Once the door shut behind them Vaknin nodded to the remaining bouncer. The man took hold of Sandor’s arm, then brought the handle of his Glock crashing across the back of Sandor’s skull, knocking him to the floor.
————
When Sandor came to he found himself seated upright in a wooden banker’s chair, his wrists and ankles bound with plastic restraints. They were tight against his skin. As he regained his bearings he saw that he was inside what was obviously Vaknin’s private office. Sandor realized he was wet, which meant they had just thrown water in his face to revive him. He also realized his head hurt like hell. As his eyes began to focus he saw that he was facing Vaknin, who was sitting comfortably behind his desk.
“Was that entirely necessary?” Sandor asked. “You could have just invited me in and asked me to have a seat.”
Vaknin leaned forward and rested his elbows on the large desk. “I saw what you did to Ivan,” he explained, nodding toward the bank of monitors that showed the inside of the club from a variety of angles. “Ivan is considerably larger and stronger than you. And me, for that matter. I was certainly not going to take any unnecessary chances with you, especially since I still have no idea who you are or why you have come. You said that you wanted to speak privately and so I have arranged that.” Vaknin then reached for a Glock that lay before him, taking it in his hand and pointing it at Sandor’s face. “But just so we are clear, I am prepared to kill you if I feel it would best serve my interests. I do not care who you are or that you came here with a policeman. I only care about your purpose and whether or not you pose a threat to me. If necessary I will arrange your disappearance and never give it another thought. Are we clear?”
“Your English is excellent.”
Vaknin bowed his head at the compliment. “Despite whatever you may think of the world I inhabit, I am an educated man.”
Sandor craned his neck around, doing the best he could to have a look at the entire room. “Are we alone or is there someone in back of me I can’t see?”
“We are alone, for now.”
Sandor opened his eyes wide and then closed them, repeating the motion several times. “I don’t suppose you have five or six Advil handy?”
“What is your name?”
“If I tell you, will that get me the Advil?”
Vaknin stared at him without speaking.
“Jordan Sandor.”
“Mr. Sandor, while you had your brief rest in my office, I took the opportunity to speak with Ivan. As you can imagine, I’m unhappy with him and he, in turn, is angry with you. Whether or not I give him an opportunity to express his anger and thereby resolve my unhappiness remains to be seen. He told me that you are insulting and impertinent, and I can see that his assessment is accurate. But you have obviously gone to considerable trouble and put yourself in grave danger to have the opportunity to speak with me. I respect that and concede that I am fascinated by the effort, so please do not waste the opportunity. I am not known for my patience.”
Sandor nodded. “How well do you know Ronny Sudakov?”
Vaknin sat back in his plush leather chair. “Why would that interest you?”
“Because he is about to put you and your associates at great risk.”
“And why would he do such a thing?”
“I’m not certain that he is doing it knowingly. In fact, I suspect he is not aware of the problem he is creating.”
“Come come, Mr. Sandor. You’ll need to be less cryptic if we are going to continue this discussion.”
“All right. I know that you are Timur Vaknin and that you are involved in smuggling narcotics into this country.”
“Despite what your friend Detective Ferriello may have told you about me, if that were true he would have arrested me long ago.”
“No, he would have arrested you only if he had sufficient evidence. The fact that you have been too clever to be caught does not disprove the ultimate fact. And, as you would say, let’s not waste the opportunity we have to discuss this matter. I know that you are in the narcotics business and I also know that Sudakov is one of your principal sources for transporting the drugs.”
“If that were so, why would he do me harm?”
“Have you ever heard of Rafael Cabello? Also known as Adina?”
“The Venezuelan?”
“Yes.”
“A close associate of Chavez, I am told.”
“A ruthless terrorist.”
“One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
“I have never subscribed to the belief that murdering innocent people qualifies one as a freedom fighter.”
Vaknin leaned forward again. “Ah, this is becoming clear now. You are obviously not NYPD, because Ferriello would never have left you as he did. And you cannot be DEA, since you would never have approached me in such a reckless manner. You are here because of Adina, the drug trade emanating from Venezuela, and the rumors that the money is being used to fund anti-American terrorism. Are you from Homeland Security?”
“Who I am should not be important to you. What is important is how Adina has infiltrated your business for his own purposes.”
“And you’ve come here to save me? That really is amusing.” Vaknin enjoyed an asthmatic laugh that ended as a cough. “Damn cigarettes,” he said to himself, then returned his attention to Sandor. “Quite a story you’re peddling. What might be the nature of the threat posed by Señor Cabello?”
“You’re expecting a large shipment of cocaine that was processed in Venezuela and is being shipped to the States through Mexico with the help of Sudakov’s people. There’s no sense denying it. I’ve seen the shipment and I’ve met with Sudakov. What you don’t know is that the cargo contains anthrax.”
Vaknin was about to say something, then stopped.
“Whatever the DEA and the NYPD have been doing up to now to demolish your operation, not to mention to arrest you and your people, will seem like they’ve been chasing down a traffic ticket compared with the furies that’ll be unleashed if it’s suspected that you and your associates are engaged in terrorism. Now tell me, Mr. Vaknin, am I making myself clear?”
Vaknin rose slowly from his chair, then reached down and pressed a button on the underside of the desktop. Almost immediately, Sandor heard a door behind him open and then close.
“For the moment, Mr. Sandor, I am done answering questions,” Vaknin said. “But you have only begun.”
With that, Ivan came from behind Sandor’s chair and stood looking down on him, a mirthless grin crossing his lips.
“Come,” Vaknin said, “let’s take our guest to the basement. I need some answers and I want to be sure he is motivated to tell us the truth.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
BRIGHTON BEACH, BROOKLYN
VAKNIN SUMMONED TWO more men to his office and instructed them to tape Sandor’s mouth shut, lift him—still tied to his seat—and carry him downstairs.
The men did as they were told. They slapped some duct tape across Sandor’s lips, then hoisted him in the air and made their way out of Vaknin’s room and down a set of stairs in the back of the old building to a dank, poorly lit basement. They carried him through a doorway into a small room, where they dropped the chair to the ground, sending a hard jolt up Sandor’s spine. After Vaknin gave the nod, one of them ripped the tape from Sandor’s face.
If they expected him to cry out in pain, they were disappointed.
The two henchmen exited the way they had come, slamming the door shut behind them, leaving only Vaknin and Ivan to deal with their prisoner.
Vaknin grabbed a metal chair from the corner of the room and sat down. “Now we can talk.”
Sandor looked around. The room was a concrete bunker with no windows, the only light provided by an old fixture just above his head. There were a couple of other chairs and a table against the wall to his left. “Somehow I get the feeling you’ve entertained here before,” he said.
“Yes, it’s a convenient spot
for quiet conversations. Both intimate and soundproof.” Vaknin pulled a silver case from the breast pocket of his coat, took out a filterless cigarette, and fired it up with a gold lighter. He drew deeply and blew out an ugly cloud of smoke. “Now Mr. Sandor, or whatever your name may really be, I am going to ask you some questions and I expect you to respond truthfully. I am going to ask Ivan to encourage you to be, uh, candid with me.”
Sandor never saw the punch coming, but strapped in the chair there was not much he could have done even if he had. Ivan caught him in the side of the head with a right cross that rattled his teeth. Then, before Sandor could shake that off, the tall Russian moved in front of him and unleashed four quick jabs to the body. Bound as he was, Sandor could barely double over as the blows caught him squarely in the solar plexus.
When Ivan took a step back, Sandor did his best to prepare for another onslaught, tensing his stomach muscles and pressing his jaw against his shoulder to cushion the next shot. But Vaknin waved his man off to the side. “So, tell me who you are and why you are here.”
Sandor was still catching his breath as he said, “I’ve already explained that to you. I’m here to prevent a terrorist attack.”
“And you thought I would be likely to help you.”
“To help yourself.”
“So you said. And you are some sort of federal agent?”
“I am.”
“But you came here with a New York City policeman. Who you then sent away.”
“I asked him to bring me here to make this introduction.”
“You came without a warrant. Without backup.”
“I told you, I’m not DEA, and I’m not here to search your place. I’m here to talk with you.”
“To that end you gave yourself into my custody. With a full awareness of who we are and what we do.”
“That’s right.”
“You are a reckless man, Mr. Sandor.”
Sandor had managed to shake his head clear and was doing his best to sit upright. “It’s been said.”
“Others must obviously know you are here. Explain why you would have come alone.”
“If I brought a team of ten men with me, how likely is it that we’d be having this discussion?”
Vaknin nodded, then had another drag on his cigarette. “I see your point.”
“You would have demanded a warrant, as you’ve just mentioned. You would have lawyered up. We’d have spent days going back and forth and you wouldn’t have told me a damn thing.”
“Agreed. But now that you are here, what is it that you expect me to tell you?”
“I expect you to tell me when and where the shipment from Sudakov is arriving.”
Vaknin stared at him for a moment, then broke into his wheezy chortle. “Preposterous,” he said, just before the laughter again turned to coughing. He gestured to Ivan with a casual flick of his wrist and his enforcer quickly stepped forward. He smacked Sandor hard across the face, backhand and forehand, repeating it until Vaknin ordered him to stop and retreat again into the shadows.
Having caught his breath, Vaknin said, “You are either very stupid or very crazy, Mr. Sandor. Certainly you have a better plan than simply asking me to incriminate myself in a combination of narcotics smuggling and terrorism?”
Blood flowed from the corner of Sandor’s mouth as he turned to look for Ivan, who was standing somewhere behind him. “You and I are going to have another go at it sometime, pal. Sometime when I’m not all tied up.”
“I suggest you direct your attention to me,” Vaknin said, his tone having turned cold. “I warned you I am not a patient man and you are running out of time.”
“You’re a businessman, Vaknin. Assume for one second that I’m telling the truth. Assume we fail to intercept the shipment and it becomes part of an attack somewhere in the United States. You would have to agree that the consequences for you and your people would be catastrophic.”
“But what if your visit here is part of some clumsy ruse to seize this alleged shipment of narcotics?”
“There is no risk to you. All you have to do is contact someone who can inspect the cargo. If I’m wrong you’ve lost nothing. If I’m right you have numerous options.”
“Such as?”
“It depends on whether the toxins are mixed with the narcotics or separated from them in secure containers.”
“I see.” Vaknin puffed at his cigarette but said nothing more.
“You might also want to find out if someone in your organization is doing business with Adina.”
Vaknin thought it over. “If I were insane enough to be involved in a terrorist scheme, why wouldn’t I just kill you right now?”
“You would,” Sandor said. “I’m betting you’re a businessman and not a fool.”
Vaknin abruptly got to his feet and turned to Ivan. “Check that he’s good and tight.”
Ivan appeared from the darkness again, this time to ensure that the plastic strips around Sandor’s wrists and ankles were still firmly in place. “He’s not going anywhere,” the big man said. Then, for good measure, he lashed Sandor across the face with another backhanded shot.
“I’m telling you,” Sandor said as he licked at the blood on his lower lip, “you and I are going to have a rematch.”
“Brave words from a man in your position,” Vaknin said, then turned to Ivan. “Tape his mouth again and come with me.”
————
Left alone in the room, Sandor took a moment to assess Vaknin’s next move. The Russian’s first instinct would be to reach out to Sudakov, who was likely still somewhere on the other side of the world. If they spoke, there would be no reason for Sudakov to deny that the cargo in transit had been processed in Venezuela, but Sandor guessed he would not admit to any dealings with Adina. Sudakov would offer up a distorted version of the events in Sharm el-Sheikh. He would do his best to convince Vaknin that Sandor was nothing more than an agent working to dismantle their operation, someone they needed to eliminate.
If Sudakov was persuasive enough, Vaknin and his henchmen would return to this basement prison soon, and there would be very little in the way of further discussion. If Vaknin had any doubts, Sandor would have to work hard to enlist his help.
Or to force it.
Sandor knew that Vaknin was right, his story was indeed preposterous—a federal operative was asking a major drug dealer to compromise a large delivery of narcotics because it might be concealing biological weapons. And yet, why else would Sandor have come here alone and put himself at such risk? That was the riddle he hoped Vaknin could neither easily dismiss nor resolve based on Sudakov’s assurances.
Sandor wanted to stir enough concern for the man to investigate further. Given Sudakov’s reputation, Vaknin had every reason to determine if there was any chance Adina was somewhere in the mix. Whatever Vaknin learned and the action he took in response could be the source of Sandor’s next lead.
But it would be useless until Sandor got himself free.
Vaknin wanted him alive, at least for now, and Sandor had done his best to provoke Ivan so Vaknin would not trust him alone with his prisoner. It had cost Sandor several hard shots to the face and stomach, but the strategy worked. Now, with no one watching him, he had a chance to find a way out of his restraints.
The plastic ties that held him were too tight and strong to be stretched or loosened, and he could not get to the blade he had hidden in the lining of his sport coat lapel. His only option was to break apart the arms and legs of the chair, and he knew he hadn’t much time.
When Vaknin’s goons dropped him to the floor it was definitely painful but potentially helpful. Whatever they had done to weaken the joints of the heavy, wooden chair would prove useful. He began rocking, the motion allowing him to slide the chair backward, closer and closer to the wall. When he was near enough, he drove upward with his legs, slamming the wooden back against the concrete, once, twice, then a third time. But it was no good. This was a well-made piece of furniture and i
t was not giving way. Figuring the legs had taken the hardest shot when they dropped him, Sandor maneuvered himself sideways, barely able to bring the chair off the floor with his ankles in harness. He began driving the left front leg into the cement wall.
Good thing this room is soundproof, he told himself.
After repeated thumps he heard what he had been waiting for, a distinctive crack. The restraints were cutting through his skin now, blood running down his shins, but he increased the intensity of his effort until the wooden leg finally gave way at the joint just below the seat and he tumbled to the floor on his side. He managed to bend his knee high enough to bring the broken leg of the chair into his left hand, then slid the wood from between his ankle and the restraint and got his left leg free.
Able to stand on that one leg now, he could generate far more force as he drove the side of the chair into the wall, smashing it again and again until he broke off the left arm and freed his wrist. From there he was able to pull out the blade from his jacket and cut the remaining ties.
He raced to the door of the room, not surprised to find it locked. He jimmied the knob, but it was a solid mechanism. There was no way he was going to kick his way through a metal door secured with a dead bolt and the blade was too large to help him pick the lock.
He picked up the largest remnant of one of the legs of the now-shattered chair. Together with his knife these were the best weapons available at the moment. He then lifted the metal seat Vaknin had used and placed it beside the door. Sitting down, he took a moment to check out his ankles and wrists. The bleeding was not bad; he could deal with it later.
Then he stood and had another look around the room. It was bare.
He stared up at the single light fixture, which hung above the spot where he had been seated. He used the wooden stick to shatter the bulb, plunging the room into total darkness.
He made his way back to the door, found the metal chair and sat down, then did the only thing he could as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
He waited.
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