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“He’s secure?”
Rapp looked toward the door and examined the man who had appeared in it. The accent was unquestionably Russian and his appearance confirmed that. About six feet, weighing in at a soft two fifty. A few tattoos with Cyrillic writing were visible beneath the thick black hair on his arms.
“Yeah. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Then get the fuck out.”
Thompson closed the door behind him as the Russian walked to the gurney and started going through items on it. He admired the Glock for a few seconds before starting to paw through Rapp’s wallet.
“Mitch Kruse?”
“That’s me.”
The man let out a short laugh and picked up Rapp’s phone, staring down at the screen for a moment. “What is this? It says granite.”
That woman just wouldn’t give up.
“It’s a type of rock.”
The Russian rushed forward and slammed a fist into the side of Rapp’s face. “I speak English! What does it mean? Is it a code word?”
Rapp worked his jaws around. No serious damage but the guy had a punch. “It means I need kitchen counters, Ivan. Do me a favor and pick one.”
He swung again but this time Rapp managed to duck his head enough to get the blow to glance off.
“You will give me the truth!” the man screamed. He paused, letting an arrogant smile spread across his face. “Mr. Rapp.”
“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you, Ivan?”
“My name is not Ivan!”
“Sorry. What is it?”
“I am asking the questions,” he shouted, this time swinging a fist into Rapp’s stomach. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“I swam.”
The man glanced suggestively at the door that led to Claudia and Anna. “Are you sure you want that to be your answer?”
Normally, Rapp would just clam up during an interrogation. It was the best way to hold out. But he needed to get this moron talking.
“You got me, Ivan. Gulfstream G550.”
“Stop calling me that!” the man said angrily.
“Then introduce yourself.”
The Russian grabbed a scalpel from next to the body and held it so it flashed in the overhead lights. “I suggest you start taking my questions seriously.”
Rapp decided to mix it up and feigned a hint of fear. “Okay, okay. I have a personal relationship with the woman and got a tip someone was coming to kill her.”
Of course, the intel was actually that kidnapping was the play, but the intentional error would goad this idiot.
“From who?”
“An informant in St. Petersburg. You should have covered your tracks better.”
“Your informant knows nothing,” the man said, clearly anxious to prove that he was the smartest guy in the room.
