Uncut Terror

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Rovalev smirked. “This clown? Perhaps he could protect you in Krasnoyarsk, but this is the real world.”

Mikhal’s face twisted into a frown and he stepped forward, his massive body tensing, like a mountain ready to unleash an avalanche.

“You will not speak disrespectfully to me,” he said, his childlike voice sounding so out of place. “Or I will hurt you.”

Rovalev stepped back and the small pistol was suddenly in his hand. His lips parted in a smile.

“Not that I would need this to stop you,” he said. “But you make such an inviting target I can hardly resist.”

Stieglitz stepped between them. “Stop this nonsense at once.” After glancing at each of the two poised men, he turned to Grodovich. “Have you forgotten where you were little more than twenty-four hours ago?”

Grodovich considered this and then placed a hand on Mikhal’s chest, urging him back with gentle pressure. At the same time he faced Rovalev and said, “Put that away. We can all work together.”

Rovalev’s eyes held those of Mikhal for a few seconds more, then he slipped the pistol back into its holster. He nodded and said, “Another time, perhaps.”

Mikhal seemed satisfied with the uneasy truce. He turned back to Stieglitz and asked, “Do you have our new clothes?”

Stieglitz motioned for the tailor to step forward and said, “Do the giant first.” He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a mobile phone as he walked Grodovich away from the others. “You will now use this to establish contact with your former partner, Yuri Kadyrov.”

Grodovich accepted the phone, turning it over in his hand to admire the sleekness of the plastic. He’d been planning to call Yuri soon anyway, but why was Stieglitz pressing the issue? He went through his lexicon of old numbers, trying to recall the one he needed as he turned the phone over and over in his palm.

Stieglitz snorted and shook his head in obvious frustration.

Patience is not his strong suit, Grodovich thought. Or could it be the sign of a man under tremendous pressure?

He decided to test him.

Grodovich made a show of handing the phone back to Stieglitz. “I am sorry, but I can’t remember any numbers. It has been too long. They have no doubt been changed anyway.”

Stieglitz seemed to become more agitated. “His current number has already been placed into the phone. You need only to consult the memory listing.”

Grodovich raised his eyebrows. “And what am I to say to him?”

“Tell him you have been released and you wish to resume your position in your company,” Stieglitz said. “Ask him what he has planned.” He paused and looked askance at Grodovich. “See if he tells you of the Lumumba negotiation.”

“The Lumumba negotiation?”

“An African dictator. Kadyrov is negotiating an arms deal with him. They are scheduled to meet in Antwerp the day after tomorrow. The African is purported to be in possession of a large conflict diamond.”

Grodovich nodded. A conflict diamond... So that was it. They needed him to push the illicit gem through the Kimberley Process to launder its dubious origin. But surely Yuri could do that just as easily as he. When he’d gone to prison, Grodovich had left his partner in charge, and it made sense that he would be continuing with the business as usual. It seemed simple enough. There was something more. He could sense it. “What are you not telling me?”

Stieglitz adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and stared at him. “He intends to betray you, to take over the entire operation himself.”

Grodovich shook his head. “Impossible. Yuri and I grew up together. We have been friends all our lives. He would not betray me. Ever.”

“He already has.”

Grodovich saw a sly smile creep over the other man’s lips.

Stieglitz cocked an eyebrow as he canted his head to the left. “Do you remember the day I came to get you in Krasnoyarsk? Those men who attacked you in the stairwell... They were Chechen, were they not?”

Grodovich said nothing. What was this worm implying?

Stieglitz continued, “Who do you think sent them?”

Grodovich had been wondering about that unprovoked attack. Why would Chechens ambush him? Chechens... Like Yuri. It could explain a lot.

“Yuri?” Grodovich said, his voice sounding hoarse. “You’re saying he sent them?”

Stieglitz held his gaze and did not speak for several seconds. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he answered. “We originally contacted him trying to find out whether he would work with us. But in the end, we determined that he was not to be trusted. Yuri Kadyrov is half Chechen, is he not? Do you know what his name means in his native language?”

“The powerful,” Grodovich said, still confused by the possibility of betrayal from his trusted friend. “He used to make a point of telling me that when we were children.”

“And since your incarceration he has been in charge of your organization, has he not?”

“Yes, but he has also made sure the monthly bribes were paid to the guards.”

“Those same guards who abandoned you in that prison stairwell?” Stieglitz asked. He waited a few moments before adding, “I have already had them interrogated. They confessed. They were bribed by Kadyrov to leave you alone. To let those Chechens butcher you. Upon my arrival, I found out about this plan when I issued a strict order that if you were harmed they would be held personally responsible. I sent another contingent of guards to rescue you. Do you recall this?”