Uncut Terror. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      The Grand International Hotel Moscow, Russia

      GRODOVICH ADJUSTED HIS white terry cloth robe as he watched the two prostitutes collect their jackets and head for the door. As the women left, the redhead winked at him, but the blonde had a distressed look on her face.

      He turned to Mikhal, who had just joined him in the main room of the suite. The giant still had on his prison pants and was buttoning his prison shirt. He was wearing his massive prison shoes, as well. Grodovich smiled.

      “You have dressed in a hurry,” he said.

      “I did not bother getting undressed,” Mikhal said. “I am too used to the ways of Krasnoyarsk.”

      Indeed, Grodovich could smell that Mikhal had not bothered to bathe yet. The ways of Detention Center 6 were not discarded easily. The only time one risked getting completely undressed was during their weekly shower. Predators lurked everywhere.

      “Did you enjoy yourself?” Grodovich asked.

      The giant grinned, the smile stretching over the rocky unevenness of his dentition.

      “There will be plenty of other women,” Grodovich said. “Prettier ones than those. But soon we have to complete our preparations. I must meet with a former business associate.”

      Mikhal nodded. “When do we leave?”

      “As soon as our friend Stieglitz returns with our new clothes and the rest of our equipment.”

      Mikhal nodded again.

      Grodovich heard the door opening and saw Stieglitz enter with several other men. The man immediately behind Stieglitz was the one who caught Grodovich’s attention. He was perhaps thirty, with jet-black hair brushed back from his face. His eyes were a brownish-yellow and his body looked powerful under the dark nylon shirt he wore. He moved with a smooth grace, like some feral animal that had been captured but not completely tamed. Grodovich could tell the man had a pistol holstered on the right side of his back and some sort of folding knife clipped inside his pants pocket.

      Four other men trailed into the room behind them. Grodovich recognized one of them as the tailor who had been by earlier to take their measurements. Grodovich assumed it would be an easy task to prepare clothing for him, but Mikhal was another matter. The tailor had balked, saying he would have to make a pattern for a man so large. Stieglitz had told him that was fine, so long as he had everything ready by eight o’clock that night. When the tailor had protested, Stieglitz stepped forward and slapped the little man across the face. That shut him up, and Stieglitz had seemed pleased with himself.

      At last he’d found someone he wasn’t afraid to hit, Grodovich thought. He was already starting to despise the bespectacled, baldheaded little worm. But it was now eight o’clock and the tailor had numerous parcels no doubt containing the clothes. Perhaps Stieglitz had more prestige than Grodovich had thought.

      “This is Boris Rovalev,” Stieglitz said. “He will be accompanying you on this mission as your bodyguard and personal assistant.”

      And spy, no doubt, Grodovich thought. The last thing he wanted was a government agent reporting on his every move.

      Grodovich shook his head. “I do not need him. I have Mikhal to assist and protect me.”

      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