Page 99 of Bombshell

“Still, you’ll find she has no cause to complain,” he says. “We just had a little chat this afternoon. Got to know one another. She’s very fiery.”

“Yes, she is,” I agree. “But where is she?”

“Close. Where is my little bird that sings too much?” he asks carefully as a waitress appears.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.

“I have discovered something,” Nikolai says. “Your whiskey is delicious.”

He expects me to order it for him. Of course. “One West Reserve, please.”

“Coming up,” the waitress says brightly, already heading toward the cafe interior. I gave her a $50 bill as soon as I sat down a half hour ago. She’s supposed to keep an eye out and come by right away if I raise my hand. Shit like that impresses Nikolai.

“This is a nice place for a chat,” I say. What I’m really saying is: I vouch for the security of our location.

“Should we wait for our friend from Washington?” He means the FBI, and specifically Noah.

“He’s got other plans.”

“Good. What is it you have to say?”

“Your brothers wish to avoid any risk I might pose to them. I appreciate this. I also want to see this risk removed.”

Nikolai nods his head, almost imperceptibly.

We pause for a moment to let the waitress drop off the whiskey. Nikolai slips her a hundred dollar bill, and kisses her hand as he passes it to her. Her eyes rake up his arm, over his extensive tattoos, expensive designer suit, and flashy Breitling, and she actually bites her lip. He could have her across the table in five seconds. He knows it. He wants me to know it, too.

After the waitress leaves, he finally answers. “Yes, the same way we know of your name being mentioned in a sealed indictment. It...worries...some of my brothers. Some think, maybe this might be used as leverage over you.”

“I’ve recovered the sole copy of the materials in question, along with other videos that might interest you.” I point my index finger to the breast pocket of my jacket to signal I’m reaching for that and not a gun. I slowly remove a burner cell phone. This morning, Jack loaded it with all the surveillance Cyrus had on the Koltsovs, then queued up a video with helpful subtitles about the meetings that were compromised. I hand it to Nikolai, and he taps play.

He watches for about a minute, then mashes pause, lets out a deep growl, and drops the phone into his pocket. “And the source?”

Luca and Jack were split on what to tell Nikolai about the data. Luca said we should just tell the truth by naming Cyrus. Jack pointed out that this was the same as killing Cyrus. In the end, I decided to use a detail that seemed unappealing to investigate further, and that was vaguely close to what really happened, just in case. “He’s in a cage.”

“Your cage or my cage?” Nikolai asks.

“Consider it our cage.”

“And these were all the videos?”

“There were more, all stolen from hotel feeds. We destroyed everything, except what I just gave you,” I lie. “Too many enemies. Too many problems.”

He goes still and closes his eyes. Whatever’s happening inside his head, I know he’s trying to figure out if he believes me. What if I kept more videos than I gave him, just as insurance or leverage in a future disagreement? What if I made copies of the data? He has to believe everything I tell him, or nothing I tell him. Anything else doesn’t really help clarify his decisions.

“You should have given the rest of the files to us,” he says.

“Nikolai, last time we spoke, you said your brothers owed me one—”

“Yes, and some would say letting you live after we asked you to leave would more than repay any debt.” He senses value. Like any businessman, he doesn’t want to let go of it.

“I’ve done you another favor.” His eyebrows arch, probably at my presumption. “I took care of your bird and made sure no one hears any of his songs.”

He purses his lips, and by the time I’ve finished, they’ve vanished to a thin line. I have no idea what it means.

“I suppose you could see it that way, but what do you want from me?”

At last, I understand what he’s getting at. The way he looks at the world, resources aren’t wasted. People don’t destroy things of value to make their lives easier. For him, there has to be something else. Or I just don’t make sense. And not making sense to a man like him is dangerous—to say the least.