The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(68)

“One hundred fifty million,” Bunch said in a firm, decisive voice.

Quite a jump.

Thirty million euros in one swipe.

“One hundred sixty,” the Russians bid.

Olivier was directing traffic in a calm, collected manner, keeping things moving, not allowing a lot of time for the participants to hesitate. He could, at any moment, bring things to a close, and none of the three still in the game would want that to happen. Not unless, of course, one of them was the high bidder.

“One hundred seventy-five,” the Iranians said.

“Two hundred million,” the Russians countered.

“Two fifty,” Bunch called out.

A quarter of a billion euros. Cotton wondered if any piece of information was worth that much.

But apparently so.

“You do realize,” one of the Russians said, “that we have lots of money, too.”

“Then spend it,” Bunch said. “Two hundred and fifty million euros is America’s bid.”

“Three hundred,” the Russian said, his face defiant.

“Three fifty,” Bunch countered.

“Four hundred,” the North Koreans said.

Which momentarily jarred the room.

Cotton wondered where the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea would get nearly half a billion euros. That was a substantial sum for anyone.

No one countered.

“What’s the problem?” he whispered to Bunch.

“It’s getting out of hand.”

“You think?”

“Four hundred and fifty million,” the Russian said in a calm voice.

Something was wrong. The bidding was progressing in unusual leaps. No one was interested in inching the price upward. Instead they all seemed intent on preempting the others with outrageous numbers. He stared at the participants hoping to transmit some of his own suspicions to them.

“Five hundred million,” Bunch said.

Silence reigned.

The two Russians stood from their chairs. “We are done. Have a car brought for us.”

“I must conclude this auction first,” Olivier said.

“This auction is over for us.”

“What’s the matter,” Bunch said. “Sore loser?”

The taller of the two Russians glared at Bunch, then said, “Mr. Malone. You met a man in Bruges. Did he not tell you what our intent would be.”

We not know where auction will occur. But when we do, we will act. Tell Stephanie Nelle that I do not bluff.

Ivan’s words right before he fired the Taser.

“That intent has not changed,” the Russian said.

Cotton caught another pinprick of trouble in the man’s cutting black eyes, a spark that flared a warning.

Not good.

“We wait outside.”

The two Russians marched from the hall.

“Are there any more bids?” Olivier asked.

No one replied.

“Last chance.”

More silence.

“Then I declare the United States the winner.”

“Hot damn, Malone,” Bunch said. “We did it.”

But what exactly had they done?



* * *



Eli had listened to the entire proceeding.

Half a billion euros.

Jonty must be ecstatic.

There was talk coming from below as the auction wound down. He glanced out the doorway and saw the two Russian bidders who’d exited the hall appear at the top of the staircase.

He motioned for them to wait there, out of sight.

He and Munoz lifted an Uzi from the bed, then fled the room, staying away from the railing and easing toward the staircase, where they handed over the weapons. The two Russians then stepped across the second-floor gallery to the balustrade— And opened fire.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Czajkowski reentered the Sheraton Grand Kraków through a back door that the hotel had made available for his exclusive use. Two of the hotel’s security men staffed the entrance and opened the metal door for him as he approached. He was taking a huge chance lingering. His ruling coalition teetered on collapse almost every day, one faction or another always demanding something. His job was to keep them all happy and his chief of staff had already told him that people were asking questions. His answer was that he was working on the next election, cementing what would be needed to carry Kraków and Ma?opolskie province. Which was not far from the truth. That should hold them off for another day, which was all he needed. This would be over, one way or another, soon.

He took an elevator up and walked back to the Royal Wawel Suite, his two BOR security men in tow. Once inside, he’d have privacy, which he’d need if Sonia called. His watch read nearly 1:00 P.M. and he wondered what was happening at that auction. Frightening that his entire future was being decided by strangers trying to outbid one another for the chance to destroy him. He flushed all that negativity from his mind, reentered the suite, found his phone, and called Sonia.

“I only have a moment,” she said. “I’m inside the castle.”

“What’s happening?”

“Trouble. A car arrived a few moments ago. I could not see who it was, but I followed it in on foot.”

“Have you seen the auction?”