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Another shrug.
"You know he's in trouble, yes?"
This time big Alexei nodded.
"He's in a great deal of trouble, and he doesn't want to admit it. He would prefer to drink himself silly and shut himself in with the hope that the problem will simply go away. The problem isn't going to go away. In fact, it is only going to get worse." Shvets was tempted to tell him what was going on, but wasn't prepared to go that far. "I need your help, Alexei. I need to get him out of bed and sober him up enough so that he can defend himself. Do you understand that?"
"Yes."
"Good," Shvets said, satisfied that he had gotten somewhere with the man. "Now don't shoot me or break my neck, but I'm going in there to wake him up."
Alexei pursed his big lips while he thought about that one. "He told me. No one. Including you."
"Your job is to protect him, right? Well, if he put a gun to his own head, would you try to stop him?"
"Yes."
"That's what he's doing right now. By getting drunk and sleeping the day away he's killing himself as surely as if he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. You need to help me save him."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Just sit here ... and don't hurt me." Shvets didn't wait for an answer. He went to the bedroom door, knocked twice, and then opened. The bed was huge, and with all the pillows and blankets and two prostitutes and poor light he couldn't tell what was what, so he went to the window and yanked open the heavy velvet drapes. Gray light poured into the room and Shvets heard Ivanov moan. He searched the tangled mess and still couldn't find the man's head.
"Sir," Shvets announced, "Director Primakov is here to see you."
A flurry of activity erupted from under the blankets. One or both of the girls screamed as Ivanov dug his way out, all elbows and knees. His red face appeared midway down the length of the bed. "What?" he asked, a mask of horror on his face. "You can't be serious."
"No, I am not, but if you don't get out of bed and do something about this situation, he will show up sooner than you think. Or maybe you would prefer Director Barannikov to show up with the FSK boys and drag you downtown."
Ivanov pulled his head back under the covers. "Go away."
"No, I will not. You have been pouting for three days now. We need to come up with a plan of action, or we are doomed."
"We are worse than doomed ... We are fucked."
"Stop being such a baby."
"Be careful what you say to me, Nikolai, or I will get out of this bed and throw you out the window."
"Not a bad way to go when compared to what the FSK will do to me. Unfortunately, you have neither the strength nor the courage to throw me out the window, so it looks like I will be tortured in the basement of Lubyanka." He looked over at the bed, but there was no movement or reply. "Please, boss! I beg you do to do something ... anything. Defend yourself. Tell Director Primakov the money is gone."
"You are a fool. I will be put under an examination that I won't be able to withstand."
"Then place the blame on the dirty Palestinians. You know how Primakov hates them. Tell him they killed Sharif over a bad business deal and took all of the money. Blame the Americans, the Brits, the French, the Germans ... I don't care. Just blame someone and start investigating. What you are doing..."
"What was that?" Ivanov snapped as he popped his head back out.
"Blame someone and start investigating."
"Before that ... at the beginning."
"Blame the Arabs."
"You are right ... Primakov does hate them. But my money ... what about that?"
Shvets was pleased with his small victory. Now he needed to bait the hook. "I have some ideas about that as well." He started walking toward the double doors. "I suggest you get out of bed and shower. I will order an extremely late breakfast. We can discuss your finances over coffee and eggs."
CHAPTER 52
