Chris Mooney - World Without End

"I was there. He didn't say anything interesting." Misha grinned and blew out another bubble.

Raymond looked at Misha, at his big shit-eating grin, and thought, Go ahead and keep smiling, you stupid fucking pig. Your days are numbered.

"Relax, it was a clean hit," Misha said.

"Looks like Angel Eyes raided the place and then went ape shit Now all you need to do is press a few buttons on a keyboard and these guys will disappear."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Pin it all on Angel Eyes."

Raymond had pinned it on Angel Eyes. In fact, he had planted electronic trails suggesting that John McFadden, the CIA operative turned Russian spy, had access to certain restricted computer folders on the IWAC group. McFadden was viewed as the source of the leak. But that didn't mean Raymond could be careless.

"Look, my boys took care of Delburn," Misha said.

"But you're not living up to your part of the bargain."

"What are you talking about?"

"Conway. He comes charging inside Praxis like fucking Rambo and tries to take us down. You were supposed to take care of him."

"I led him right to you."

"And the fucker survived. I would have killed him except you wanted to make it look like an accident. Like him and that guy Randy Scott got into it and Conway shot him. Next thing I hear a fireman rescued him."

"It wasn't us."

"Then who the rack was it?"

"Maybe it was an actual fireman."

The waiter came by with a crystal bowl of caviar surrounded by crackers on a china plate and set in on the table in front of Misha. The Russian's eyes didn't move off Raymond's face. He kept staring and chewed his gum as the waiter opened the second bottle of wine and exited.

"One of my guys, he stuck around and guess what he sees?" Misha said.

"He sees this guy with a shaved head, he's not a fireman or policeman, this guy goes running inside Praxis and comes out carrying Conway. You know how I know Egghead isn't legit? The real firemen and police arrive, and Cueball bolts."

"Misha, I don't know what you're " "Hey, don't interrupt, it's bad nicking manners. So we're inside the lab, downloading the new software into the suit, just like you told us to do, and then out of nowhere this skinny fuck Randy Scott, a member of your team, tries to shut us down. And here's the fucking kicker. We leave with the suit and take it to the safe house just like you said and now we can't get the fucking thing to work because the software your guy downloaded into the suit is fucking encrypted."

"I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Someone told Randy to do it, and the guy only reported to one guy."

"You have Dixon. Ask him."

"He don't know the code."

"Then he's lying to you."

"See, here's the thing, Ray. I know when a guy's lying to me, and this guy Dixon, he ain't lying. He don't know shit." Misha swiped his index finger through the crystal bowl and then sucked the caviar off his finger and pointed it at Bouchard.

"You're a smart guy, Ray. You've been playing this game for a long time. You know what it takes to work a good scheme. You know what I think? I think maybe one of your CIA pals rescued Conway. I think maybe you called the firemen and police yourself. I think you're trying to figure out a way to fuck us. If I was in your shoes, I'd be working day and night trying to figure out a way to not only get myself off the fish hook but to find a way to take Alexi off the board. And me."

"The deal was for me to deliver the suit. I held up my end of the bargain. As for this temporary wrinkle " "It ain't a wrinkle, it's a major fucking problem. Without the decryption code, the suit is useless. Dixon don't know it. I'm thinking Con-way does. He may have heard things while he was inside the lab, and he worked with that guy Randy, right?"

"You want my permission to go pick him up? Fine. You've got it."

"He won't give the code to me."

"He will if you apply the right pressure."

"I can chop off Conway's fingers and toes one at a time, and he'll never hand the code. He'd rather die. He's actually one of these moral motherfuckers who's got a conscience and is all patriotic and shit." Misha blew out a bubble; it was spotted with bits of caviar.

"I think you're being a tad melodramatic."

"The problem is that you pencil-pushing types can't spot real talent when you see it." Misha reached inside his suit jacket and came back with a matchbook. He tossed it on the table.

"That's my cell phone number. I'm going to leave a present for Conway.

Once he opens it, he's going to be calling you every five minutes. Call me when he gives you the code."

"And if he doesn't deliver it?"

"Then kiss your balls good-bye, 'cause I've got my orders to turn you into a fucking limp dick. And that's just the appetizer. I'll send you some pictures, give you some choices for the main course."

Misha stood up and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, then wadded it up into a ball and stuffed it inside the bowl of caviar, his eyes smiling. Without a word, he turned and sauntered out of the room just as the waiter came by with the first course.

His meal and evening ruined, Raymond asked for the bill. He paid in cash, the one remaining commodity that didn't leave an electronic trail, and left the restaurant.

Halloween night and the evening air had a sharp chill. Raymond Bouchard bundled up his coat, about to take a brisk walk to clear his head when he saw a white Fox 2 5 news van pull up to the side of the road. Owen Lee was behind the wheel, his bloodless face as white as parchment as he motioned for Raymond to get inside the van.

The crude Russian gone, the restaurant settled back into its warm luxury.

"This has certainly been a night of surprises," Faust said.

Gunther nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck, working it like he had a muscle spasm that wouldn't go away.

"Misha always manages to leave an impression," Faust said.

"And quite the odor." A few minutes had passed since Misha had left, and the air still lingered with the stench of dried sweat and testosterone mixed with wet cigars and cheap cologne. Gunther stared at the now-empty table where Bouchard and Misha had sat and wondered what it would be like to kill such an animal.

As if reading his mind, Faust said, "Misha is very dangerous, Gunther."

"You've told me that before."

"Icarus was warned not to fly too close to the sun. The boy didn't heed his father's advice and, as a result, the wax that affixed his wings to his back melted. He plummeted into the sea. Promise me you'll stay away from him."

"That might be difficult now that he's involved with this case."

"Leave Misha to me."

"What do you think is his connection to Bouchard?"

"I'm sure that will become known soon. Imagine, Raymond Bouchard connected with Misha Ronkil. The gyre is widening, Gunther. The falcon can no longer hear the falconer."

"You're speaking in riddles again."

"Raymond's world is beginning to unravel. Didn't you get a good look at his face? It's not surprising. The arrogant can never see how they set the stage for their own demise."

Gunther nodded. Using his fork, he pushed his meat around his plate and then said, "What do you think Bouchard was doing inside that apartment?"

Faust smiled pleasantly.

"Trying to keep his world from unraveling."

Gunther looked up from his plate and put his fork down.

"You don't seem concerned about any of this," he said and settled back in his chair.

"Concerned? No. Raymond lacks creativity; his thought process is dreadfully linear. True, he took us by surprise in Austin, but the men working for him collectively suffer from folie a deux. It makes their thinking and their actions for this next stage highly predictable."

Gunther nodded, not really understanding.