“Maybe you should be talking to Bear for not being able to hold his own,” Tyson said.
Moments later, Bear shuffled through the door, his face already starting to swell from the beating he’d taken. If he was upset about the way the fight had gone, he didn’t show it, instead taking a seat near his locker and changing in silence.
Peter put his hands on his hips and paced, muttering to himself. Tyson ignored the man and started changing. After Tyson finished putting on a fresh pair of sweatpants, he heard the door whine as three familiar men entered the room. One of the men looked at Bear and Peter, who both understood that they needed to leave.
“So,” Tyson said, “you came back for another show. And it hasn’t even been a week.”
“It’s been five days, but this is no laughing matter,” the mustached man said. “Were you aware that there were generals here to witness your fight tonight?”
Tyson nodded and refused to suppress a smile any longer. “They got one helluva show, didn’t they?”
The bald man settled onto a bench across the room. “One of the generals wanted to put you in the Yakutsk Prison immediately.”
“And who could blame him?” the bespectacled man chimed in. “He lost five thousand dollars on that fight.”
“That explains why Peter wasn’t as mad as I thought he was,” Tyson said.
“Peter will be dealt with in due time, but you are the person who ruined the visiting generals’ evening,” mustache said. “And that doesn’t reflect well on any of us.”
“So, what are we gonna do about this, gentlemen?” Tyson asked. “Are you just going to keep threatening me?”
Mustache shook his head. “No more threats. Just promises. And there’s only one way out of this for you.”
“Sorry, but I don’t have any more information for you,” Tyson said.
“We already know,” baldie said. “Instead, you’ll be delivering a package for us.”
Tyson smirked. “A package? Has Russia run out of couriers?”
Mustache shook his head. “We need you to make a special delivery to North Korea.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Tyson said. “That’s not happening in a million years. You might as well put a bullet in my head right now because I won’t set foot in that country. They’ll tear me from limb to limb if they catch me.”
“We’re aware of what you did there,” mustache said. “But there are consequences for your actions, including your reckless ones tonight. You will atone for what you did.”
“Like hell I will if it means going into that cesspool of a country,” Tyson said, shaking his head. “Like I said, shoot me now or take me to the prison because those people are sick, and I have no doubt that you’ll just be using me and then handing me over to them.”
“You will do what we ask,” baldie said.
Tyson sneered in disgust. “Unless you plan on physically forcing me to drive there, dream on, Comrade.”
“When we come, you better be ready,” mustache said. “There will be no grace extended to you again.”
Tyson glared at the men as they filed out of the room. He finished gathering his things and stood to leave.
Peter returned and looked at Tyson. “You should’ve taken the dive in the fourth.”
Tyson mouthed a few choice insults at Peter before exiting the locker room.
IVAN VOLKOV ignited a cigarette and took a long drag before releasing a lungful of smoke skyward. He smoothed his mustache and looked at General Nikolai Orlov. The other two FSB agents accompanying Volkov flanked him, their hands dug deep into their pockets.
“What did the American bastard say?” General Orlov asked.
“He said he would refuse,” Volkov said.
“Who does he think he is?” Orlov asked, the veins in his neck protruding. “We have given him a sanctuary here from his own government, and this is the thanks we get? I should march in there and put a bullet in his head right now. It’s what he deserves.”
“But we need him,” Volkov said. “There’s unsavory business that would be far more beneficial to attach to an American traitor than to anyone in the Russian intelligence community or the military, for that matter. Why sacrifice one of our own when we don’t have to?”
Orlov squinted as he stared off in the distance for a moment. “There are other ways we can coerce him, aren’t there?”
Volkov nodded. “It’s always about finding the right pressure points.”
“I read his file,” Orlov said.
“And?”
“He has children back home, does he not?”
“Three, to be precise,” Volkov said.
“The youngest is a little boy,” Orlov said. “We know where they live, and even if we threaten Tyson, he won’t make any attempt to warn his family for fear that he will expose them all.”
“Make the delivery or we kill his son?” Volkov asked. “Is that the right pressure to apply?”
“Maybe not kill. We don’t want to turn him into a man with nothing to lose. Perhaps a kidnapping will suffice.”
“I’ll deliver the message,” Volkov said. “I’m sure it will soften his stance on not going.”
“It better,” Orlov said. “He owes me five thousand U.S. dollars. Tell him it’s nothing compared to what I normally do to people who steal my money.”
Volkov shook Orlov’s hand. “Consider it done, Comrade.”
Volkov and the other two agents saluted Orlov before he spun on his heels and disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTER 6
Los Angeles, California
HAWK AND ALEX PILED into the SUV parked alongside the curb at Los Angeles International Airport. Hawk hated flying into LAX for the simple fact that it required venturing out into the city’s gridlocked traffic. And that was saying something after living in the nation’s capital.
Morgan May adjusted the rearview mirror and offered a polite smile. “How was your flight?”
“Not as comfortable as your uncle’s jet,” Hawk said. “But flying first class into LAX does have its privileges.”
“Did you meet someone famous?” Morgan asked.
Alex smiled. “Jennifer Garner. If there’s a better person in Hollywood, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Did you give her your professional assessment of her portrayal of a spy?” Morgan asked with a wink.
“I doubt she’d believe me even if I told her,” Alex said.
“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the Magnum headquarters,” Hawk said, redirecting the conversation back toward the business at hand. “I’m especially interested how you can hide such a facility in plain sight in this city.”
“Sticking with our Hollywood theme so far today,” Morgan began, “it’s not exactly in plain sight.”
Alex leaned forward in her seat. “Then where is it?”
“I guess you could say it’s a little movie magic.”
The short fourteen-mile journey from the airport to the gates of Paramount Studios took just over a half-hour, which was nearly a record time, Morgan noted aloud.
“What are we doing here?” Hawk asked. “We don’t need to be entertained.”
“We’re at the Magnum headquarters,” Morgan said.
She wheeled the SUV around a corner and down into an underground parking lot. After securing her vehicle, she led Hawk and Alex to a stairwell. They descended two flights of stairs before Morgan waved an access card in front of a black panel next to a door. A click released the lock and Morgan tugged on the handle. She gestured for Hawk and Alex to proceed.
They strode down a dim corridor that twisted left and then right and then left again before reaching a more well-lit section of the structure. Morgan approached a door and placed her face in front of a screen. A quick retinal scan granted them access.