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“Did you meet her?”
“Yes.”
“Ha,” Petrov bellowed. “I have heard she is beautiful. Very mysterious. Do you agree?”
“She is an attractive woman,” Abel admitted while trying not to sound too interested. “What do you know about her?”
“Get her out of your mind. I have heard that they are more than just business partners, and trust me…this man is not someone you want to upset.”
“I gathered that. Where does he come from?”
“I do not know, and I do not care. I’m telling you for the last time, hire them and be done with it.” The Russian hung up on him.
Abel did not like feeling like a fool, but that was exactly the way he felt as he walked the streets of this old city. By the time he reached the river he realized he would probably hire these two, but not yet. Petrov was getting old and the vodka had softened his normally keen intellect. There was too much at stake to simply hire them without having a say in how things would proceed. It was tempting, though. There was another ten million waiting for him as soon as Rapp was dead. Twenty million on the table minus the fee he would have to pay the killers. Abel had a number in his head. There were many variables to consider, but typically the going rate for killing an intelligence officer was in the low-to-mid six figures. This wasn’t just any intelligence officer, however, this was Mitch Rapp, a spy’s spy, who had the very nasty habit of biting back. They would have to track him. If they got lucky, they might catch him traveling. Getting him off American soil would help greatly. Very few contract killers liked working in America, because of the increased security with facial recognition systems at virtually every port of entry and the finger-printing of certain visitors. The cost of doing business in America would more than likely double the fee.
He turned east and began walking toward the Louvre, racking his brain to come up with his best contacts in France. He needed to send these two a message that they were dealing with a professional, not someone who they could toy around with and scare like an amateur. Unfortunately, he didn’t trust the people he knew in France enough to get them invol
ved in this. On the other hand there were some Hungarians he knew who were excellent at surveillance work, and they were cheap. It was a whole family for the price of one—grandparents, parents, children, even some uncles. When he got back to the hotel he would call and see if he could get them here first thing in the morning. He would wait a day to see if the woman contacted him, and if not he would e-mail and request another meeting. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He did not want to look desperate.
He left the river and started back to the hotel. When he turned on to the Champs-Elysées he was faced with a cold breeze. Abel turned up his collar and quickened his pace. He decided that by ending the meeting himself, and getting up and walking away, he may have saved enough face to get them to come back to him. They were businesspeople after all, and he had been very clear that there was a large fee to be earned. When they called he would be prepared. He would have the Hungarians in place. They would get photographs for sure and possibly a thumbprint from her coffee cup if they met at a café again. The Hungarians could trail her back to an address that would provide more information. The man would be about, undoubtedly, and maybe they would spot him. All he needed was a single thread, and then from there he could begin unraveling. He would learn everything there was to know about the two and then he would shock them into dealing with him from a position of mutual respect.
Abel arrived back at the hotel refreshed and invigorated. He had a plan, and he was hopeful that they would call him back and renew negotiations. He took the elevator up to his suite and after taking off his coat and scarf he went into the bedroom to open the safe and get his PDA. He turned on a table lamp near the closet and punched in his four-digit code. He listened to the whirl of the locking mechanism retracting, and then opened the small, heavy door. The safe was empty.
Abel reached in and felt around to make sure, and then placed his hands on his hips. He was certain he had put the small handheld computer in the safe before he’d gone to dinner, but with the way the day had gone, he was already second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d left it in his briefcase. He turned to head back into the living room, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something in the shadows. Abel froze when he zeroed in on a pair of shoes that he immediately knew were not his. He followed the legs up to the dark, barely discernable outline of a man sitting in a chair. For some inexplicable reason his mind jumped to the conclusion that it was Mitch Rapp himself who had broken into his hotel room. It was the second time in a day that Abel had been surprised and overcome with this dreadful portentous feeling.
“C’est ça que tu cherches?” Are you looking for this? asked a low voice.
A gloved hand emerged from the shadows. In it was Abel’s PDA. Abel looked past the hand at the man. His eyes had adjusted just enough that he could see his visitor was wearing something to cover his face. The voice, unfortunately, was familiar and it made Abel think of coffee and warm breath on the back of his neck.
Straining to appear calm, Abel said, “I see you have lowered yourself to thievery.”
The gloved hand reappeared and flicked the PDA across the room. It spun through the air and landed in the center of the king-size bed. “I have stolen nothing. A man in your line of work should know better than to trust hotel safes.”
Abel listened to the man’s words and decided he must be American, but he couldn’t quite place the dialect. “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people…maybe I can return the favor someday.”
The man scoffed, “That would be stupid.”
“And why is that?” Abel was proud of himself for not sounding too nervous.
“If I returned to my hotel room and found a man sitting in the dark, I would put a bullet in his head.”
Abel had been around some very unsettling individuals, but this man was in a league of his own. He was beginning to give Abel a feeling of inadequacy. “What if you didn’t have a gun?”
“I always have a gun.”
“But if you didn’t?”
“I would still kill the man. It just might take a split second longer.”
“So what do you think I should do?” asked Abel. “I have just returned to my very expensive hotel and have discovered a burglar in my room. Should I kill him?”
The man laughed in a very low, almost snickering way. “Impossible.”
“Please tell me why.” Abel folded his arms across his chest.
“For starters…you do not have a gun, and I do.”
“How do you know I don’t have a gun?”
