The Hunted

"Okay. Alex, as I said yesterday, I'd like you to return with me to Russia. If, as you claim, you're innocent, you can clear this up in court."

"Don't make me laugh. I won't be alive long enough to make it to court."

It was obviously a waste of time for Volevodz to contradict him; he'd just threatened to do the honors, here, now, in Germany, in a supposedly neutral corner. It was even more foolhardy to attempt to worm his way into Alex's confidence. A group of blond-haired, blue-eyed tourists wandered past, gibbering in some strange tongue. The eyes inside the skinny slits danced around a moment, then Volevodz observed, "There's a lady over there filming us with a camera."

"It's about time you started paying attention. Yes, you're being filmed, yes, your voice is being recorded, and yes, a bunch of guns in the hands of seriously nervous people are being pointed at you. At least four of these tourists wandering around are my people. They're all armed to the teeth in the event you have friends lurking nearby. Don't try something stupid; I'm a very frightened, very desperate man. Any second I could maybe forget, and reach up, wipe the sweat from my forehead, and you'll all be dead. Now, why are we here?" Alex suddenly flapped his arms up and down, half slaps on his thighs like a penguin. "Quickly, Colonel."

"Settle down, Alex. I'm not here to kill you. I have a bargain for you."

"I'm listening."

"Stop that with the arms. It makes me nervous."

"Speak faster. My nose itches."

"All right, all right." He rubbed his eyes. Alex's preparations were not a total surprise. After being briefed on his unexpected escape from Hungary and the clever stunts he had pulled off, he had been warned to expect some sort of shenanigans. But Alex's eyes seemed to be boring into his soul, and he was having difficulty trying to maintain his nonchalance. "Certain friends are very impressed with your financial acumen. Frankly, it's a shame you've been chased out. You're a national asset for Russia. We admire what you accomplished."

"Who are your friends?"

"Powerful people."

"Give me some powerful names."

"Don't waste both our time. I don't know all the names, anyway."

"All right, go on."

"They would like to enlist you to manage their finances. The money is parked offshore. You never have to come to Russia. It's work you certainly know how to do."

"And what do I get out of this?"

"Twenty percent of the profit. The fund contains hundreds of millions right now, but eventually will grow to billions. Your take, obviously, will depend on how well you invest it. It will be a reasonable compensation."

"Is the money clean or dirty?" Alex asked, ignoring the offer.

Volevodz shrugged. "What's clean money in Russia these days? Anyway, why should you care?"

"I don't. What about the case against me?"

"As I said, these are powerful people."

"How powerful?"

"Arrangements can be made." His forehead wrinkled and he pretended to think about it awhile. He reached up and massaged his sore neck. Alex towered a good six inches over him and had chosen to stand nose-to-nose. Volevodz was a tall man himself, used to being looked up to, and he hated having the role reversed. "A few witnesses might materialize and clear your name. The state prosecutor assigned to your case is a very reasonable sort. For a judgeship and a healthy contribution to his retirement account he might be persuaded to declare the case a dead end."

"Stop lying. My story was spread all over the front pages for weeks. I find it hard to believe it could be easily disposed of."

The colonel enacted a small shrug. "Sadly our police and courts are so overburdened, there is little pressure to close cases. Besides, in Moscow these days, a new scandal always eclipses the last. Such are the times you helped bring about, Alex Konevitch."

"What about my money?"

"Don't think of it that way." He attempted a feeble smile and placed a hand on Alex's arm.

Alex shrugged it off and backed away a step. "I was beaten and nearly killed. My wife was kidnapped and threatened. Three hundred and fifty million dollars were stolen from me. My businesses have been ruined and I've been publicly disgraced. How should I think of it?" Alex asked carefully, coolly, without a trace of rancor-a businessman dispassionately listing the credits and debits from a register.

"Water under a bridge, if you're smart. Or, if you like, a down payment on a new future. You're an exceptionally talented man, Alex. We're offering you the chance to make it all back."

"How kind of you."

"Get over it. In a few years, with a little elbow grease, you'll be right where you started. Maybe richer."