area, and finally the "realm of exotic effects" (the term used to describe bullet drift and the slight pull of the earth's rotation, known as the Coriolis Effect). When added together, Elman had calculated he was going to have take his best guess and then rely on lady luck to assist him in hitting the target and not one of the target's bodyguards.
Hearing the buzz in his ear telling him that the target was just 5.7 seconds away from reaching his release point, Elman fired his weapon three times in quick succession at the kill zone.
The first bullet hit Benny Zaguri in the side of his neck as he walked they walked into the hotel. A split-second after that a second bullet hit Barak in the side of his body, instantly knocking him into Thomas, and then both of them off their feet the last bullet hit the glass door of the side entrance shattering it into a thousand pieces on impact.
The blood splatter from Benny and the lack of sound instantly told Mikhail they were under attack by a sniper. His counter-sniper training kicked in.
"Zig Zag," he ordered the team telling them to move erratically at angles in an attempt to make it more difficult for the sniper to kill Thomas. Simultaneously, ignoring his downed colleagues, Mikhail grabbed Thomas roughly by the arm, but not before making sure he had positioned his body in front of him, pulled him to his feet then pushed Thomas with all his force through the shattered glass door entrance in an effort to get him out of the kill zone as quickly as possible. Yossi's, at the rear of them, training had also kicked in. Without being told he had released a smoke haze grenade to obscure the sniper's field of view and effectiveness.
That was the cue for the screaming to start around them.
"Baji? sike?in," meaning 'fuck your sister' in Turkmen, Elman cursed as smoke engulfed the kill zone ruining his chance of any further attempts to kill his target. Knowing he had less than fifteen minutes before the FSB started to shut down the area, he quickly put on his gloves, picked up the bleach soaked cloth at his side and wiped the rifle down, followed by the tripod sight so to remove his finger prints.
Satisfied with the cleaning job and having retrieved the empty shells, he calmly stood up so he could leave the rooftop in order to make his escape. He never heard the bullet from behind him hit his skull. The last thing his eyes saw on this earth was a brightness followed by darkness as his brain shut down.
The attack was over in seconds yet it took twenty-five minutes for the first responders to arrive on the scene due to Moscow's traffic.
During that time, having secured Thomas in the panic room designed for VIP guests of the hotel, Mikhail had sent out the panic signal out to Victoria's protection team to move her to safety while Yossi had made sure first aid was administered to Benny and Barak until the emergency medical team arrived to get them to hospital.
Only when the Police and the FSB had confirmed the area was secure was Thomas allowed to leave the hotel's panic room. Wanting to go to hospital to be with his men, Thomas attempted to leave the hotel, but before he could do so an FSB officer stopped him and informed him he had to wait until his superiors arrived. Although frustrated, with little option but to obey the officer, Thomas reluctantly acquiesced and went to the General Manager's office.
The news of the assassination attempt was fast spreading across the world, assisted by the fact that the hotel had show business reporters staying in it, covering the film festival. Thomas ignored most of the calls except those of Saul, Victoria and Tania, Zhang, and finally his father. Having put them all at ease he was now waiting for Mikhail to get off the phone with an update.
"How are Benny and Barak?" Thomas asked Mikhail with a withdrawn look in his eyes from fearing the worst.
"You're not going to believe this," replied Mikhail with a smile. "The doctors say that the bullet missed Benny's spine by just three millimeters! It struck him below the ear before passing seven inches diagonally through his neck and out the other side," Mikhail continued, not quite believing Benny's good fortune and with relief in his eyes. "Amazingly, it appears that all his major blood vessels are unharmed! As for Barak, he has a big blue bruise," Mikhail said dismissively. "The Kevlar vest he was wearing saved him. I will call Esther and Kelia and let them know," he said referring to both Benny's and Barak's wives. "They will want to see them."
A relieved looking Thomas nodded. For the past thirty minutes his mind had been a flurry of emotions. He hated feeling powerless at the best of times. The news that Mikhail had just given him was just the tonic he needed.
The entrance into the office of by a Georgian with a fearsome reputation quickly changed that mood within seconds. Though he looked more like an investment banker dressed in an expensive-looking dark blue suit, sky blue shirt, and dark brown silk tie under his Burberry tan trench coat rather than a member of one Russia's Special Services agencies, Dmitri Arkady Pavlov was one of the most feared men in Russia. It was a reputation the sixty-year-old had earned courtesy of his position as the Director of the FSB, the domestic spy agency formed out of the ashes of the KGB's failed coup attempt of 1991. Pavlov was broad shouldered and well-built, the salt and pepper head of hair, tanned face that gave him the appearance of looking younger , but it was the deeply etched lines around his eyes from years of stress that gave away how old he actually was.
Stubbing out the cigarette in his hand, Pavlov didn't bother to shake either Thomas's or Mikhail's hand before he spoke.
"Fama," he said using the informal Russian version of Thomas's name. "The President has made me personally responsible for your security," he stated in Russian with a look of disgust in his eyes.
Thomas ignored the lack of manners. Rudeness, with the odd exception, from members of Russia's Special Services whenever they had meetings with him were a common occurrence in his dealings with them because they didn't see him as Russian despite his passport and service.
"I can imagine how you feel about that, Director," Thomas answered sarcastically.
The Georgian didn't respond to his comment. Instead he just grunted.
"We found a sniper with a bullet in his head half a mile from here," Pavlov continued. "Any ideas on why somebody would want you dead?" he asked with a smirk as a repost to Thomas's comment of a moment ago.
It was Thomas's turn to play dumb. He stayed silent.
"What about you, Pschenicnikov?" he asked Mikhail after giving up waiting for Thomas to answer him. Again silence.
"Luckily for you both," continued Pavlov, "the FSB does."
"I don't suppose you will be enlightening us?" asked Thomas.
"No," replied the Director.
Thomas shook his head at the man's response. Cooperation went both ways. Not that he needed the director to tell him who had made the attempt. He had already guessed that it was somebody that was backed by the Turkmenistan Government by the fact that the Ambassador hadn't been at the hotel for Thomas and his meeting. That only confirmed their guilt as far as he was concerned.
"In that case, Director, I would like to visit my men," Thomas replied.
25
Austin / Ashgabat / Mexico City/ Tokyo
The news of the attempt on Thomas's life brought different responses across the world.
In Austin, the first words out of Hank Dowling's mouth were that of a curse Followed by "As welcome as a tornado on a trail drive!" Hank reflected with displeasure as he picked up the telephone to call Navjot so he could pass on his feelings to his partner in Mexico City.
In Ashgabat, having just got off the phone his call from the Prime Minister of Russia the face of Balysh told his wife everything.
"Jennet," Balysh said shaking his head. "You must back down, my love."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I have just been reminded by that fuck, that all former Soviet countries have artificial borders!" he said with anger in his eyes and his patience wearing thin. "And a precedent for redrawing borders has already been fucking created! Baji? sike?in," he cursed.
He looked at Jennet, still seething over the fact that h
e had taken a lecture from a man who held a lower rank of office than him and having given a reassurance to the President of Russia just the day before that his country would engage in a dialogue with Litchfield; his wife had promptly made him look a fool by ordering an assassination attempt on the Englishman without his authority.
Deemed unworthy of a personal call from Putin, he gave his wife a look that could kill.
Jennet looked on dumbstruck.
"He threatened that!" she exclaimed, not quite believing that the Englishman had the full force of Russia's might behind him.
The Turkmen nodded. He just managed to keep his anger in check. Although he owed his wife a great debt that did not give her the right to use his country's security service for her own personal vendetta.
"Because we tried to defend our honor!" she angrily exclaimed.
"Enough!" Balysh ordered loudly and angrily. "There will be a next time but for the moment you must wait, my love." He lowered his voice to his shocked wife as he grabbed her arms both sides of her waist and continued. "The Englishman has powerful allies! That means killing him on Russian soil isn't going to be an option."
"But-," replied Jennet.
"No buts!" replied Balysh signaling the discussion was now closed.
In Mexico City later that day Navjot and Shota's conversation over a coffee in his villa was to the point.
"I promise you we did not order the attempt," Shota
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