Steven Gore - Final Target

“Then what?”

“Tuck him in bed, then get his laptop connected to a service called Connector1+1. Enter SatTek as the user-name and eight 2s for the password. As soon as you’re hooked up, someone at my office will take over. You just sit there and pretend. Leave the laptop on when you’re done.”

Gage rang off, woke up Alex Z, and sent him to Blanchard’s.

Alla called three hours later.

“We’ve got a problem.” Her voice was panicky. “Gravilov came to the room and saw that the computer was hooked up and unplugged it. He said the line wasn’t secure. I couldn’t connect again because he left Hammer with me while they met in the bedroom.”

“How long was the connection active?”

“An hour and a half. I’m sorry. I messed up. I should’ve blocked his view.”

“You can’t think of everything. We’ll have to try again.”

“We won’t have a chance. Stuart told me that Gravilov is insisting that everything be settled tonight. Stuart is angry at himself because he didn’t resolve this when they argued about it in London. He’s also angry that he let himself get trapped here. Gravilov told him that the president has readied contingency plans to ground all commercial aircraft if he decides to move against the opposition. Stuart asked me if I knew of anyone who could get him out of Ukraine.”

“Does he know who your father is?”

“I won’t ask my father for help,” Alla snapped.

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Sorry. I’m a little on edge…No, I haven’t told him.”

“How is Matson’s mental state otherwise? Can he pull this off?”

“He’s now sounding more angry than scared. I think we’ve given him a plan that makes him feel like he’s in control.”

Gage disconnected and called Blanchard. “How’d you do?”

“I don’t know. The line went dead just as I was checking to see whether he hid backups somewhere else on the drive. He would’ve been an idiot not to.”

“Stand by. We can’t give up on this. There’s too much at stake.”

Gage and Ninchenko watched Gravilov drive from the hotel grounds, heading north toward the Dnepr River.

“What’s next?” Ninchenko asked.

“We wait for Gravilov to come back and make a deal.”

“But is Matson predictable? Will he follow your plan?”

“Amateurs are never predictable if left to their own devices. But they can be guided.” Gage reached for his cell phone. “Let me find out how well I’m doing.”

“How are you feeling?” Gage asked Burch when he answered his home phone in San Francisco.

“Stronger every day. Where are you?”

“In a little Ukrainian icebox.” Gage looked up at Ninchenko and smiled. “But I’m in good company.”

“Did the KTMG Limited account I set up for Matson work out okay?” Burch asked.

“That’s why I’m calling. Can you find out if any money arrived?”

“Sure. I set it up through a friend. He receives all of the wire transfer documentation by e-mail from the bank.”

“Call him on your cell.”

Gage heard Burch set down his home phone.

“Maurice, this is Jack Burch…Fine, getting along better every day…I’m calling to verify that KTMG received some funds…I think I’d rather stand by. The client is anxious about this.”

Gage heard Burch pick up the home phone again.

“He’s retrieving the e-mails…By the way, my firm called about a partners’ meeting next week. They’re pretty nervous. Franklin Braunegg’s class action suit is getting a lot of press coverage-hold on.”

Gage heard Burch speak into his other phone, then come back on the line.

“There were four incoming wire transfers,” he told Gage. “About fifteen million dollars altogether.”

Gage smiled to himself. “Perfect.”

“Ten from Guernsey,” Burch continued. “Five from the Cayman Islands.”

“The ten is probably stock profit and the five is Gravilov’s down payment.”

“And Matson has moved two hundred thousand in three transfers to Barclays in London.”

“Probably feathering his nest.”

“Will you have the rest of the money seized?”

“Not yet. I told him to move only a little at a time. At worst we’ll lose a few hundred thousand more, but we can track that later.”

Burch laughed. “Clients are always trying to trick me into laundering their money, now I seem to be doing it all on my own. If this ever gets into the papers-”

“That’s what you said when we were in Afghanistan. We got away with it and you got a nice little plaque. I saw them give it to you.”

“I don’t think I’ll get a plaque for this one.”

A t 7:15 P. M. Gravilov’s car reappeared at the hotel. Gravilov, his driver, and Razor marched together toward the restaurant, like soldiers into battle.

Gage pointed at the monitor. “Looks like Gravilov has decided he’s done talking.”

“I don’t understand the delay,” Ninchenko said. “Why didn’t Matson just…what’s that word they use in your cowboy movies? Skeedle?”

“Skedaddle.”

“That’s it, skedaddle. Why didn’t he skedaddle?”

“One, he’s not sure he can get away. Two, it dawned on him too late that he’d have to settle for less than half of what he was expecting for the software. And three, he had a hard time accepting that he’d lose his investment in the plant.”

“And your idea of selling just the video amplifier software is his ticket out.”

“I hope that’s all it takes.”

Gage and Ninchenko watched the monitor for the next hour as a thick mist settled in, dampening the air and haloing the hotel lights.

There was no movement. They’d succumbed to surveillance daze, until startled by Gage’s ringing phone.

“They made a deal,” Alla said. “Five million more. Gravilov is supposed to transfer the money first thing tomorrow morning. Matson expects the bank will fax the confirmation to the hotel by 11 A. M.”

“Can you reconnect the computer?”

“I tried, but the line’s dead.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re downstairs drinking like they’re best friends.”

“Maybe it’s just afterglow.”

“What’s afterglow?”

“You know, the birds and the bees.”

“Oh, I get it.” She laughed. “Except it’s Stuart that got buggered. He just doesn’t know it. And I haven’t figured out how Gravilov did it.”

“Does Gravilov know the video amplifier software is here?”

“Stuart told him his lawyer in London will e-mail it to him tomorrow after he gets the wire transfer confirmation. He claimed that the other software is in the States and only he has access.”

“Did Gravilov believe him?”

“I couldn’t tell. Right now all he cares about is getting what he needs for the missile firing on the Black Sea.”

“Then what?”

“Stuart wants to get out of Ukraine as fast as possible. I made reservations for us on a flight from here to London. At 3 P. M.-and Gravilov is okay with it. He promised Stuart that the flight would get off the ground.”

“Why’d Gravilov agree so easily?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he thinks the video software can be checked quickly enough. And get this, Gravilov has already turned the deal for the low-noise software to his advantage. He wants it delivered to Moscow behind Hadeon Alexandervich’s back, just in case the opposition wins-they’re coming back. I’ll call later.”

Gage watched Gravilov’s driver move the car from the parking area to a position in front of the hotel entrance. The driver got out, but left the motor running, the car backlit by the hotel entrance lights. He walked to the rear passenger door and stood by to open it. Steam rose from the tailpipe and swirled past him. Gravilov walked down the steps, opened the front passenger door, and got in.