Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(53)
Liam said, “I don’t speak Russian.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Petrov said, leaving Because you’re an ignorant Irish git unspoken but clear as day. Petrov turned to Abram. “Take Mr. Henley to the kitchen and give him a beer. And summon Dr. Michaelov. He will examine Elena. And Mr. Hennessey’s heel, of course. I will call if I need anything.”
Liam heard the two men’s voices recede into the distance. He realized he was unconsciously rubbing his heel, and stopped. Petrov was whispering to Elena, touching her face, obviously concerned she might be badly hurt.
“You said you weren’t a barbarian, Mr. Petrov. I agree. You are far beyond a barbarian. But for all I know you could promise me the moon for what you need from that safe-deposit box and then shoot me clean between the eyes. Abram could no doubt bury me in that dirt field where your helicopter lands. I took Elena’s gun and that means we both have a measure of control. Now we can negotiate.”
33
Petrov looked up from Elena’s face. He fanned his slender white hands. “You mistake me, Mr. Hennessey. Ours is nothing more than a straightforward business matter. I have held up my end of our bargain. I promised to free you from the federal marshals, and I’ve done so. I was required to take extraordinary measures to keep you out of the FBI’s hands, and I have done so. And now you are here, safe.” Petrov waved to Liam’s bound foot. “Your foot, the FBI, should I go on?” He paused, then: “And yet you are holding Elena’s favored Walther at my chest. I am making you a rich man. It seems to me you would wish to show me a measure of gratitude, Mr. Hennessey.”
Liam sat back in the chair, crossed his arms. He liked Petrov, but Liam knew he wasn’t a man he’d want to meet in a dark alley. “And what do you think this measure of gratitude should be?”
“Let us say, rather that it would be a simple courtesy for you to confirm for me the name of the person who hired you to rob my safe-deposit box.”
Liam cocked an eyebrow, said in full Irish, “My heel hurts, Mr. Petrov, makes me querulous. Sorry, I’m not feeling very courteous at the moment.”
“Even though my own personal physician is coming to take care of your heel?”
“And her, of course.” Liam waved the Walther toward the sofa. He heard Elena moan. “She’ll be back with you soon, Mr. Petrov. That is my courtesy to you—I didn’t kill her.”
Petrov gently pulled Elena upright into his arms. He whispered against her ear, “No, don’t move, you probably have a concussion.”
Elena whispered something Liam couldn’t hear as Petrov lightly touched a long finger to the side of her head behind her left temple. “You’ve got only a lump there. The skin isn’t broken. Does it hurt? Can you see me clearly?”
Elena nodded, said something in French, of all things, and Petrov pulled her against him again and slowly rocked her, his face pressed against her hair.
Liam said, “No, I did not kill her, and I am about to bring you your heart’s greatest desire. It is you who owes me gratitude. I’ve decided I want to have enough money to make a difference in my life, but not enough to make you want to hunt me down and cut my throat in my sleep.”
“And what do you suppose that amount would be, Mr. Hennessey?”
“Four million dollars and all the jewelry in the safe-deposit boxes.”
Petrov never looked away from Elena. “I can get that amount here by morning. I presume you have other demands to assure your safety?”
“In the morning, that’s fine. Only one more demand. After you’ve given me the four million, you will have Henley fly me, my money, and Elena to wherever I choose. Elena is for my own safety. We’ll fly over to collect what you want—I presume it’s whatever is in that metal box from one of the safe-deposit boxes I stole?”
“It is. You did not attempt to open the box?”
Liam shook his head, remembered too clearly the awful pain in his side from the bullet whenever he moved.
Petrov whispered something against Elena’s ear, in Russian. “Don’t worry, I will let you kill the Irish bastard.”
She nodded, smiled up at him.
Liam didn’t like that smile, the sudden pleasure in her dark eyes. What had he told her? It didn’t matter, Liam had the Walther. He thought he might go to Morocco. He’d seen movies shot in those vast stretches of barren desert, tribesmen riding camels in their strange clothes. Fez, they called the big town, with its ancient streets and marketplaces. Who cared if the heat could seer off a man’s eyebrows? He’d turn up the air conditioning or hire some of those sloe-eyed girls to fan him with palm fronds.
Liam looked over at Petrov and Elena again. He was caressing the back of her hand, speaking quietly to her in Russian. Liam called out, “Elena will be staying in this room with me tonight. Anyone tries to come in and she’ll be the first to die. Is that understood?”
Petrov squeezed Elena’s hand, nodded. “Neither I nor Abram will give you any problems. But I will give you a warning. If you harm Elena, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and your death will be more unpleasant than Jacobson’s.”
Liam laughed. “A fine threat, but you know, Mr. Petrov, I doubt that’s possible.” He shrugged. “But it’s fair enough. All she has to do is be good, give me no trouble.”