“It’s really none of your business, is it?” Stapinsky lifted another bag into the trunk.
“It will only take a few minutes of your time, and I think you’ll be glad you did.”
“You assume a lot.”
“I assume ten million dollars is worth your time.”
Stapinsky’s eyes widened at the number.
“And that’s how much I have to invest. Today, if possible.”
“I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Please, won’t you come inside?”
Gotcha.
* * *
—
They sat on a green leather couch in Stapinsky’s library, its newly built shelves bulging with books, mostly paperbacks. The covers were pristine, as if the books were unread. The English-language titles were business texts and literary classics. The same with the Russian. The Polish book titles he couldn’t read, but he assumed they were the same.
“May I?” Jack asked, pointing at one of the shelves near his desk.
“If you must,” Stapinsky said, annoyed, as he tamped sweet-smelling tobacco into the bowl of his Italian briarwood pipe.
Jack lifted a copy of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls off the shelf.
“Great book. Love the movie. Have you seen it?”
“Many times. Bergman is a dream,” Stapinsky said, lighting his pipe.
“But the actress who played Pilar stole the show. What was her name?”
“I haven’t the slightest.”
Stapinsky’s attention turned to his young live-in maid as she entered the room with a tray. The Ukrainian girl brought in cups of instant coffee and Biscoff cookies, still in their plastic wrappers.
Jack returned the book to its shelf as Stapinsky dismissed the girl with a flick of his hand.
“I love these cookies,” Liliana said. “They usually serve these on airplanes.”
Stapinsky released a cloud of blue smoke, then offered an oily smile. “We are the exclusive Biscoff distributors in Poland.”
“Impressive.”
Jack took a seat next to Liliana. Stapinsky pointed at the coffee and cookies. “Please, help yourselves.”
“Thank you.” Jack took a sip of the weak coffee.
Stapinsky folded his long fingers together and leaned forward on his desk, his pipe clenched firmly between his yellowed teeth.
“So, Mr. Ryan, what is it exactly you are proposing?”
38
Did that go as you expected?” Liliana asked as she pulled out of Stapinsky’s curving driveway.
“One second,” Jack said, putting AirPods in his ears. “I need to check something.” He punched a speed-dial number, careful to hide the screen from Liliana’s peripheral vision.
A ring later, the call connected to the listening device Jack had planted on Stapinsky’s bookshelf. He’d likely never find it, because Jack placed it behind a book the man had clearly never read. In fact, most of the books on his shelf looked unread. They were probably all for show to impress any visitors.
Jack listened for a moment, smiled. That didn’t take long, he told himself.
Stapinsky was already on the phone with someone, and speaking in English, so no translation was needed. The call was being recorded on his phone in case he wanted to listen to it again later.
“Something funny?” Liliana asked as she turned onto the narrow asphalt road heading back toward Kraków.
Jack hit the pause button. “Just a voice mail from work. I’ll be with you in a second.” He hit play and listened to the rest of the message.
“He wanted to know if I was seeking an investment partner . . . Of course I told him I wasn’t, but he insisted on making his case . . . Of course . . . Of course not . . . I will let you know if he contacts me again. Yes. Right away . . . Good-bye, Mr. Gage.”
“Gotcha again,” Jack said. At least that was a confirmation that Gage and Stapinsky knew each other. Not that it meant anything substantial, and it certainly didn’t connect any dots to Senator Dixon. But who knows? Maybe they would have a more interesting conversation later. If so, the automated bug would pick it up and transmit it to Jack’s phone.
“What?” Liliana asked.
Whoops.
Jack closed the app and pulled out his AirPods, saying, “Oh, nothing important. Just something from work.”
“So did your meeting with Stapinsky go the way you planned?”
“Absolutely.”
“But he didn’t say or offer you anything.”
“Which is exactly what I expected.”
Of course, the meeting had pissed him off. He couldn’t stand Stapinsky’s smug nouveau-riche arrogance, which was a real tell. Most people crumbled when they came into a lot of money quickly, especially money that wasn’t earned. The problem wasn’t the money; fast cash only amplified existing character faults. Stapinsky was probably always an arrogant, self-interested son of a bitch, but now he could afford to