Джеймс Паттерсон - Revenge

“Then there are the second type of people. That is people like us, Captain, you and I, who must do the bidding of our masters. Carry out their orders. Now, in most instances, people like you and I have only one aim. And that is to not displease bosses, and we do that by doing what is good for business. And what is good for business is making money.

“Bodies, on the other hand, are bad for business. Because as soon as you have a body you have emotion. You have angry rich fathers, you have policemen becoming interested, ex-SAS men trying to make a quick buck. All of it is bad for business.

“I would have had nothing to do with the killing of Emma Drake simply because it was bad for business and that would displease my bosses. My own employees would have nothing to do with the death of Emma Drake because that would displease me. Do you understand?”

Now Shelley got to the point: “Okay, so not you. Not your men. What about your wife?”

“Karen?” said Dmitry with a mixture of surprise and affrontedness. “What on earth do you mean?”

“What I say. Did Karen have anything to do with Emma Drake’s death?”

“Karen works for me,” laughed Dmitry loudly, “I am her boss. She also understands the need for good business. No. The answer to your question is no. Now,” he sounded irritated, “shall we proceed? You have a smartphone, I take it, or did Mr. Drake furnish you with a laptop?”

“I’m using my own smartphone. I’ve memorized the information I need . . .”

“Of course you have. I would expect nothing less.”

“But here’s the deal,” said Shelley. “I’ll transfer half to you now. I get Susie to the car, drive to the end of the road where your men are stationed, and only then do I transfer the other half.”

He could hear Dmitry suck on his teeth. “And if you fail to do it?”

“You tell your guys ‘fetch.’”

He seemed to consider. “I’m not sure how this benefits you.”

“I like those odds better.”

“Very well,” said Dmitry. “Just don’t forget, Captain, that I intend to abide by this arrangement. If, however, I think even for a second that you do not, then my retribution will be swift and ruthless. Do we understand each other?”

“All that’s important to me is making sure that Susie Drake is safe,” said Shelley.

“And all that is important to me,” said Dmitry, “is my twenty million.”

“Then yes,” said Shelley, “we do understand each other.”

“At last. Now, step out of your car, please, Captain Shelley.”

Shelley found himself reaching to the grip of his SIG for comfort. “You’ll need to do the same your end,” he said. “I want to see you, whoever is with you, and Susie.”

The Cherokee sat, keeping its secrets, the lights on low beam but still xenon-white and bright.

“Captain Shelley,” began Dmitry, “please stop trying to play the hand as though you hold all the cards. I find it a little annoying. I will show you Susie Drake. After all, she is the reason we are all here. Now, step out of the car, please. I enjoy our little chats, but maybe not as much as I will enjoy getting home at the end of the night.”

“Okay,” said Shelley. “I’m getting out of the car.”

Heart hammering, he picked up his hat and fitted it to his head. Then he reached for the door handle and stepped out.

CHAPTER 58

OUT OF THE car he was in the open. A sniper could take him out. But then again, no, what would be the point?

This was what he told himself. To take a shot at him before the cash transfer would be crackers, the behavior of a fool. And one thing he was pretty sure of when it came to Dmitry: he wasn’t a fool.

But on the other hand, maybe it all felt too easy. Thanks to Johnson the kidnappers had the whole process sewn up. After all, the snatch had happened that morning, and here he was ready to do the exchange. This was a procedure that Shelley had known take months to complete, being wrapped up in just a matter of hours. They’d used the word negotiation , but there hadn’t been one: just two sets of people who couldn’t wait to get it over and done with.

Was that it? Was it all going too well ?

The Cherokee was about a hundred yards away. He turned his head. About the same distance in the opposite direction was the Transit. There were already men standing close by. Their breath billowed and he saw the outline of the handguns they held, but otherwise they were silhouettes, like targets at a shooting range.

Facing front again he watched as the Cherokee decanted its passengers. First came a woman, and for a disorienting second Shelley assumed it was Susie, but no, of course not, it must be Karen Regan. She wore a dark, belted coat and from this far away it was too difficult to make out features, no way of recognizing her as the same woman who had put a gun to the back of his head fourteen years ago.

Now came a second woman, this one with rounded shoulders, wearing gym gear. No doubt about it, this was Susie. Again, it was impossible to say from this distance but she looked unharmed. As he watched she seemed to straighten, as though remembering herself, wanting to present a proud face to the world. “Well done, Susie,” he said under his breath. “Give ’em hell.”

Next to Susie stood a man with dark hair and a pronounced widow’s peak, who Shelley recognized from the photos. This was Sergei Vinitsky.

Beside him came Dmitry Kraviz, slightly taller, wearing a T-shirt with some kind of logo, an unzipped top worn over it, and a pair of spectacles, the kind that hung on a chain around his neck like schoolteachers used to wear.

Now they faced each other, like gunslingers, which he supposed at least three of them were. Dmitry raised a hand, beckoning Shelley forward, calling at the same time, “Come, Captain Shelley. Let us finish this thing, yes?”

Shelley walked forward, seeing his own breath cloud in front of him, dragon’s breath that billowed then evaporated, billowed then evaporated. He felt in his chest the rhythmic but reassuring thump of his heart, calmed by the fact that he had long ago learned not only to control but to harness his fear, and feeling a little bit of that old buzz back at the same time.

Opposite, the four of them began to walk forward. Behind them, the two front doors of the Cherokee opened again and a couple more guys made their presence known, standing close by the vehicle, ready if needed.

Jesus, how many guys have they brought? Shelley was relying on Dmitry’s integrity, telling himself that it didn’t matter who was along for the ride because what they didn’t have was the money, and they wouldn’t get that until Susie was in the Mini and they were home and dry.

Just a few yards apart now, and the Dmitry quartet drew to a halt. Nighttime mist, lit by the headlights of the Cherokee, swirled around their feet. He could see their features now: Dmitry, relaxed and cool, Sergei and Karen unreadable, Susie proud but unable to completely hide her fear.

“Susie, are you all right?” he asked her.

She looked at him, staring hard at him, and he thought she was trying to tell him something, trying to warn him of something, maybe. But what?

Dmitry said something in Russian to Sergei, who nodded in response, before Dmitry took a few more steps forward.

And then, behaving as though he had just caught sight of Shelley across a crowded pub, his face split into a broad grin. “Captain Shelley,” he exclaimed, spreading his hands. For a crazy second Shelley thought they were going to embrace but instead Dmitry continued, “I am very reassured by the sight of the phone you have in your hand, Captain. Less reassured, I must say, by the bulge at your waistband.”

Shelley tipped his head behind and then at the Cherokee beyond. “By the looks of things you’ve brought an entire army.”