Page 113 of The Collector
Gabriel looked at Lavon, who was staring at the screen of his laptop. “Where are they?”
“North of Saint Petersburg.”
“How long before they reach the border?”
“In this weather? Three hours at least.”
“And us?”
“That depends on whether Mikhail can keep the car on the road.”
Gabriel stared out his window. It was nearly nine thirty in the morning, but it looked like midnight. “Do you think it will ever get light today, Eli?”
“No,” he answered. “Not today.”
TverBank Tower, once Moscow’s tallest skyscraper, now a distant fourth, loomed over Bolshaya Spasskaya Street just beyond the Garden Ring. Cylindrical in shape with a tapered apex, it resembled a giant phallus. Or so complained the critics when TverBank chairman Gennady Luzhkov unveiled a scale model of the building at a glitzy press event attended by several Kremlin luminaries, including the Russian president.
Gennady’s office was on the top floor, the fifty-fourth. He was seated at his desk shortly after 9:00 a.m. when his assistant informed him that Secretary Nikolai Petrov was on the line. Gennady, for any number of reasons, had been expecting the call.
“You treasonous bastard!” Petrov screamed. “You’re dead! Do you understand me? Dead!”
“I will be soon,” replied Gennady calmly. “But what seems to be the trouble?”
“She stole a document from my briefcase last night.”
“Who, Nikolai?”
“The woman you brought into my home.”
“Ms. Sørensen? Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“The document was in my briefcase when I arrived home, and it wasnotin my briefcase when I arrived at the Kremlin this morning.”
“Tell me something, Nikolai. Was the attaché case in question locked?”
“Of course.”
“Then how do you suppose Ms. Sørensen was able to steal it?”
“She must have picked the locks somehow.”
Gennady exhaled heavily. “You really have to pull yourself together, Nikolai. The country is depending on you. Haven’t you seen the news? The Ukrainians just attacked a village near the border. Though one can only wonder why they would waste precious missiles on a petrol station.”
“Where are they, Gennady?”
“The Ukrainians? They’re in Ukraine, Nikolai. If there are any left, that is.”
“Magnus Larsen and the woman,” said Petrov.
“In bed asleep, I imagine.”
“Why didn’t they go to the airport?”
“Because they had the good sense not to. Have you seen the weather? Now if you’ll excuse me, our man in Dubai is eagerly awaiting the first wire transfer.”
“That money isn’t going anywhere. Except to another bank,” added Petrov. “I’m giving it to Yuri at VTB.”
“You’ve already signed the transfer orders. I’m afraid it’s too late. The bullet is in the chamber, so to speak.”
