“If you step past the middle of the carpet, my friend at the door will shoot you,” Artiom went on after another sip.
Alexei looked across the large living room. On a chair at the door a thin man in black sat with a handgun in his lap, a very large handgun. The man in the chair wore a black ski mask, which struck Alexei as pointless and probably uncomfortable. Alexei’s eyes scanned the rest of the room. His area of the rug included a pair of chairs, the badly worn sofa on which he now lay, a pair of closed windows, and a small table, on which was a pile of what looked like old magazines.
“My friend will watch you for a certain period and will be relieved. A series of friends will watch you until our business is done. Do not talk to my friends. Do not make them shoot you. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes,” said Alexei, who was now sitting up and was making an effort to stop the room from vibrating.
Artiom shook his large head as if to indicate that it was a reasonable request. He moved across the room to a table in the corner where a bright green plug-in water heater bubbled away. The table was definitely not on Alexei’s side of the room.
“Sugar?” Artiom asked.
Alexei was looking at the armed man at the door.
“What? Sugar? Yes.”
“Lumps,” said Artiom. “I have regular English lumps. How many?”
“Two,” said Alexei.
“Two,” Artiom repeated, dropping in the two lumps and stirring with a spoon, which he placed back on a white napkin on the table.
“Thank you,” said Alexei as he took the hot cup. It felt good. It felt more than good, and it tasted strong and sweet, though it hurt to open his mouth.
Artiom sat across from him and watched him drink.
“You have a question you don’t want to ask?” Artiom said.
“Why don’t you keep me tied to a chair or-”
“We want you to be reasonably comfortable. We are not going to torture you. We are not political terrorists. But that was not the question you were thinking of.”
Alexei shrugged and drank.
“You were thinking,” Artiom asked, “‘Why don’t they kill me?’ Am I not right?”
Alexei shrugged again.
“You know who I am. You can identify me. I can shoot you and still ask for the ransom, but you know and I know that your wife is too smart to take my word that you are alive. You will talk to her on the phone. You will tell her or your brother that you are well and unharmed.”
“And when you get your money, if you get it?” Alexei asked, drinking more tea.
It was Artiom’s turn to shrug.
“We will see,” he said with a smile. “Are you almost awake now? You have your senses?”
“Almost,” said Alexei.
“Good,” said Artiom with a smile. “Then make your offer. Not the details. I’m sure you haven’t worked them out yet, but the general offer.”
“What do you plan to ask for? How much?” asked Alexei.
“Three million American. Nice round number,” said Artiom. He had finished his tea and now crossed the room for a refill.
“I’ll give you two million and a promise that the police will not look for you,” said Alexei. “Providing we can work out a way for me to be sure I will be set free alive.”
Artiom had crossed the room again to Alexei’s side. He looked at the man seated at the door. The seated man’s eyes rolled to Artiom, but revealed nothing behind his mask. Artiom settled into the same chair he had left, thought for an instant, and said, “You know who I am. You will tell the police.”
“No,” said Alexei.
“Why not?” asked Artiom.
“Because the two million will be to perform a job, a quite illegal job, and I will put it in writing that I am paying you for that job. You will hold the document for protection.”
“You are thinking quickly, Alexei Porvinovich,” said Artiom. “I can’t think this quickly.”
“It is how I have stayed alive and gotten wealthy,” said Alexei.
“The document, the job …?”
“I will hire you to murder my wife and brother,” Alexei said. “If I try to betray you, you can go to the authorities yourself. You kill them and I write the document.”
“Why do you want to …?”
“Because my wife and brother planned this,” Alexei said, the pain surging sharply. “Didn’t they?”
Artiom was reasonably clever but had lived by his rugged looks and his strong body. Alexei was already far ahead of him.
“I’ll think about it,” said Artiom, getting up. “You hungry?”
“No,” said Alexei as he examined the leaves at the bottom of his cup. “Of course the plan needs refining-many details need to be worked out.”
Artiom said nothing.
The plan had been to demand the ransom. Alexei’s wife and brother would gather it and get it to Artiom. The police would know all about it. Alexei Porvinovich would be found dead on the street.
For this Artiom would keep the money and continue his affair with Alexei’s wife. But the plan had troubled him from the first. Anna’s interest in him was waning. Artiom knew this, knew that he was just a novelty for her, knew that another novelty would appear. He wasn’t even certain that she would let him survive to be a possible witness against her.
But then again, Alexei Porvinovich, who sat before him clutching a tea mug, was certainly not to be trusted either.
This had all been a mistake. Anna had insisted that it had to be done quickly. She had given him a genuine Rolex and an hour of passion in his bedroom.
Artiom was not smart, but he was not a fool. When he worked honestly, he repaired automobiles. The man at the door was a half-wit named Boris who worked with him on cars. Boris was a genius with cars. Boris would also do whatever Artiom told him, including murder. Artiom had met Anna and Alexei when they brought in their Buick to be repaired. The next day Anna had come alone to pick up the car and Artiom.
Artiom’s wife had left him almost a year ago and taken their son, Kolya, with her. She had had enough of his women, his gambling, his indifference, and his outbursts of rage and brutality. She lived now with another man whom she said was her cousin from Sverdlovsk. She called Artiom often, demanding money. He would send what he could when he could.
Artiom had never before committed a major crime. He had been in jail for two weeks for hitting a policeman when he was drunk, and he had been questioned about a stolen car on which he had worked, but they had let him off on that one.
And now he was a kidnapper, and people were offering him millions to murder each other, people he did not trust.
“Work on your plan, Porvinovich,” Artiom said. “When I come back, we will make a call to your family. You will cooperate and you will tell me more about your plan.”
Alexei Porvinovich nodded. His legs were weak. His stomach was still upset, but he had something to scheme about now and he was a champion schemer. If he played it carefully, there was just a chance that he could survive.
Artiom moved to the man at the door, who slid over to let him pass.
“I am in pain,” Alexei said.
“Toilet is through that door on your side of the rug,” Artiom said. “Tell my man you have to use it and go in. There are no windows. There may be something you can use in the cabinet. You will have two minutes each time you use the toilet. You will be allowed three visits to the washroom each day. I’ve brought you newspapers and magazines.”
“I’ll need paper and a pen to write drafts of our agreement.”
“I’ll bring them,” Artiom said, thinking that it would not hurt to keep his captive hopeful.
When Artiom left, Alexei looked at the seated man in the ski mask. “Boris, I wish to go to the washroom.”
Alexei was sure that the seated man was Artiom’s assistant, a creature even more slow-witted than his boss.
The man did not answer. Alexei knew that Artiom was his wife’s lover. He knew that his brother Yevgeniy, though barely capable of an erection, had also been lured into Anna’s bed. There was hardly a man of their acquaintance whom Anna had not seduced or tried to seduce, particularly the odd or different man-the mechanic, the apparently sexless Moscow University history professor they had met at a party. Anna knew her husband was aware of most of the names on her long list, but the names were not important to Alexei. Neither, he was beginning to think, was Anna.