“That’s why I’m calling. Can you find out if any money arrived?”
“Sure. I set it up through a friend. He receives all of the wire transfer documentation by e-mail from the bank.”
“Call him on your cell.”
Gage heard Burch set down his home phone.
“Maurice, this is Jack Burch…Fine, getting along better every day…I’m calling to verify that KTMG received some funds…I think I’d rather stand by. The client is anxious about this.”
Gage heard Burch pick up the home phone again.
“He’s retrieving the e-mails…By the way, my firm called about a partners’ meeting next week. They’re pretty nervous. Franklin Braunegg’s class action suit is getting a lot of press coverage-hold on.”
Gage heard Burch speak into his other phone, then come back on the line.
“There were four incoming wire transfers,” he told Gage. “About fifteen million dollars altogether.”
Gage smiled to himself. “Perfect.”
“Ten from Guernsey,” Burch continued. “Five from the Cayman Islands.”
“The ten is probably stock profit and the five is Gravilov’s down payment.”
“And Matson has moved two hundred thousand in three transfers to Barclays in London.”
“Probably feathering his nest.”
“Will you have the rest of the money seized?”
“Not yet. I told him to move only a little at a time. At worst we’ll lose a few hundred thousand more, but we can track that later.”
Burch laughed. “Clients are always trying to trick me into laundering their money, now I seem to be doing it all on my own. If this ever gets into the papers-”
“That’s what you said when we were in Afghanistan. We got away with it and you got a nice little plaque. I saw them give it to you.”
“I don’t think I’ll get a plaque for this one.”
CHAPTER 70
A t 7:15 P. M. Gravilov’s car reappeared at the hotel. Gravilov, his driver, and Razor marched together toward the restaurant, like soldiers into battle.
Gage pointed at the monitor. “Looks like Gravilov has decided he’s done talking.”
“I don’t understand the delay,” Ninchenko said. “Why didn’t Matson just…what’s that word they use in your cowboy movies? Skeedle?”
“Skedaddle.”
“That’s it, skedaddle. Why didn’t he skedaddle?”
“One, he’s not sure he can get away. Two, it dawned on him too late that he’d have to settle for less than half of what he was expecting for the software. And three, he had a hard time accepting that he’d lose his investment in the plant.”
“And your idea of selling just the video amplifier software is his ticket out.”
“I hope that’s all it takes.”
Gage and Ninchenko watched the monitor for the next hour as a thick mist settled in, dampening the air and haloing the hotel lights.
There was no movement. They’d succumbed to surveillance daze, until startled by Gage’s ringing phone.
“They made a deal,” Alla said. “Five million more. Gravilov is supposed to transfer the money first thing tomorrow morning. Matson expects the bank will fax the confirmation to the hotel by 11 A. M.”
“Can you reconnect the computer?”
“I tried, but the line’s dead.”
“Where are they now?”
“They’re downstairs drinking like they’re best friends.”
“Maybe it’s just afterglow.”
“What’s afterglow?”
“You know, the birds and the bees.”
“Oh, I get it.” She laughed. “Except it’s Stuart that got buggered. He just doesn’t know it. And I haven’t figured out how Gravilov did it.”
“Does Gravilov know the video amplifier software is here?”
“Stuart told him his lawyer in London will e-mail it to him tomorrow after he gets the wire transfer confirmation. He claimed that the other software is in the States and only he has access.”
“Did Gravilov believe him?”
“I couldn’t tell. Right now all he cares about is getting what he needs for the missile firing on the Black Sea.”
“Then what?”
“Stuart wants to get out of Ukraine as fast as possible. I made reservations for us on a flight from here to London. At 3 P. M.-and Gravilov is okay with it. He promised Stuart that the flight would get off the ground.”
“Why’d Gravilov agree so easily?”
“I have no idea. Maybe he thinks the video software can be checked quickly enough. And get this, Gravilov has already turned the deal for the low-noise software to his advantage. He wants it delivered to Moscow behind Hadeon Alexandervich’s back, just in case the opposition wins-they’re coming back. I’ll call later.”
Gage watched Gravilov’s driver move the car from the parking area to a position in front of the hotel entrance. The driver got out, but left the motor running, the car backlit by the hotel entrance lights. He walked to the rear passenger door and stood by to open it. Steam rose from the tailpipe and swirled past him. Gravilov walked down the steps, opened the front passenger door, and got in.
“Why’s Gravilov getting into the front seat?” Gage asked, looking from the monitor to Ninchenko, who shrugged his shoulders. Gage looked back-and got his answer. A struggling Alla, gripped between Hammer and Razor, appeared at the entrance.
“Gravilov has taken her hostage,” Ninchenko said.
Gage watched as they half carried Alla down the stairs. From the jerky movement of her head Gage guessed she was searching the street for the protection he promised.
“Get your people over here,” Gage said, glancing at Ninchenko. “There’s no way we can follow them in this van without being spotted.”
Ninchenko yelled in Ukrainian into his cell phone.
Razor slid into the car first. Hammer pushed Alla inside and followed her in. The driver then sped off into the half-lit streets of Dnepropetrovsk.
“One car will be here in thirty seconds,” Ninchenko told Gage. “What do you want them to do?”
Gage let the pieces reorganize themselves in his mind. “Not start a war, not in Gravilov’s town. We’ll lose. Just stay with them.”
Ninchenko gave the order, then said, “Do you think she told them about us?”
“If she had,” Gage said, shaking his head, “they would’ve snuck out a back door.”
Ninchenko turned off the video camera.
Gage thought back on his conversation with Alla. Matson and Gravilov as drinking buddies. He looked back at Ninchenko.
“Gravilov didn’t take her hostage,” Gage said. “The little runt gave her to Gravilov as security for the low-noise software.”
“Will he deliver?”
“I’m sure he’s telling himself that he will, but I don’t know.”
Gage paused, trying to anticipate Matson’s next move, thinking that under this kind of pressure, Matson’s actions would depend more on character and instinct than tactical ability.
“He didn’t give a second thought to the people who got killed until his own life was in danger,” Gage said. “He’s the kind of guy with the rare capacity not to think.” He pointed at Ninchenko. “I want to hear from your people every time they make a turn until they arrive at their destination.”
Ninchenko issued the order, then hung up.
“What do you mean, the rare capacity not to think?”
“He’s not like a sociopath who enjoys hurting people or like a murderer gets off on reliving the crime. Matson’s a guy who just doesn’t think about what he’s really doing.”
Ninchenko’s phone rang, he listened for a moment, then reported to Gage. “They’re heading south, paralleling the river toward farm country. Gravilov has a dacha out there. Near Taromskoe.”
Gage handed Ninchenko a water bottle and opened one for himself.
“You think she’ll tell Gravilov who her father is?” Ninchenko asked.
“Only as a last resort. She knows that her father would turn the thing to his advantage, try to get a cut of the deal. He’s a respected guy. Nobody’ll take Gravilov’s side once they find out he took Petrov Tarasov’s daughter hostage, and Gravilov would have to make up for disrespecting him by giving him a piece.”