The Hunted

"Fine, your call," Alex replied, trying his best to look confident rather than terrified. He had done hundreds of high-pressure business negotiations, tense parleys upon which many millions of dollars hinged. They always involved a fair amount of posturing and bluffing, and Alex had become a master at it. This time, though, he was bargaining for Elena's life, and his own. He took a hard swallow, then forced a smile and said to Vladimir, "In forty minutes, everything will be gone. These are New Yorkers. Greedy bastards, every one of them. If they get their fingers on my properties, you can beat and torture me all you want. You'll never pry them back."

"Maybe we'll just go to the hotel and kill this Eugene man," Vladimir suggested, his preferred course for solving problems.

"That would be stupid. It won't make a difference," Alex told him. "Copies of all the contracts are with his partners in New York. In fact, they'll appreciate it. One less partner means more for them."

Vladimir nodded. Made sense.

"Also," Alex confided, sounding like an afterthought, a small, insignificant detail that meant nothing, "once I sign Eugene's contracts another three hundred million dollars will be electronically transferred to my investment bank."

"What?" Katya asked, suddenly hanging on every word.

"You heard me. When I sign the contract, Eugene and his investors will immediately wire-transfer their funds into my investment bank. Three hundred million American dollars. Cold cash."

Vladimir licked his lips and looked at Katya. Both were struggling to maintain the pretense that they were still in control. And both were clearly rattled and looking for a way out. When Golitsin learned about this, he would throw a tantrum of monumental proportions. But if they didn't call him and Konevitch's companies and properties slipped out of their fingers-much less losing the possibility of three hundred million more, in cash-well, neither of them wanted to think about what he would do to them. It would be horrible and slow, they both knew.

An unspoken signal passed, Vladimir removed the knife from Elena's throat, stepped out of the room, flipped open his clunky satphone, and dialed Golitsin.

"Why are you calling?" Golitsin asked with a ring of hope in his voice. "Is it done? Did he sign over the properties?"

"No. And now there is a new glitch," Vladimir replied, then quickly recounted the problem.

The moment he finished, Golitsin asked, "Is he telling the truth?"

"How would I know? The lawyer says it makes sense. Capitalists don't trust each other. What's new?"

Vladimir stopped talking and allowed this to sink in. He had done the smart thing, he decided; he had booted the problem upstairs. They would get only one chance at this, one shot at becoming unimaginably rich; just one shot at the biggest heist in Russian history. And Golitsin had done excruciating planning for every eventuality, had plotted and surmised and second-guessed every conceivable scenario-except this.

Golitsin knew what Vladimir was doing. But he wasn't at all sure what Konevitch was up to. Was this a trick? Did Konevitch have something up his sleeve?

On the other hand, another cool three hundred million in cash was there for the taking. Three hundred million!

Golitsin rolled that delicious number around his head. He spent a long moment relishing the new possibilities. In one swift swoop the overall take would nearly double. Better yet, this was cold cash, fluid money available for spending on fast cars, big homes, a sumptuous yacht, even a private jet-whatever his heart desired.

And the idea of ripping off a horde of greedy New Yorkers appealed to him mightily. He could hear their anguished howls when they learned their money was gone, stolen. Suddenly he could think of little else.

Eventually Golitsin said what needed to be said. "Take him to the hotel. And make sure he signs the contract." He thought about the extra three hundred million, and with palpable excitement added, "This is better. Much better. I can badly use that much cash."

"Yes, couldn't we all."

Golitsin didn't like the message but he absorbed it. "Pull this off, it will also mean another two hundred thousand for you. How many people do you and Katya have available?"

"Eight here, more than enough."

"He's a financial genius," Golitsin reasoned, as much to his listener as himself. "But he can't spell escape and evasion. A complete amateur."

"He doesn't worry me," Vladimir replied, bubbling with confidence. "Nabbing him was child's play. Besides, after his beating, he can barely walk."