The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(70)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


Eli stared down into the great hall.

Odd how thinking like a villain both worried and stimulated him. He faced the Russian named Ivan. His benefactor was short, heavy-chested, with grayish-black hair. He wore an ill-fitting suit that bulged at the waist. The deal had been to not only smuggle in the weapons but also lead the Russians to the site. That had been accomplished yesterday when Ivan had tracked the car he and Munoz had used to get to the castle. Again, Jonty had been far too accommodating. Then, once DiGenti had been eliminated, a text told Ivan the coast was clear for him to arrive.

“Malone, my friend,” Ivan called out. “We must talk.”

The American remained hidden behind the arch.

“You waiting for Sonia to act?” Ivan asked.

No reply.

“Sonia,” Ivan called out. “Sonia.”

More silence.

“Come out,” Ivan said. “We must talk, too. You not suppose to be here, and you know that.”



* * *



Cotton heard Ivan’s words.

Not suppose to be here.

What was Sonia doing?

He looked around the stone arch. Five hostile faces stared down at him with silent menace. He glanced at Jonty Olivier who again crouched behind the big-screen TV, near Bunch’s body.

“You killed a deputy national security adviser of the United States,” Cotton called out.

“Who not be missed,” Ivan said. “We have many deputies in Russia. Many more who want job. I’m sure you do, too.”

“It will not go unanswered.”

Ivan laughed. “Your new president not so tough. He thinks himself tough. But he just a liar. Unlike him, you know us, Malone. You would have listened and stayed away. I have no problem with you.”

What had he gotten himself into? Obviously the Russians had been serious back in Bruges, but the carnage around him seemed a bit much even for them. So much risk. Taken against people who had the means and resources to retaliate.

And would.

He was bare ass to the wind, and there was little he could do. Five men stood in the gallery above him, two armed with Uzis, two with pistols. Stinking cordite filled the air, along with the coppery waft of blood.

“Come out, Jonty,” the older man named Eli said. “There’s no need to hide. If we wanted you dead, you would be already.”

“Who are you?” Cotton asked.

“My name is Augustus ‘Eli’ Reinhardt V. I am an acquaintance of Jonty’s, though I doubt he’d claim me any longer.”

Olivier slowly revealed himself.

“Are you working with the Russians?” Cotton asked Reinhardt.

“Of course he is,” Ivan answered. “We stay in front of this from the start. He lead us straight here.”

“You’ll never find those documents,” Olivier blurted out. “They are hidden away. I’m the only one who knows where they are.”

“I would not underestimate me again,” Reinhardt said.

The comment came quick and Cotton read something in the older man’s tone. Confidence. Like a man who knew something. His warning senses cautioned that Reinhardt could represent the greatest threat, even over Ivan. Olivier was surely hoping that what he knew would keep him alive. And perhaps it might. But Olivier was clearly worried, as the pudgy man’s hands shook and a vein on his right temple squirmed with each beat of the heart, like a fat blue worm. He was probably trying to assess things, too. But nothing about this situation made sense.

Two plus two here added up to nine hundred.

Especially considering the wild card.

Where was Sonia?



* * *



Jonty had never experienced the seething conflict of emotions that rushed through him. An unsettling combination of a burgeoning excitement, a chilly dread, and irrational anger. The extent of the horror that surrounded him was beyond words. Never had he imagined such an outcome. His business was hardly ever violent. But this was clearly a different scenario. Thankfully, his hatred of Eli Reinhardt transcended his fear and brought him strength.

“Where is Vic?” he asked.

“Dead,” Eli said. “You’re on your own, Jonty.”

“There was no need to do this. None at all.”

“So you would have turned everything over?” Eli asked. “Just like that. All I had to do was ask?”

“This was my deal, but you couldn’t leave it alone. What was the Pantry? A diversion. Just a way for you to get close?”

“Exactly. And it worked. You were so accommodating. But this is business, Jonty. Nothing more. Though I will say for my associate here, Mr. Munoz, it’s a bit more personal. He truly wants to kill you.”

Jonty could see that was the case. The Bulgarian’s weapon was trained straight at him.

“Sadly for him,” Eli said, “he can’t. That was not part of the deal.”

Which begged the question.

What was?



* * *



Eli watched his adversary stand firm. Impressive, considering Olivier’s dire predicament. The Russians had simply asked that they be led to this location and that weapons be provided so all of the participants could be killed.

Save for Jonty.

He’d not questioned that condition since he was being paid an obscene amount of money. Then fate had smiled upon him and provided the folded piece of paper in his pocket. Was it the key to where the damaging information was hidden? He intended on finding out just as soon as he was away from the castle.