The Bad Beat (25 page)

“Stop apologizing,” I said. “You’ve apologized to me three times and I’ve only known you five minutes. I’m beginning to think this relationship will be built on regret.”

Reva cleared her throat, but that didn’t help her blushing. “I’m sor . . .” she began, but caught herself just in time. “You wanted to buy a table?”

“I do,” I said.

“For how many?”

I handed her the check. “There will be only five of us, unless you’d like to join our table,” I said, “but I think this should cover it.”

“Dr. Bennington,” she said, “this is a check for a million dollars, yes?”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “My company has great faith in Mr. Drubich. We would like, if you do not mind, to present him with a copy of the check this evening.”

“A copy?”

“We’ll have one made that will be large enough for everyone to see when we present it to him.”

“Like,” Reva paused, searching for what this was like. “Like, the Publishers Clearing House?”

“Similar,” I said, “but Ed McMahon won’t be able to make it.”

“And you do not know Mr. Drubich?”

“Not personally. But my company and his company are about to embark on a very significant project together. I have sadly been in Zurich tending to business there and haven’t been able to meet with him, though my people tell me, as you have, that he is a rare human being. Have you been to Zurich?”

“No,” she said.

“We should go,” I said. “It would be good for you. You need less stress. Zurich removes the stress from your every pore.” Reva seemed flustered by all of this— that I was hitting on her as if my name were Sam Axe and also that she held a check in her hand for a million dollars—so I reached over and touched her hand. “I would like to keep this secret until tonight, Reva. Do you mind if I call you by your first name, Reva?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, call me my first name.”

“Reva,” I said, “we’d like this to be a surprise for Mr. Drubich.”

“Of course, of course,” she said. “Is there anything we can do to help facilitate this?”

“It would mean a great deal to me if we could have a table near to Mr. Drubich’s. And a reserved parking spot out front. Will there be press at this event?”

“We’ve invited the local stations and reporters, but I’m afraid what we do here in the consulate is not as exciting as what happens on South Beach.”

“A shame,” I said. “This would be good for Moldova. Particularly in light of your troubled election situation back home, don’t you think?”

Reva considered what I said. “I could make another round of calls, yes?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” I said. “Get your name in the paper back home, perhaps, too.”

“I make my home here now,” she said. “Much warmer than Moldova. I’ve learned that winter isn’t something I need, yes?”

“I agree,” I said. “And the sun suits your skin. And your eyes.”

I let that hang there for a moment.

“I should tell you I’m seeing someone,” she said. She fingered the diamond necklace around her neck.

“That’s good for him. You must make him very happy. Does he let you speak on the phone?”

“No one tells me what I can do,” Reva said.

“I’m happy to hear that. Perhaps then I could call you?” I said. “We could talk about less formal things than money and science.”

Reva didn’t answer right away. Probably because she actually loved the man who gave her that lovely necklace. And probably because she wasn’t used to someone being as direct as I was being. Or maybe she just liked my Hugo Boss suit. “There is nothing wrong with talking, yes?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

Reva took out a pen and wrote her phone number on the back of her business card. Her official title was director of international media affairs. A good job title. One she would probably lose for all of this.

She excused herself for a moment and came back with a stack of papers for me to fill out. The first was just the names of those who’d be attending the event that evening and the rest were more formal documents, namely those the Treasury Department would want to see when their full investigation began.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I should have my CFO handle all of this. I am good with science but lousy with tax ID numbers.”

“That is not a problem,” Reva said. “Bring them back tonight.”

“You should deposit the check, however,” I said. “That would be an expensive piece of paper to lose track of.”

“Oh, we will, certainly,” she said. “I will take it to the bank personally and immediately draw a check for Mr. Drubich’s trust.”

It was certain, then, that she’d lose her job.

“Reva,” I said, “have you ever thought of working somewhere other than the consulate?”

“Are you offering me a position with InterMacron?”

“No, no,” I said. “No business and pleasure. But you should see about other opportunities. You’re better than this job.”

Her hand went up to her throat again, to that necklace, which made me wonder if maybe the man who gave her the diamond also gave her the job.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” I said.

She got up then and closed the door to the conference room and then sat back down and scooted her chair closer to mine, so that she was only inches from me.

“I have always wanted to model,” she said. “Do you think I could model?”

And suddenly Reva Lohr, the director of international media affairs for a foreign government, was just like every other woman in Miami. Every woman who wasn’t Fiona, at least.

“You could be on runways in Milan tomorrow,” I said.

“My boyfriend, he says, ‘You are professional, why do you want to be a walking doll?’ And I say, ‘I want to be admired, just like anyone.’ And clothes, I could make clothes, too. Be a model who designs. And I would also like to be on a reality show. The one with Mr. Trump. I saw him once at a restaurant here. So smart, that man.”

I smiled at Reva. It hurt to do so. It made me wonder how Sam did it on a daily basis just for drinks and chicken wings. I decided to go all in.

“Don is a personal friend. I’ll see what I can do.” I stood then and so did Reva. “One other thing, if you don’t mind,” I said. “Would it be possible to get a private room downstairs to prep our surprise prior to the event?”

“Of course,” she said. “Yes, yes, of course. We have a salon you could use. Just tell the security guards when you arrive and they will show you to it. And I’d be happy to provide any kind of, how do you say, concierge service you might need.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” I said. I took Reva’s hand in mine and raised it to my lips and kissed it lightly. “It was my pleasure to meet you today. I feel it was fated.”

When I made it back to the Navigator a few minutes later with an envelope filled with paperwork that I would need Barry to forge, Sam had an earplug in and was writing notes furiously on a pad.

“You got something on the bug?” I said.

“Yeah, Mikey, it’s alive in that place right now,” he said. “I now have a complete recipe for what are supposedly the best cream-cheese-and-bacon sandwiches the Red Hat club of Coral Gables has ever had. You fare any better?”

“We’ll have our own parking space,” I said. “And you’re going to get to hand-deliver a huge replica check to Yuri Drubich.”

“I may wear Kevlar tonight,” he said.

“Might be a good idea.”

As we pulled away, I took out my phone and made a call to Monty. “It’s set up for tonight,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said. “And will Mr. Grayson be taking Mr. McGregor up on his offers?”

“Number ten for sure,” I said. “The rest, I can’t tell you.”

There was silence on the line for a moment and then Monty said, “It’s a very generous offer. He would be silly not to take it.”

“He’s not like you and he’s not like me,” I said. “Though I understand he does appreciate a nice hot stone massage.” Not a sound escaped from Monty, so I said, “Do you have an account where Yuri’s money can be safely wired?”

“Yes,” he said after a while. “You will be doing this or will Barry?”

“Barry,” I said.

“Iceland is fine with him?”

“Indeed,” I said and he gave me the information.

“This account will be locked by tomorrow at six a.m.,” Monty said. “And I will be gone shortly thereafter. I need all of Mr. Grayson’s answers well before that time.”

“You’ll have them,” I said.

“And Mr. Westen? Mr. McGregor instructed me that he’d prefer cash for the debts owed by your brother.”

“Tell him to call me, then,” I said and hung up.

I made one last call, this one to Odessa, which I put on speaker. “Mr. Drubich, please,” I said to the woman who answered.

“There is no one by that name here,” she said.

“Tell him it’s Big Lumpy’s people and make it fast, honey,” I said. Instead of hanging up on me, the woman put me on hold and for the next few minutes I was serenaded by Neil Diamond welcoming me to America. Just when I was thinking that the irony of his Muzak system would be forever lost on Yuri, he picked up the line.

“You have two minutes,” he said, so I did the only reasonable thing and hung up.

“Short conversation,” Sam said.

“He’ll call me back,” I said.

“I thought I was Big Lumpy now,” Sam said.

“You are,” I said, “physically.” Sure enough, my phone began to ring. “I just thought I’d cover the intimidationby-phone angle, but if it means that much to you, go right ahead.”

“Nah, Mikey,” he said. “You know I like to hear you outsmart people until they get so frustrated they order out hit squads. It’s one of my small pleasures in life these days.”

I answered the phone by saying, “I’m sorry. We must have had a bad connection. I couldn’t make out what you said before.”

“I know your organization,” Yuri said. “I know your reputation and it means nothing to me. Do you understand that?”

“That’s great,” I said. “I have the technology that you want and I have the boy and I have his father. Do you understand that?”

“I want the boy dead,” he said.

“Well, then, you’re going to be out a bunch of money for nothing, because I won’t let you kill him. What I am happy to do, however, is get you some death certificates for both of them if it would help you with your investors. I’ve got the information you need, all of the specs you’ve asked for and more. You’ll be running bandwidth over the wind in three months. Bedouins will think you’re some kind of god. They’ll probably erect statues of you all over Chad. But you’re not killing a kid. I just won’t let that happen. Now he’ll apologize, and you’ll get to meet his crazy father, too, but I’m not having you chopping off his head just because he’s smarter than you. You want to pretend to kill him, I have the ability to make that happen.”

Sam looked at me like I was nuts, and on the other end of the line, Yuri Drubich must have thought the same.

“What is the price of the technology?” Yuri said finally.

“Six million, American.”

“That is insane without a working model,” he said.

“Mr. Drubich, you’re a smart person, so I’m going to make this simple for you. If there were a working model, you wouldn’t have to pay six million dollars for this information. You’d be able to drive out to some wind farm and see it with your own beady eyes and then the technology would be worthless. You don’t trust my information, I say God bless you and have a great day and I’m sorry a nineteen-year-old boy took you to school. You do trust me, we’ll make this happen tonight.”

“Tonight,” he said, “is no good.”

“Tonight is all you have,” I said. “Tomorrow I could be dead. I’m a sick man. Maybe you heard.”

“Maybe you heard that your errand girl broke my wrist,” he said. “I spend all morning at hospital and tonight I have . . . it doesn’t matter. Tonight is no good.”

“Seven thirty at the Moldovan Consulate. The salon beside the ballroom. Wear something nice,” I said and then rolled down the window in the Navigator and threw the phone into the street, where it was promptly run over. If Yuri was trying to run a trace so he could activate his hit squad, it would be a bit more difficult with the phone in a million little pieces.

“How you planning on getting those death certificates?” Sam asked.

“I thought we’d call your friend Marci,” I said.

“You ready to drive down that road?” Sam asked.

“I think I can handle her,” I said.

“What about Fiona?”

“It will just be dinner,” I said.

“Mikey, I’ve had dinner with her. It’s a full-contact sport. Tore my meniscus last time.”

“I’ll brace myself,” I said.

Sam shook his head, but made the call. When I heard that high-pitched squeal again, I thought once more about how much easier life was when I was just a spy.

15

You spend your entire life pretending to be someone else and it’s sometimes hard to remember exactly who you are. You take on false identities, change your past, your future, your present, and end up telling a series of lies that compound into other lies, until you’re defined by your ability to keep all of your fictions straight long enough to get out of whatever horrible situation you’re in. It’s both a survival technique and the bread and butter of being a covert operative: Being a spy means being a professional liar with a gun, over and over and over again.

So you put on your costumes.

You get your backstory in order.

You examine your exit strategies, you ponder collateral damage and you wonder: If things go wrong, will anyone actually know who I really am? Will anyone pick up my body. It is a life made of repetition, but it is a life that you choose and that chooses you.

And if one day you pick up a telephone in a foreign country hoping to broker a deal and find out you’ve been burned, that all of your backup is gone, that you’re still a spy, because that’s who you are, but that you don’t have anyone to spy for, and then for the next few years you find out that everything you thought about being a spy might be entirely wrong, that it’s all one elaborate game . . . what do you do? What do you do with your skills?

Sometimes you help people with their problems.

Sometimes you unwind the conspiracies surrounding your life, only to find out that the more you unwind, the darker and more complex the forces at work in your life are, that your burn notice isn’t just an unkind way of saying you’re fired, but a way of saying you now work for a new master altogether.