the members of my cell were impressed enough that they were considering joining them. That’s rare, as you know.”
“What are they called?”
“The Righteous Light.”
“Didn’t they come out with some announcement a while ago? I seem to remember reading the name.”
“Yes, but nothing ever happened. It was just the usual vitriol.”
“Then why is this time different?”
“Because of what was being rumored. That they were actively looking for either a nuke or biological warfare agents. Serious stuff.”
“Al Qaeda has been trying to get its hands on those for years.”
“Yes, but this group apparently has massive resources. The money that was being whispered about was mind-boggling. Billions.”
“How is that possible? That kind of money can’t move around easily. I know better than anyone that money leaves a trail.”
“Apparently not as big a one as you’d think. The Mossad unraveled a network of financial entities that are suspected of being conduits: hedge funds that take huge positions in unregulated, over-the-counter derivatives. That market has no oversight, so it’s a piece of cake to move half a billion, a billion, you name it, from one entity to another, using the derivatives as the mechanism.”
“How does that work? I mean, with all the international regulations and ‘know your customer’ rules, how can that happen?”
&
nbsp; “Because the really big money doesn’t live by those rules. They’ve never stopped anything but small fry anyway. If you have five billion dollars you want to move from entity A to entity B, you have entity B, another hedge fund, write a boatload of derivatives and sell them to entity A – whatever instruments you want. Say, credit default swaps against the Russian ruble getting ten percent stronger over the next three months. Doesn’t matter. The actual instrument is immaterial – it’ll be an event that never happens. So now you, the law-abiding hedge fund in New York, transfer five billion dollars to the hedge fund that is writing those derivatives for you, and presto, nobody bats an eye. Five billion transferred on a bet that never pays off. It happens – sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Maybe the bet is framed as a bet that the euro will suddenly strengthen and the European Union will begin getting its act together. The point is, it looks like a legitimate bet, so when the hedge fund loses, there’s a convenient explanation. Meanwhile, hedge fund B, that wrote the derivatives it never expected to have to pay on, has the five billion. It distributes that as profit to its investors, who just happen to include a fund associated with the terrorist group.”
“Really? That can happen?”
“Not only can it happen, it does, every day. We’ve tracked it. Many of the largest criminal syndicates use that mechanism all the time. Russian and Italian mobs, Chinese triads, Japanese yakuza, rogue nations. They all swim in the same pond. And there’s no way to stop it other than by regulating derivatives, which will never happen because of the players involved and their political clout.”
“So this Righteous Light could actually have the money to buy a nuke?”
“Easily.”
They sat in silence as Alan pointed the car toward the row of high rise hotels in the distance near the marina in Punta del Este, Jet’s mind processing furiously. As they neared a cluster of buildings, she pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and put them on.
Jet 03: Vengeance Page 11