The cab driver’s eyes widened. “You look too young to be a spy.” He paused as though gathering courage. “Are you a spy?”
“Sure. Aren’t you?”
The roll of money exerted its gravitational pull. The driver’s eyes yielded to it, and then whipped around toward the windshield.
“Your wish is my command,” he said. “Should we hang back and avoid being seen?”
It was not the first time a cab driver in Vladivostok, home of the Russian Navy, had been told to follow someone.
“Yeah. That would be best.”
They drove for an hour and seven minutes. The Mercedes’ destination became apparent ten minutes before its arrival. A small passenger plane made its descent through the clouds on the horizon. A bulky cargo plane climbed toward the same clouds five minutes later.
They were headed toward the airport.
Bobby suppressed a sense of hopelessness and reminded himself of what his father had taught him. It was a mantra among the vor v zakony, the secret organization of professional criminals in the countries of the former Soviet Union that dated back to Stalin’s days. The greatest opportunities presented themselves when all hope was gone.
The Mercedes drove to a special terminal for private planes. A guard opened an electronic fence. The SUV drove past it and the guard closed the gate behind it. Bobby paid the driver 1,500 rubles, the equivalent of fifty dollars. It was probably a rip-off, but there was no time to haggle. He walked inside the terminal like he owned the place with no plan in mind.
There was a small waiting area. A floor — to-ceiling window offered a view of the terminal and its runway. Bobby watched the men and the girl he thought was Eva board a sleek private jet.
Thirty seconds later they took off for a destination unknown.
Bobby watched the ground controller through the window. As he returned to the terminal, Bobby pulled the duffel bag from around his shoulder. He gripped it with both hands and waited for the ground controller to arrive at the door.
Bobby rushed toward the door. He took deep breaths to make himself appear to have been running.
The ground controller stepped inside the terminal to find Bobby sucking wind and looking frantic. The ground controller appeared startled. He looked at Bobby uncertainly.
“I’m looking for a private plane with three men and a young woman,” Bobby said. “It’s supposed to leave here any minute.”
“It just left,” the ground controller said.
“Oh, no,” Bobby said, closing his eyes as though disaster had struck. “My boss was on that plane.” Bobby raised the duffel bag. The ground controller looked at it. “I was supposed to give this to him.” Bobby shook his head. “I’m a dead man.”
The ground controller shook his head. He appeared sympathetic. He understood there was a 50 percent chance Bobby was being serious. In these parts, if a man said he was dead because he didn’t deliver a package to some people who owned a private jet, he might not be kidding. The ground controller wanted to help him, Bobby could sense it.
Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Maybe if I get it to him today I’ll still be okay. Maybe he’ll understand I got stuck in traffic. If I’m only a few hours late. Where is the plane going?”
“Irkutsk.”
Irkutsk was also one of the largest cities in Siberia. About half a million people lived there, similar to the population of Vladivostok. It sat below the Angara River, forty-five miles below Lake Baikal, the deepest, largest, and oldest body of freshwater in the world. Bobby’s father’s Siberian friends had told him about Lake Baikal. The part of the lake known as the Baikal Riviera contained sprawling mansions popular with government officials, wealthy oligarchs, and organized crime leaders, not that those three categories were mutually exclusive. Lake Baikal was also four hundred miles long and forty miles wide. It would not take long for a party of four to disappear without a trace. Bobby needed to get to Irkutsk quickly, while there was still some trail left to follow.
“When is the next flight to Irkutsk?” Bobby said.
“Ten thirty tonight.”
“That late? Nothing earlier?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”
“Any private planes leaving earlier? Maybe a cargo plane, for instance?”
The ground controller started to shake his head and stopped. He studied Bobby the way a man did when he was trying to decide if he could trust another.
“It’s my life,” Bobby said. “And I can pay.”
The ground controller studied him some more. “I may know a man who’s delivering a load to Irkutsk today. He has a good heart. He’s the kind of man who might want to help a youngster out of an unpleasant jam.” He cleared his throat. “You have money, you say?”
Bobby paid the ground controller the equivalent of fifty dollars. He paid a pilot another one hundred dollars for a ride in his plane to Irkutsk. The plane was filled with crates of consumer goods imported from China, Korea, and Japan. Bobby sat in the far back in a jump seat. Across from him was another such seat.
The plane left the airport at 12:30, an hour after the private plane had departed with Eva. A few minutes before departure, the pilot came in the back to make sure Bobby was secure in his seat. He also brought another passenger with him, a scruffy looking man with Siberian features. Bobby kept his disappointment to himself. He’d been looking forward to some solitude, and maybe a few hours of sleep. Once he landed, he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to get some rest again.
But the man strapped himself into the jump seat opposite Bobby and put him at ease. It was quite remarkable, Bobby thought. The guy seemed to be able to read Bobby’s mind.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” the Siberian said. “I won’t bother you during the trip. I need some sleep myself. I have some good buckwheat bread here. And a few bottles of lemonade. Have some with me? The grains will relax your mind. Help you sleep.”
Normally Bobby would have said no immediately. In fact, he would have been wary of the stranger. But there was nothing threatening about him, and Bobby couldn’t escape him for the next four hours if he tried. He might as well make the best of it, and not antagonize someone who could potentially help him once they landed. Besides, he was hungry. And the previous talk of lemonade had left him with a taste for it.
“Do you live in Irkutsk?” Bobby said.
The Siberian smiled. “I do.” He pulled some bread and two bottles of lemonade from his own duffel bag. “My name is Luo. What’s yours?”
CHAPTER 37
By mid-afternoon, Johnny regretted having gone straight to work from the airport.
He’d left Japan on Friday morning. The flight took less than thirteen hours, which happened to be the time difference between Tokyo and New York. He arrived in Newark at about the same time he’d left Tokyo, 7:00 a.m. A blue sky, the sound of the English language, and the absence of boomerangs flying through the air boosted his spirits. He was still alive, he had his career, and his girl was in good hands, or at least super-wealthy hands. On top of that, the sun was peeking through a puff of cloud when he got in line for a taxi. What the heck did he have to be depressed about?
Johnny went directly to the office and resumed working on an immigration case. After lunch he went to Superior Court to meet a new client. He needed two cups of coffee with shots of espresso mixed in to keep his eyes open the rest of the afternoon.
Shortly after 4:00 p.m., he walked to the parking garage near the courtroom and climbed into his car. His phone rang. He held his breath as the number of the party calling him appeared on the screen, hoping it belonged to Nadia. It didn’t. It belonged to his boss.