“My driver and my two sons. Pavel and Taras are here to drive the truck. They have no more business here. May they leave?”
The request didn’t surprise me. I told him they were free to go—slowly, so I could watch them. After a few words from Egorov in Russian, out popped the two sons from the back of the car. I was sorry that I wouldn’t get a chance to hurt the accomplices to Meg’s kidnapping personally, but a deal was a deal.
Avoiding eye contact, the pair followed my instructions and climbed into the moving truck. Five seconds later, the truck started to roll forward on its way toward the unlocked gate.
“So why me, Egorov? What do you want?”
He glanced at my right hand ready for action, then slowly raised his hands to his waist as if asking for quiet before he spoke.
“Hear me out, please. I have a favor to ask, and I believe that you are the only one who can help me.” The deliberate pattern of his speech indicated his sincerity.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Listen to him, Nat.” Meg whispered from behind my right shoulder.
Okay—I’ll listen to the bastard.
“What could I possibly do for you that you can’t do yourself?” I asked Egorov.
“Protect my niece.”
His what? Who?
“You’re a fucking billionaire arms dealer. You deal with armies and revolutionaries, and—oh yeah—terrorist tough guys every single fucking day of your shady life. Get one of them to do it. Come on, man—this is bullshit.”
I was aggravated, but I couldn’t deny the guy was emitting an earnest vibe.
“I am dying, Mr. Phillips. There is no one I can trust.”
Now he was royally pissing me off.
“He’s telling the truth, Nat,” Meg said quietly from behind me. “I’ll fill you in when we get out of here. This is a big one, Natty.”
Egorov was watching me closely.
“I see you understand the value of a brilliant woman. I feel the same way about my niece. Having her by my side all these years has brought me much success. She has a genius intellect, second to none, and she figured out something that she shouldn’t have. Now she is in danger. That is it. I am asking that you listen to her. She helps you, and you help her stay safe.”
“But why me?” I asked again, trying to buy time to process the absurdity of this entire fucking conversation. “You must have contacts we can’t even dream of tapping into. What about your boy Joseph, your security chief?”
“Because you have an interest in this, Mr. Phillips. Believe me—you do.”
Without taking his eyes off me, Egorov reached slowly inside his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“Here is all the information I have about the man who orchestrated and controlled the events in your Nantucket. He is an Algerian named Haracat al Marrak. He is in Paris.”
“What’s that got to do with your niece?”
“Because while al Marrak believably plays an Arab terrorist, he is not one—he is an idiot. Buta useful idiot,as I believe you Americans say. He is run by the Chinese, a fact that my niece figured out. They have people everywhere. That is all I know. The rest you will have to hear directly from her.”
What the fuck?
“You don’t trust me, and you probably want to kill me. This I understand and respect. But what I have told you is true. I will be dead within weeks—maybe a few months, if I am not killed first. That is why I need someone outside the apparatus, if you will, to protect my niece. I have accounts all over the world. If you help my niece, Joseph has been authorized to grant you access to a sizable amount for your troubles. I am as protective of my family as you clearly are of yours.” He glanced at Meg, then back at me.
The bastard was right about that.
The sound of the gunshot was deafening. I recognized the flash at twelve o’clock, five meters, the thunderous sound of instant death. The blast came from Alexander Egorov’s driver. Must have been at least a .45. A chunk of Egorov’s neck and a piece of his jaw flew before my eyes as I watched his body collapse in a heap.
My Sig was out and squeezing rounds at the driver’s window as the car—fucking bulletproof—lurched forward, fishtailing as it gained speed. I changed magazines.
