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Rapp laughed. “I don’t need to. The wheels are already spinning.”
“Don’t touch Garret.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No. We have a bigger fish to fry. Too many coincidences will cause way too much scrutiny. Just let him go and take care of the others. And do me a favor. Ask Marcus if he can get Ross’s medical files from Bethesda for me.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Rapp hit end and held the phone in his lap for a second.
“Marcus,” he said as he pressed the transmit button for the secure radio, “find out where Green and Gordievsky live.” He paused and then added, “And see what you can find out about this Le Pretexte place they were talking about.”
52
T he nightclub Speyer was going to was not far from the restaurant, but then again nothing was far in Geneva. Green and Gordievsky were taking Garret to a different club farther away. The place was filled with young Belarusian girls who worked for Gordievsky. The going rate was a thousand dollars for a romp in the sheets. Gordievsky bragged during dinner that he pocketed ninety percent of the fee. Garret had tried to get out of it, but Green had insisted. One stop at a club and then they would take him back to his hotel. Speyer agreed to meet them back at Green’s penthouse for the midnight show.
Rapp’s plan was falling into place. It was 10:41 in the evening when the four of them came out of the restaurant. At the moment, Rapp was only worried about Speyer. He was going to be the key. Rapp had detected something in his voice during dinner. A certain regret that he was associated with the others. Speyer handed the valet his ticket, and the man took off at a trot. Speyer waved good-bye as the others piled into the Hummer.
“Kevin,” Rapp said to the guy in the front seat. “You think those bodyguards are wearing vests?”
Hacket shook his head. “I don’t think they make ’em that big.”
Rapp nodded. He was sure somebody did, but these guys were probably already uncomfortable enough from their extra girth. He doubted they would put on a stiff, hot bulletproof vest. “Here comes the valet. When he pulls in to give Speyer the car, pull out and get in front of him. We’ll have him follow us to Le Pretexte.”
The valet jumped out of Speyer’s BMW and held the door for the banker. Hacket put the car in drive and pulled out onto the Quai de la Poste and headed east. Speyer fell into line behind them. Their destination was just a half mile away. Speyer stayed a polite distance back the entire way. Rapp and Hacket had already checked the place out while Speyer and his guests were eating their main course. Rapp wanted to see the exact layout. He spotted the club from a block away. It was hard to miss with its huge neon sign looming above the street. Even with the temperature hovering in the mid-forties, patrons were lined up halfway down the block.
“Remember, slow down,” Rapp said. “Let me out right here.” Rapp was ready to go. Before the car came to a complete stop he had the door opened and he was out. He slammed the door closed behind him and darted between two parked cars and up onto the sidewalk. Rapp was wearing a black leather jacket with the collar turned up, a pair of dark jeans, and heavy-soled black lace-up shoes. Turning left, he started down the sidewalk toward the front door of the club. Rapp watched Hacket drive off with the BMW right behind him. The patrons were now lined up against the building on his right. He was going to have to adjust his pace to time it perfectly. Hacket approached the intersection and turned right, stopping immediately.
The BMW pulled up to the valet and Speyer got out. He took the ticket and walked around the trunk just as Rapp expected. Rapp sped up. There was no way a guy like Speyer was going to wait in line with the others. Again Rapp was right. Speyer stepped onto the curb and was heading straight for the door. His attention was on his valet ticket, which he was trying to slide into his wallet.
Rapp met him midway between the curb and door. He reached out with his left hand, grabbing the banker by the right elbow. “Joseph,” Rapp said loud enough for the bouncers to hear. “It has been a long time.” Rapp kept moving, taking a startled Speyer with him. In a much quieter voice Rapp said, “You’re lucky my boss wants you alive, because I’d just as soon kill you right here, right now.”
Speyer looked at the strange man with shock in his eyes. He tried to pull away but the man’s grip was simply too tight. “What?” His words were cut short by a stabbing sensation in his side.
“Don’t put up a fight and don’
t raise your voice. Look at my right hand.” Rapp held his knife out in front of him so the banker could see it. The tip of it was crimson with blood. “If you don’t do exactly as I say I’ll slit your throat and leave you to die right here. I know what you and Cy Green have been up to.” Rapp saw a flicker of worry in the man’s eyes. “That’s right, I’m an American. If you cooperate, you’ll make it through this fine, which is more than I can say for your friend Green. Let’s go.” Rapp started toward the waiting Mercedes.
“Who are you?”
Rapp kept walking. “I’m the guy who’s going to solve all your problems.”
They reached the Mercedes and Rapp opened the rear passenger door. Instead of getting in, Speyer’s eyes darted back in the direction of the club. Rapp smiled and said, “Tell me you don’t regret getting into business with Green, and I’ll let you go. I’ll go kill the fucking piece of shit myself, and then I’ll tell President Alexander that you helped facilitate the murder of his wife and eighteen other Americans.” Rapp looked past the glasses, into the banker’s eyes. He could see the man running the numbers. Asking himself which was the path that would save his hide. In a more reasonable voice Rapp added, “Either that or you can get in the car and you can help me.”
“What do I get out of it?”
Rapp smiled and said, “You get to live.”
53
R app sat sideways with his left leg up on the seat. He’d already frisked the banker. All he found was a wallet and phone. He took both and dropped them onto the front passenger seat. He’d switched the knife from his right hand to his left and pointed the tip at Speyer’s face.
“Why should I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”
The banker gave him an analytical look and said, “You shouldn’t.”
