“How much will that coverage cost?” Ariana wondered.
“Ten thousand.”
“Where is the meeting?”
‘Underneath the Moskvoretsky Bridge near the Kremlin. It’s pretty empty this time of day.”
“Let’s go.”
They pulled out of the alley and continued. The Kremlin appeared on the left as they drove down Alexandrovky Boulevard, then reached the Moscow River and followed the walls as they jagged left. Ariana could see the bridge ahead and the dark section of the road as it passed underneath the iron girders. A pair of headlights flashed out of that shadow.
The Mercedes stopped. Miles opened the plastic case and passed a sniper rifle to Getty. He then pulled out an MP-5 submachine gun, made sure a round was in the chamber, slid two extra magazines into his coat pockets, then looked back at Ariana. “Ready?”
“Do you have a weapon for me?”
The frown was back on his face.
“My being armed isn’t going to change anything except help our situation if we run into trouble,” Ariana pointed out.
Miles reached into the plastic case and retrieved a pistol. “Browning nine millimeter. Do you know how to work it?”
“Yes.” She pulled back slightly on the slide and noted there was already a round in the chamber. She stuck it in her belt, underneath her jacket. He handed her a couple of extra clips, which she stuck in her coat pocket.
“All right. Are you ready now?”
In reply, she opened her door and got out. She could see a car parked on the side of the road a hundred meters ahead. It was still early in the morning, and traffic above on the bridge was light, to judge by the sound. There was no one else on this road, and she wondered if that was because of the early hour or the Russian police or a combination.
Miles joined her, the submachine gun tucked under his coat, hanging from his shoulder on a sling. They began walking forward, and someone got out of the car they were headed toward. It was a BMW, also riding low on its tires, probably as well armored as their Mercedes. A tall man with a shaved head, wearing a long leather coat, walked around and put the car between them and him.
“Is that Roskov?” Ariana asked as they got closer.
“I have no idea,” Miles said. “I would assume so.”
Ariana halted ten feet from the car. “Are you Roskov?” she asked, not sure if he spoke English. Miles repeated the question in fluent Russian.
The man nodded and answered in English. “Yes.”
“Do you have the skull?” Ariana asked.
“Yes, I have it.”
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
Ariana was losing patience with people. “I’m not here to play games.”
“Why are the Omon surrounding this place?” Roskov asked.
“To make sure our meeting is uninterrupted,” Ariana said.
“If you have the money to pay off the Omon to guard this meeting,” Roskov said, “then my asking price is much too low.”
“We agreed on the price,” Miles said.
“That was then; this is now” Roskov smiled.
“How much?” Ariana asked.
“Half a million.”
Ariana knew they didn’t have time to get that much money. “I’ll double the agreed price. Two hundred thousand.”
“Half a million,” Roskov repeated.
She turned to Miles. “Kill him.”
It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Miles or Roskov.
Roskov held up his hands. “Let’s not be hasty.”
“I don’t have time to play games with you. Your asking price with the British Museum was fifty thousand. We doubled it, and I just doubled it again. Take it or die.”
“You are not a good negotiator,” Roskov said. “I did not come here alone.” He nodded his head up in the darkness of the girders.
Looking up, Ariana could make out a pair of men with rifles perched on a couple of girders, aiming down at her.
“You aren’t a good businessman,” Ariana said. “Two hundred thousand.”
Roskov smiled once more. “You may have the Omon, but I have the Mafia. They now surround your policemen and are better armed. I made some calls while I was waiting for you. You have Van Liten’s skulls and one from the American Museum of Natural History and the British. They must be very important. More than just a curiosity.”
Ariana looked at Miles. She realized they could stand here forever playing games. She didn’t have the money here that Roskov was asking for, and she knew that leaving, getting the money, and arranging another meeting would take too much time. She smiled at Miles and the frown was there, larger than before.
“All right,” Ariana said. She put the briefcase on the trunk of the car. “That’s your first hundred thousand. Is that enough for me to see the skull and make sure it’s what I want?”
Roskov’s shoulders went down slightly in relief. “Certainly.” He used a remote control to unlock the trunk. He picked up the suitcase and opened the lid. He placed the briefcase next to an item wrapped in a blanket inside a cardboard box. He opened the briefcase and checked the money, then nodded at the box.
Ariana reached in. The weight felt right as she lifted the object out. Carefully, she unwrapped it, knowing before she saw it, that it was a pure ancient from the aura. The skull glittered, even in the shadow of the bridge. She wrapped it back up and placed it back in the box.
“We have the rest of the money in our car,” Ariana said.
“There is another issue,” Roskov said.
“And that is?”
“You are the daughter of Paul Michelet. There are those who think that is worth much more than the skull. So I am to tell you the price is a half million for the skull and one hundred million for you. An insignificant sum for someone like your father.”
Ariana didn’t hesitate. She had her pistol out and shoved the muzzle into Roskov’s side. Miles whipped out the MP-5 and braced it on the top of the trunk, aiming up at the two snipers, the metal lid between the two groups.
“You have one hundred thousand,” Ariana said. “I meant what I said. Take it or you die now.”
“You’ll never get out of here alive,” Roskov hissed. “This is not my idea.” He nodded at the metal briefcase. “That is all I get. There is nothing more I can do. They do not care if you kill me.”
“Too bad for you,” Ariana said. “Where are the keys for the car?”
“In the ignition.”
A pair of cars came down the street from the right and stopped twenty meters away.
“They got through the Omon or gave them a bigger bribe,” Miles said, the submachine gun still steady on the top of the trunk aimed at the two snipers.
“My boss owns the city,” Roskov said. “There is no way you will get out of here.”
Looking the other way, Ariana could see that Getty was behind the door of the Mercedes, the sniper rifle resting on the top of the frame.
“There’s only one way out of here,” Ariana said.
“And that is?” Miles asked.
‘Through there,” Ariana pointed at the trunk.
“Go,” Miles said.
Ariana shoved Roskov out of the security of the heavy trunk lid and dove into the trunk, Miles right behind her. She heard shots fired, and as Miles pulled the lid down on top of them, saw Roskov staggering back as bullets slammed into his chest. Then they were in darkness as the trunk locked shut.
There was that thud of rounds hitting the metal all around, but nothing came through the armor. A thin beam of light punctured the darkness; Miles had a small flashlight clenched between his teeth.
“Excuse me,” he said, as he slithered on top of Ariana and pointed the muzzle of the sub at the seat back visible between the metal frame. He fired a quick burst, ripping through the material, then another and another and finally a fourth, stitching out a square pattern about two feet on each side. He pivoted, his hip digging into the small of Ariana’s back, and brought both feet to beat at the center of the square. He kicked with no result, then kicked again, and the leather and springs gave way and sunlight flooded the trunk through the small opening.