The First Billion

The SUV lumbered to a halt in front of a large cabin. Gavallan spotted the bars and knew he would have to act fast. Once inside, they'd be locked up and then he'd have no chance for surprise. He imagined that the day's agenda called for interrogation and torture, followed sometime in the afternoon by death. Call it the Russian trinity. He'd have to hit someone before he got locked up. He swallowed hard, steeling himself to the task. He'd never killed anyone, not with his hands. He was a pilot. Tell him to drop a couple bombs from twenty thousand feet and he was your man. Ask him to shove a three-inch blade into a man's belly and he'd say, "No thanks, that's the next guy's job." Except today there wasn't a next guy. Today there was him and Cate and five Russian thugs with at least two Uzis and a couple of handguns between them. He looked at the driver and at Boris. Who would be first? It didn't matter so long as he had one of the machine guns. That's what he needed. From then on out it would be a crapshoot.

"We are arrived," said Boris.

Gavallan descended slowly, pushing his stomach out to keep pressure on the shank, make sure it remained inside his waistband. The air was dry and dusty, hinting of resin and mint. He looked around, his eyes making a desperate survey of the compound. Besides the main building, there were three smaller cabins, shacks, really. Two stood to his left, fifty yards away. A third was closer, more a shed, constructed from pale birch wood. Gavallan thought he saw something move inside it. He looked closer. He could see the fingers of two hands extended through gaps in the wall, grasping the wood.

Graf.

His heart beat with a violent resolve.

The second Suburban pulled into the clearing and stopped. Tatiana jumped from the car, and a moment later Cate appeared. Behind them, Boris's cronies had formed a small welcoming committee. The Uzis were out, and not just for show.

Gavallan walked over to Cate. "It's gonna be okay," he said, taking her hand.

"No, Jett," she said. "It's not."

57

They stood in the clearing in front of the cabin waiting for Boris to open the door, a vacation party anxious to get into their summer rental. Gavallan held Cate's hand, every bit as much for his comfort as hers.

"You okay?" he asked.

Cate nodded, shifting her head toward him. "We have to talk."

The blunt nose of an Uzi jabbed Gavallan's back before he could reply. "Quiet. No speak."

"Take it easy, bud," said Gavallan. Irritated, he turned to face his newly appointed guardian angel, all two hundred and forty pounds of him. He wanted to shove the guy, gun or no gun. "We're not going anywhere. Give us a break."

"Fuck you." The guard had white blond hair done in a burr cut, dull blue eyes, and pitted cheeks that had fought a losing battle against teenage acne. He feinted with the Uzi and Gavallan jumped back, drawing a bored chortle from the spectators.

The drivers lolled against the doors of their Suburbans, arms crossed, smoking and chatting up Tatiana, who was dressed like a California teenager in Levi's, cowboy boots, and a black tank top. Her shoulder holster and pearl-handled.357 Magnum were strictly adult fare, though, and christened her the flat tops' dream date. She responded to their catcalls desultorily, her voice flat, her eyes glued to the cabin, to Gavallan and Cate.

She was a pro, Gavallan decided. She was trouble.

Shifting his eyes around the clearing, he took in the trees that stood stiff as sentries, the furrowed track that had brought them here, the twin fences, and the ruined gate. The entry to a storm cellar could be seen a ways off, next to a depleted woodpile. In the same direction were two smaller cabins, one with an antenna, the other a crude smokestack. But Gavallan's interest was first and foremost on the shed. He took a step toward it, pointing. "Is Mr. Byrnes in there?"

No one answered.

"Boris, is Mr. Byrnes in there?" The Uzi stabbed his back and Gavallan spun rapidly, knocking it away. "Hit me again with that thing and I'll ram it sideways up your ass."

Finished unlocking the cabin, Boris hurried back toward Gavallan. "Why you no shut up? We ask you once, twice. Still, you talk."

"You can't just-"

Boris fired a fist into his jaw, knocking Gavallan to a knee. "Shut up. Ponimayu?"

"Jett!" Cate jumped to his side and Boris picked her up kicking and struggling and carried her back a step or two. Setting her down, he rattled off a barrage of words at her. Cate relaxed again. She stood rock-still, her eyes glued to Boris. She was playing the obedient schoolgirl, and Gavallan was glad for it.

A little longer, my girl. Play along a little longer.

Slowly, Gavallan found his way to his legs. He hadn't been hit like that in a long time. It didn't hurt so much as make him want to give Boris one right back. Brushing the pine needles off his pants, he checked for the butt of his shank. It was still in place. I owe you one, buddy, he promised himself, meeting Boris's eye. Payback. And it's coming sooner than you think.