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"Absolutely."
"How?"
"Because this time he has given Petrosian his word that nothing will happen to you."
"And I should be impressed by that?"
"Yes, you should. The chief will drop you off at a small hotel a few blocks west of Nijmeh Square, and then you're on your own. My advice is you spread some cash around, telling the hotel manager and the vendors that you would like to meet with Colonel Assef Sayyed. They will claim they've never heard of him, but they all know who he is. They will tell him you are looking for him and he will have someone collect you before the day is out. Then it will go one of two ways." Ridley took another drink and organized his thoughts. "He will either sit down and negotiate with you, in which case Petrosian has agreed to bankroll you to the tune of one million dollars."
"You're kidding me."
"No, he is a man who likes to show his gratitude, and besides, you just eliminated one of his top competitors. He's bound to pick up a few more contracts."
"Will a million do it?"
"Doubtful, but it will let them know we are serious, and they all know Petrosian is not a man to be fucked with."
"So if it's not enough money..."
Ridley waved him off. "I'm going to be working on getting more."
"Langley?"
"Maybe, but we have some other options. I just need to see if I can pull it off."
Rapp thought about the money that Hurley had taken from the Swiss bank accounts. He almost told Ridley but decided to keep it to himself for now. "That's option one. What's option two?"
"They throw you in the dungeon and they torture you and eventually kill you."
"But I'm a rookie, so how much harm can I really do." It was a statement, not a question.
"Something like that. A pawn for a bishop." Ridley shrugged. "Maybe you even get lucky and take a few of them down with you." Ridley drained his beer and looked to the west. "There's one last thing. The story about the Russians."
"Yeah."
"Stan didn't tell you the whole thing. The Russians ... they wiped out a couple of families ... women and children included. Fucking butchers." Ridley shook his head, trying to get rid of the bad memories. "We're not the Russians. We don't kill women and children. At least not intentionally. Never forget that."
CHAPTER 59
SAYYED held the small mirror in his hand, turned his head to the right and checked his bandage, carefully fingering the edges. The morning sunlight came through the window of his room, providing ample light. There was no hope of reattaching the jagged hunk of cartilage and skin--at least that's what the doctor had told him, although Sayyed suspected that the man was not well versed on the most recent medical advances. When all of this was over, which he hoped would be very soon, he would have to go to Paris and see if there was a plastic surgeon who could do something about the nub that was now his ear.
Growing his hair out would help, but Sayyed did not want to live the rest of his years with such a permanent reminder of his time spent with Bill Sherman. That was still the only name he had to go on. The other man, Mr. Richards, had told them he did not know his boss's real name. As to whether he was telling the truth, Sayyed would only know that after a few more sessions, and depending on how the bidding went, he might not get that opportunity.
One thing was certain: Mr. Sherman's sanity was no longer up for discussion. In the nearly twenty years that Sayyed had been doing this, he had never encountered anyone close to this animal. The man was clearly insane. How else could you explain biting off someone's ear and then chewing it? The all-too-fresh memory caused Sayyed to shudder. He'd never experienced anything so strange in his life. The pain had been bad, excruciating at the time, but it had faded. The image, though, of another person chewing on his ear had only grown stronger. He did not like it one bit, and it made him all the more anxious to get through this day and be done with this Bill Sherman or whatever his real name was.
Sayyed finished buttoning the fresh white shirt that Ali had fetched for him and then put on his suit coat. He heard footsteps coming down the hall and turned to see Radih standing in the open doorway.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. How are our neighbors across the street?"
"Nothing new. We estimate they have between thirty and fifty men."
"And us?"
"Thirty-two."
Sayyed nodded, and thought the number enough to handle a problem should one arise. Changing subjects, he said, "You have heard about this new American? The one who is staying at the Shady Cedar?"
