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"And I will continue to take care of you. We just need some answers."
"What we need is money," he said, trying to get Ivanov to see the fundamental problem. "Answers might lead us to the money, but we will not get those answers sitting here in Moscow."
"Stop speaking in riddles."
"Just let me go to Hamburg and see what I can find out. I will fly out tonight, and if all goes well, I'll be back on the first flight in the morning."
"And what am I going to do?"
Shvets's solution was suddenly very clear. "Go out and get drunk. Order up some women and go to Hotel Baltschug."
Ivanov frowned. He was in no mood to socialize.
"You must keep up appearances. You know how this town is. If rumors start that you are in trouble and no one sees you in public they will believe the rumors. If they see you out acting as if everything is normal they won't believe the rumors." Shvets was willing to say almost anything to convince him. Sitting here in this office was getting them nowhere. He'd seen his boss in these funks before. Usually only for a day or two. Always a pity party, but somehow the heaps of despair and recrimination eventually focused him, and he came out of it like a bear ready to charge. And when that happened, Shvets had better have a better understanding of what had happened, or he could end up being the casualty.
He suggested, "Bring Alexei and Ivan. They will make sure you are taken care of."
Yes, Ivanov thought. My two Luca Brasis. No one would dare challenge me with them as my companions. Ivanov felt better just thinking of his two loyal soldiers, and besides, some flesh might be the remedy for his dismal attitude. And he wanted a drink. "Fine," he relented, "but I want you to call me as soon as you hear something."
Shvets turned tentative. They'd done enough talking on the phones today, and in this new era of electronic surveillance, there was no telling who was listening. "I promise," he lied as he started for the door. "And remember ... act like nothing has changed tonight."
CHAPTER 39
ZURICH, SWITZERLAND
RAPP entered the study a few minutes before six and found Hurley alone, a phone in his left hand and a drink in his right, staring out the French doors at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Hurley glanced casually over his shoulder, the phone pressed against his left ear, to see who it was, and then went back to what he was doing. Rapp glided across the room, stepping from the hardwood floor onto a large Persian rug. The library was on two levels. The second floor consisted of a catwalk that accessed the stacks of books lining the four walls. There wasn't a dust jacket on a single book.
A large wood-paneled door to Rapp's left opened with a click. Herr Ohlmeyer appeared, a warm smile on his face. He held up one of his long fingers and silently motioned for Rapp to join him. Rapp glanced at Hurley to see if the man wanted to discuss anything, but he was still on the phone, so he followed Ohlmeyer into a much smaller windowless office.
Something about the room felt different. Off in some way. When Ohlmeyer closed the door, there was a click of finality and then near total silence. Only the faint hum of a CPU. Rapp became aware of his own breathing and then realized the room was soundproof. The floor was elevated a few inches, and the walls and ceiling were built-in and covered in fabric. Behind the desk with the triple screens was a bank of black-and-white security monitors three high and five across. In front of the desk was a small conference table maybe forty-eight inches across. It had four bland wood chairs. The room was such a stark contrast to the rest of the house that Rapp couldn't help but take notice.
Ohlmeyer could see the younger man's interest and said, "In my business one must take certain precautions." He pulled out one of the chairs, told Rapp to sit, and then grabbed a file from his desk. Placing it on the conference table, he said, "I admire what you are doing. This is not an easy life you have chosen."
Rapp nodded in a noncommittal way, but other than that did not respond.
"Do you have any regrets so far?"
Without hesitation, Rapp said, "No."
"No problems sleeping ... no second thoughts?"
"I'm not a big sleeper."
Ohlmeyer smiled and scratched the dimple on his chin. "Your type rarely is."
"My type?"
"Yes. The hunter. It is imprinted in your genetic code. Almost everyone has it, dormant for thousands of years. In many there isn't enough of it left to do them any good. They spend their days in sedentary jobs that challenge them neither physically or mentally. They do not have your abilities and your drive, of course."
Rapp supposed there was a good deal of truth in his words; he simply had not put a lot of time into thinking about it.
"I have some documents here," Ohlmeyer said as he tapped the file. "Stan knows about this, but he does not want to know the details."
"Details?" Rapp asked, wondering what Hurley was up to now.
"You are in a very dangerous line of work. You are but a small vessel in a harbor packed with giant supertankers. Those supertankers bump up against each other sometimes, causing little harm to themselves, but to you it is the end." He clapped his hands together, signifying the destruction of Rapp's boat. "In your work, you need a special kind of insurance, and do you know why?"
Rapp could hazard a guess but he got the idea Ohlmeyer would prefer to do the talking. "Not really."
