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“You’ve got an address?” Braxton asks. “I’ve got more than a few ways to smoke them out.” He’s an international arms dealer. I’d be surprised if he didn’t.
“They have a full-time army guarding them.”
I don’t look at Best.
“So what thefuckare you going to do?” Marcus, again.
I force myself to sound calm. Confident. Like I actually have a goddamn plan. “Their demands are an opening bid. I’ll negotiate. Build a solution. The same way I built the fucking freeport.”
“Then why tell us now?” That’s Best, playing the role of Wise Man, with his silver beard and those eyes that can cut solid metal. He’s pushing me toward a different solution. Toward something a hell of a lot more active.
But I’m still not biting.
I can’t.
Instead, I say, “You’re my clients. My friends.” At least half of that is true, so I salt in a little lie. “I have absolute faith in my ability to bring this thing to a satisfactory conclusion.” That leaves me with the real reason I’m letting them know now. “You each deserve a chance to protect yourself. If anyone’s been thinking about an extended visit to the UAE or Brunei or Saudi, this might be a good time to firm up your travel plans.”
They’re billionaires who’ve built their fortunes on the shady side of the street. In addition to the three countries without extradition treaties that I’ve named, every one of them could recite at least a dozen more. Every man in the room understands the option I’ve just laid out.
Silence. Until Best finally asks, “When’s the payout due?”
“August fifteenth.”
“That’s just one week!” Marcus again.
I bite down hard to keep from congratulating him on knowing the fucking calendar. Instead, I spread my hands wide, trying to convey that I’ve got nothing to hide. “I’ll keep all of you up to date,” I say. “If you have any questions tonight, I’m happy to answer to the best of my ability.”
There’s grumbling, but I expected that. These are men who are used to getting their way, immediately, in all things.
Some would say I’m an idiot, for bringing them into the loop. But I prefer to think I’ve got a strong long-term strategy.
If I somehow manage to meet the Herzogs face-to-face and defuse the ticking time-bomb, then I’m a fucking hero. And if I fail, then every one of these guys has incentive to get revenge.
At least the ones who haven’t fled the country.
“For now, gentlemen, we wait. And to help you pass the time, Chef Jean-Yves has prepared a particularly tempting dinner. And after that, you’re all welcome to try to take my money at the card table.”
Best waits until the others have gone up to the weather deck. He closes the door quietly, guaranteeing we can’t be overheard. “You’re out of moves,” he says.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
His eyes look like lasers under his gun-metal hair. “What do you think is going to happen? They’ll all of a sudden call you up and invite you over for a couple of beers?”
“They don’t want to release the tape. They want money instead. Access to the freeport.”
“Bullshit.” Best puts a lot more force behind the word than Marcus ever did. “My guys can take care of this.”
“Your guys hit the ground amped to eleven. The whole idea is to keep this quiet.”
“We can do quiet.”
“Not at that place. It’s fucking Fort Knox.”
“Then find out where else we can hit them.”
“You think I haven’t been trying to do that, from the moment I saw their fucking video?”
He holds up his hands, a “don’t shoot the messenger” gesture. I’ve never noticed that he’s missing the last joint on his left pinky. “We’re good at getting information, too,” he says.
