The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(103)

Interesting the situation he found himself in. Floating on a frigid lake of pure salt brine, hundreds of feet underground, amid total silence, two men intent on shooting him. He held the gun, and the reflection continued to offer him a viewpoint that showed Munoz trying to maneuver himself into a better position. He had to take them both out, complicated by the fact that he was sitting in an unstable skiff. The one saving grace was that one of his opponents was likewise handicapped. Reaction time would suffer. Which meant the guy on dry land represented the greater threat.

He needed a distraction.

Something to provide him a few precious seconds to react.



* * *



Eli had to find Munoz and leave.

Staying put seemed like a bad idea. Though he had the situation under control, Sonia Draga represented a problem.

“Move toward the other exit,” he ordered her.

She hesitated.

“Do you really want to test me?” he asked.

“Do as he says,” Czajkowski said to her.

The tone clear and direct.

“This gun is pointed at my head, not yours,” the president said. “Don’t play games with my life. Remember, you work for me.”

He saw that she did not appreciate the rebuke. But the man had a point. She did work for him. It was not her place to take such risks.

“Are you ordering me to do as he says?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Move.”

He tapped Czajkowski’s head with the gun. “Follow her.”



* * *



Czajkowski added a wink to his command, a gesture only Sonia could see that signaled she should play along. There was no way Reinhardt knew of any connection between them other than employer–employee. Of course he had to be wondering why the president of Poland was here, but that could easily be explained because it was his ass on the line. He did catch a moment of concern in Sonia’s eyes before she backed toward the exit, surely wondering what he was going to do next.

She would not like the answer.

He stopped walking.

“Keep going,” Reinhardt said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Sonia stopped.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Reinhardt. “Shoot the president of Poland? How far do you think you will get. I doubt you’ll make it off this level alive.”

Sonia’s eyes asked, What are you doing?

His hands were down by his side, his right hand close to the side pocket where the gun she’d given him rested. When he’d first challenged Sonia, delivering the order of retreat, with Reinhardt focused on her, he’d managed to unzip the pocket.

Now he had to reach in.

But too much movement could be fatal.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX


Cotton saw that Munoz had finally decided on a vantage point. Even worse, his boat was drifting closer to that point, about eight feet above the lake’s surface, closing the distance between him and trouble.

“I leave now,” Ivan said.

He held up his gun. “I don’t think so.”

“I think different.”

Ivan motioned with his free hand and Munoz stood, gun aimed.

“He make sure I leave.”

The motor on Ivan’s boat came to life.



* * *



Czajkowski dug in. “You’re a dealer in information. Let’s deal.”

“What do you offer?” Reinhardt asked.

“A way out of here to begin with. What did the Russians pay you?”

“Five million euros.”

“All right. I’ll pay five times that for you to deliver what Jonty Olivier was going to sell. Do you have it?”

Sonia knew they already had the answer to that question, which he hoped would alert her to pay attention and be ready. Her gun lay three meters away on the floor.

“I have it,” Reinhardt said.

“Really? The Russian allowed you to keep it,” he said. “That was quite generous of him, considering Moscow would love to use that information against me, starting with no American missiles in Poland. Where is the information?”

“My associate, Munoz, went to retrieve it.”

He doubted that, too. But—

“Let’s get him back. Mr. Munoz,” he called out. “Please come here.”



* * *



Cotton heard Munoz’s name called out.

So did Munoz.

He turned his head for barely a second toward the source of the summons, but long enough for Cotton to raise his gun and take the man down with one well-aimed shot.

Not bad for twenty feet away, eight feet up, in dim light.

He immediately turned his attention to Ivan, who was disappearing into a dark tunnel that allowed the water to flow toward the next reservoir.

Too late.

He fired up his own electric motor.

And headed after him.



* * *



Czajkowski heard the gunshot.

And used that instant to wrap his fingers around the pistol in his pocket and grope the trigger. But he did not withdraw the weapon. Sonia could see what he was doing, but Reinhardt could not. Luckily, the pocket had been stitched to his front thigh high enough that he did not have to overextend his arm.