The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(84)

He should take better care of himself, especially now that he was five million euros richer. Munoz had called and told him to come here, near the top of the tower, which sat within sight of the salt mine’s main entrance. He caught glimpses of the afternoon crowd, many headed to their cars to leave, through breaks in the outer walls. Not many people were partaking of the curative effects today. Which was good. He needed a little privacy.

He rounded a corner and saw Munoz and Konrad ahead.

“What is this about?” Konrad asked, with concern. “And how did you know where I live?”

“My business is information.”

“Where is DiGenti?”

He knew better than to tell the truth. “We’re handling matters now.”

“Mr. Olivier made it clear that all of this had to be held confidential. He said nothing about you being a part of that.”

“I was here last evening. I am a part of this.” He decided to soothe the man’s clear anxiety. “I require your assistance. For that I’m prepared to pay you one hundred thousand euros.”

Konrad’s face froze in surprise. “That’s far more than DiGenti ever paid me.”

“Unlike Mr. DiGenti, I believe that people should be adequately compensated for their services. Is that amount satisfactory?”

Konrad nodded.

He’d long ago learned that everyone had a price. The trick was finding it, then being able to pay. Luckily, neither was a problem here.

“What do you want me to do?” Konrad asked.

“Take us to the statue of St. Bobola, on Level IX.”

He watched as the request was considered. He’d learned of the connection between the saint and the mine from the internet.

“I think I know where that is,” Konrad said. “It’s inside a small chapel.”

“Excellent. How fast can you get us there?”

“Half an hour. Maybe faster. When do I get paid?”

“When we return from the statue. Of course, we need discreet access, with no attention whatsoever. The more anonymous the better.”

“I can take care of that. DiGenti wanted the same thing.”

“But I’m paying much more than he ever did, so I expect more.”

“As do I,” a new voice said.

He turned and saw Ivan waddle his way toward them, like a plow horse, bulky, bony, with black, oily eyes like a crow. He felt his head spiral upward toward a different reality, one where he wanted to stay. But he couldn’t. He had to maintain control of the situation, though he could feel the confidence draining out of his fingertips.

“Konrad,” he said, “could you go arrange for that access. Mr. Munoz will come with you. Art, come back and get me when all is ready.”

Munoz and Konrad started to leave.

“Add one more to tour,” Ivan said.

Konrad stopped.

Eli realized there was no choice. “Do it.”

Konrad nodded and headed off with Munoz. Eli faced Ivan. “How did you know?”

“I been doing this long time. Reading people is talent I have. And, besides, I not trust you ever. So I watch close.” Ivan motioned to his eyes with his fingers. “You find something at castle. I saw in your face. Why you think I let Malone go so easy?” Ivan pointed. “You know what I want to know. I want information on Czajkowski.”

“I had hoped to sell it to you.”

Ivan chuckled. “Sure you did. But I have better deal. I let you live, in return for information.”

He’d known that was coming. “Why don’t you just go down without me and find it yourself. There’s no need for me to be involved any longer.”

“I disagree. You most important. We go down together. Cotton Malone is on his way here.”

Great.

“I have man trying to stop him.”

“Seems this whole venture is becoming crowded.”

“My thought, too.”

He definitely had a problem. Going down into that mine could be a one-way trip. But he doubted this Russian had come alone. So there was nowhere to run. No. Go down. Deal with things below, where the darkness and solitude might give him an edge.

“All right,” he said. “We go together.”

A disdainful smile worked at the corner of Ivan’s mouth. “You were paid much money. More than enough to cover information, too.”

“That information is worth far more than five million euros.”

“Not for you. Call it price of lying.”

Again, he had no choice. “Let us conclude our business and be done with each other.”

“Be grateful, Mr. Broker, I don’t kill you.”

“You don’t know where the information is hidden.”

“See how far that got Olivier. Not much. Don’t push me. I want information and I want to be done with this.”

But he was not buying a single word. Russians lied with uninhibited ease. A talent that came with them from the womb. He had to go down with this devil. That was the easy part.

But getting back up in one piece?

That was going to take some effort.





CHAPTER SIXTY


Czajkowski felt a measure of freedom. For the first time in five years he had no BOR security people in tow. No media. No aides. Only Sonia. It had taken Micha? Zima’s direct order to have his bodyguards stand down. Having Sonia with him helped soothe Zima’s concerns—if anything happened, it would be Zima who’d take the fall. But the head of the BOR had assured him that he was prepared for any consequences. He was reevaluating his opinion of Zima. The man seemed a team player, sensitive to the gravity of a delicate situation and its political effects, recognizing that everything, quite literally, seemed at stake.