Jimmy stepped back, his hands up. “Hey, take it easy Miss Interpol. I play devil’s advocate, then salute smartly. We all drink beer when this is over.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I’ve got a lot to consider.”
“No problem,” Jimmy said. “We’ll take the high road. Literally. As planned.”
The two MI6 officers left her, but were replaced immediately by Toni Contardo and Colonel Reed.
“What can I do for you?” Anna asked.
“We’d like to change from entering on the road,” Toni said, to taking a boat.
Anna shook her head. “Why?”
“Looks like you could use some help there,” Toni said. “Hate to leave it only to the local cops.”
“I don’t know if we have an extra boat,” Anna said.
“We’ve got that covered.” Toni put her hand on the colonel’s shoulder.
“He shouldn’t even be here,” Anna said, her gaze harshly fixed on Colonel Reed. “We still don’t know for sure if he’s working for the Agency or Petrova.” Or perhaps himself, she thought.
“Colonel Reed has actually been to Petrova’s estate,” Toni reminded Anna. “And I assure you he is not working for that KGB dwarf.”
Anna looked at the colonel, who seemed contrite. “Fine. You better get down to the lake, then.”
Toni smiled and she and the colonel walked off to their car, Anna watching every sway of her hips. Kjersti was wrong. Toni still had it going on.
This was crazy, Anna thought. Why had they put her in charge? Toni had decades more experience than her. She knew the answer, though. If anything went wrong, the Americans, the Brits, and the Norwegians could blame everything on Interpol. Hang her out to dry. But at least she knew something they didn’t know — there was no virus. That was one comforting fact.
Kjersti climbed down from the chopper cockpit, throwing her headset onto the seat.
“What’s the matter?” Anna asked her.
“We’re grounded. Fog isn’t expected to lift until later this evening. It would be different if we were heading to Hamar. They’ve got three mile visibility there.”
“That’s all right,” Anna said. “We’ll go by car.” She was actually relieved, not trusting her stomach to another flight.
30
Victor Petrova had just finished a large meal of fish and potatoes and vegetables, topped off with a great apple strudel and ice cream.
Now, sitting in his communications room, he glanced at all of his monitors. But the fog was so thick he could only see a few feet out on the outdoors cameras. So he concentrated on the indoor cameras.
His cell phone rang and he picked up.
“Yes,” he said.
Listening carefully, he waited until the caller had finished. He had trained his contact well. A quick briefing. To the point. Just the facts.
Petrova grunted and then hung up. Then he yelled as loud as he could until one of his men came into the room. It was a little person like Petrova. A Ukrainian, though.
“Make sure we’re ready,” Petrova said. “Looks like we’ll have some company soon. Make sure the cars and the boat are ready.”
The Ukrainian nodded but waited for more.
“That’s all,” Petrova said.
The man started to leave.
“Wait. Where’s that big Swedish bastard?”
“I don’t know,” the Ukrainian said. “I’ll ask around.”
“He was checking on the dogs,” Petrova said. “Look there first.”
The Ukrainian hurried off, probably to avoid any more instructions.
Damn it. He should have had cameras installed in the garage. Maybe not to watch the damn dogs, but to at least keep an eye on his BMW and MG.
His cell phone rang again and Petrova reluctantly picked up.
“Yes?”
“Hello, my little friend.”
My God. What balls. “Jake Adams. Is that you?”
“Afraid so.”
“You’ve got something that’s mine,” Petrova said. “There’s a finder’s fee.”
“Where’d you get all the Alexandrite?” Jake asked him.
Sure. He should have expected Adams would open the damn box. He heard a familiar sound in the background. A dog whine. A smile crossed his face.
“What you do with the big Swede?” Petrova asked.
“He’s taking a nap.”
Petrova laughed. “I’ll bet. Why don’t you come into the house and we’ll talk.”
“Not until you tell all your little friends not to shoot,” Jake said. “One of them could actually hit me. Then you’ll never find your gems.”
“Done. Give me five minutes and you can come in through the front door. Nobody will stop you.”
The line went dead. Petrova hunched and then called all his men to tell them to let Jake Adams pass. That man had balls like pumpkins. He smiled with that thought.
Jake had thought about it and realized he could have shot it out with Petrova’s men, but that would not accomplish his goal. He would only be killing men he had nothing against — men who were loyal to Petrova, true, but who might not even know the true nature of the man’s deeds. Hired guns.
Instead, Jake needed to talk with the man. Maybe he knew this all along. He also knew that Victor Petrova couldn’t kill him outright without fear of losing his precious gems. That was his hold card. His queen waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting knight.
Before making the call, he had made a quick call to his own voice mail, leaving a coded message for himself. It was his only insurance policy. Just in case Petrova’s men didn’t like following orders.
He stuffed his backpack with his gear in a corner of the garage, his only weapon one 9mm handgun with an extra magazine, which hung below his left arm under his jacket. That done, Jake walked out of the garage, his hands out to his sides. Both of the little security guards that had roamed the grounds scurried toward him, their guns pointed in the air. Hopefully they had gotten word from Petrova to let him pass.
The little guards escorted Jake to the front door of the large estate. Before entering the house, they found Jake’s gun and extra magazine and took it from him.
Inside, Jake immediately noticed the place had been converted to all things Russian — right out of a St. Petersburg palace — with high ceilings, dark wood floors, and old paintings of Russian aristocracy encased in gilded frames.
When Jake hesitated for a view, one of the men jammed the barrel of his automatic weapon into Jake’s back. As they walked slowly through the mansion, more little people poked their heads out of doors and wandered about their business — whatever that was.
Finally, Jake entered a grand room, a library of sorts, with a panel of security screens breaking up the old dark wood style with high tech. Sitting in a leather chair, swiveling from side to side, was Victor Petrova.
He had changed quite a bit since the last time Jake had seen him. Older. A little more weight on his tiny frame.
“You look like shit,” Petrova said. “Probably need a drink.”
Jake ignored that comment and stretched his arms out, his palms up. “Let me guess. You represent the Lollipop Guild?”
“Ha, fucking ha. Still a comedian. But now a drunk comic. Not very original.”
“Can we get on with this,” Jake said. “I really need to take a piss.”
“Great. Right to the point.” Petrova shifted his eyes to his men and then back to Jake.
Jake knew that Petrova had probably calculated every more Jake would make, from Oslo to Svalbard and right to Lillehammer. But Jake still had a few things in his favor. He had the gems.
“I’ve got something you want,” Jake said, “and you need to keep me alive long enough to find out where I’ve hidden them. That about do it for you?”