flown into Sudan, the one who’d caused him so much trouble. The Russian tried to not let his nervousness show. “Chto Novava?” What’s new?
“Nichivo.” Nothing much.
“Shto ty hochesh?” What do you want?
“For starters, I want to speak English. Sit down.”
Gennady sat on the sofa across from the American. He moved slowly, warily, but the bearded man in the leather chair gave no indication of threat. He seemed thinner somehow than in the Sudan. His face appeared drawn and gaunt, though again, his face was somewhat obscured by the rain-diffused lighting.
The Russian pilot switched to English. “All right. What do you want?”
“I want to have a conversation with you.”
“You caused me a lot of problems after Al Fashir.”
The American shrugged. “Apparently everything is okay now. You are still flying weapons for Rosoboronexport.”
“A kak je? Why wouldn’t I be? I did nothing wrong.”
“Other than violating sanctions, you mean.”
Gennady relaxed a little. He waved his arm like shooing a fly from his face. “Politics. I don’t have anything to do with those decisions. I am just a pilot.”
The American shrugged. “We all have our expertise.”
Gennady swallowed, stopped himself from asking about the American’s expertise. He knew he was a killer, and did not want to bring that up.
“Did you . . . do anything to Tanya?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘anything.’ I put a gun in her face. I tied her up. I scared the piss out of her, quite literally, as a matter of fact. Yeah, I did ‘something’ to her.” The man seemed distant for a moment. But his eyes retrained on Gennady in a second. “She’s a spook, by the way.” He said it nonchalantly.
“What?”
“Yeah. She’s GIO.”
Gennady just stared back. He did not understand.
“General Intelligence Office.”
Still no comprehension of what he was being told.
The American sighed, frustrated. “A Venezuelan spy. I pulled a wire from her.” He dangled a tiny listening device with an antenna no wider than a strand of wet spaghetti out in front of him, then swung it across the coffee table to Orloff.
Gennady caught it and looked it over. He laid it down on the table. “You lie.”
“No . . . I kill. I do not lie.”
Orloff believed. For several seconds he all but forgot about the American in front of him. He wanted to stand and return to the bedroom to beat the shit out of the little lying Latin whore, make good use out of those restraints holding her arms back.
But the American? What was his angle?
“You work for Gregor Sidorenko. The FSB told me this when they questioned me about your disappearance. Are you here to protect me from Venezuelan intelligence?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Does your wife know about the affair?”
Gennady’s eyes narrowed. “Not this one, no. But she would understand. She knows I am a man who is loved by many women.”
“Especially those paid to sleep with you.”
The Russian sighed. Shrugged. “I love my wife.”
“Do I look like I give a flying fuck about your marriage?”
“Then what is this about?”
“I don’t know what the Venezuelans plan to do with the intelligence they’ve gotten from you, but you have to ask yourself if you have ever said one thing in bed with the beautiful Tanya del Cid that you don’t want the FSB to know about. Nothing negative about home? About your work? Nothing significant that could hurt you if Russian state security heard it?”
Gennady shrugged. “I am just a pilot. And a proud Russian. I have said nothing that worries me.”
“You are certain?”
The Russian nodded slowly, perhaps not so sure but unwilling to reveal anything to this American.
The American seemed unfazed. “I need you to do something for me. I am prepared to pay you a lot of money.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Something that you already do well. Talk.”
“Talk about?”
“Talk about flying into Darfur. Talk about ferrying in an assassin from the Russian mafia to do a job for Russian state security. Talk about the types and quantities of weapons you brought into the country, weapons that won’t show up on any invoices. Show the West Russia’s crimes, and show the Sudanese that the Russians killed their leader.”
“What will that prove?”
“What many people already assume. But it will put pressure on Russia, get them kicked out of the country. Damage their influence. It just might prevent a war.”
“Why the hell would I do something so crazy as this? The FSB would kill me if I did.”
“Not if they could not get to you.”
Gennady shook his head. This discussion was madness, completely out of