Gambit David Hagberg (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📖

“We’re to hold up here until tomorrow. Your drop isn’t to be until twenty-four hours from now.”

“At 0100,” Vetrov said. Delays in any op were never unusual. You simply went with the flow. “We’ll need a place to bunk.”

“On board, I’m afraid,” Borisov said. “They want us undercover during the day, so we’ve been given an empty hangar at Gama Aviation Services.”

“Will we be allowed to use the hangar for calisthenics? Being cooped up is bad for us.”

“Yes, but as I said, you will have to sleep aboard. We have plenty of water and provisions, plus toilet capacity.”

“Very well. When will we be moving inside?”

“Within the next twenty minutes.”

“Should we be expecting customs officials?”

“No. Everything has been arranged. In the meantime, I want you to keep the window shades down until we’re inside.”

“Will you and your copilot be staying aboard for the night?”

Darina looked up, a slight smirk on her lips. “Of course not,” she said, and she turned away.

Vetrov lowered his voice. “If this is a setup, neither of you will live out the week.”

“Lieutenant, we don’t shit in our own nests,” the woman said. “We’re getting paid too much for that.”

“Senior Lieutenant,” Vetrov said, and he went back to brief his men.

The Louis XV Alain Ducasse restaurant in the hotel had been almost empty by the time Hammond and Susan finished their meal and the last of the Krug Clos du Mesnil Blanc de Blancs champagne. But because of their wealth, the waitstaff and sommelier did not press, and near the end, the chef du cuisine himself came out and had shared a glass of wine with them.

Afterward, they had gone up to the suite where they had taken a long, sensuous shower and had gone to bed and made love slowly, deliberately, but with more passion than Hammond could ever recall.

When they were finished, lying in bed in each other’s arms, looking up at the ceiling, Susan laughed, the sound soft and at the back of her throat.

“What?” Hammond asked.

“We’re getting pretty good at this,” she said.

“No movie set, this time, no body double.”

It took a long minute before she answered. “I’m going to say something, and I don’t want you to laugh. I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“I’m getting off the merry-go-round.”

“What do you mean?”

“No more in front of the camera. I’m done.”

“Bullshit. You’re a damned fine actor, and you photograph well.”

“I don’t need it anymore, Tom. I want out. I’ll continue to produce, and maybe I’ll even try directing.”

Hammond turned over on his side and looked at her. “What are you saying?”

“You know goddamned well what I’m saying.”

“Mrs. Thomas Hammond?”

“Something like that, but without the name change.”

“And then what?”

“We live our lives,” she said. “Get old and cranky, get cirrhosis of the liver, gray hair, shit that even a good plastic surgeon won’t be able to do much about.”

“But?” Hammond asked. He’d heard it coming.

“Let’s stay here for a bit and drop the McGarvey thing. It’s just a game, it’s dangerous, and it’s expensive. Let it go.”

Hammond was silent for a bit. “Is that a precondition?”

“No, just a respectful request,” Susan said, and she smiled. “It’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear myself say. But I’m saying it now. Let’s quit the bullshit and move on.”

Hammond was trying to form an answer when the Russian phone rang. It was Tarasov.

“Why did you shut down your New York office?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hammond demanded.

“The office was closed overnight, which in itself wasn’t so bad, except that the FBI showed up apparently as a follow-up to the murders of Rodriguez and Kuprik. The place was empty.”

Hammond was stunned. “Where the hell are you getting all this information?”

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is your team is waiting on the ground in Sofia for the operation tomorrow night. McGarvey and his wife are staying the night in an Athens hotel, and presumably, they’ll be taking a ferry out to the island first thing in the morning. In the meantime, the FBI has found out where you’re staying.”

“So what?” Hammond practically shouted. “I can hardly take a dump without everyone knowing about it. It’s the same for Gates and Jeff and Elon and just about every player.”

“They’re sending someone to interview you.”

Hammond’s stomach tightened. “Why?”

“You’re in a better position to answer that than I am,” Tarasov said.

“I only know what I’ve read in the papers. I’ll fly Morton over. He can be here by morning.” Morton Fay was Hammond’s chief attorney.

“Do nothing of the kind!” Tarasov shouted. “You have an attorney present and they’ll smell blood. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing illegal; just keep that in your head. And whatever you do, tell that bitch you’re in bed with to keep her mouth shut.”

Hammond had nothing to say.

“This will be over in less than thirty-six hours, and then you have some work to do for me.”

“What if they miss?”

“It’s not likely, but it doesn’t matter, Thomas. In thirty-six hours, whatever the outcome, it’s over and done with.”

McGarvey and Pete got off the ferry at the port city of Livadi, but instead of walking into town with the dozen or so other passengers, they found a taxi to take them up to the lighthouse.

The old man behind the wheel was a familiar face.

“Welcome home, mister and missus,” he said, his accent very heavy.

“It’s good to be home,” Pete said. “You are well?”

“Yes, of course,” the old man said. “Will you be coming back to town for shopping? I can come back up?”

“Maybe this afternoon,” McGarvey said. “How has the tourist business been the past few days?”

“Tolerable for this time of year. But the market, especially in America, has been down this last quarter, so people are watching their spending.”

“Anyone interesting show up lately?”

The driver looked in the mirror. “No. Are we expecting Mr. Otto?”

“Maybe later,” McGarvey said. “But we’d just as soon have no tourists stopping by to take a look at the old lighthouse.”

“A man and woman need their privacy,” the driver said.