Page 99 of The Collector
“The note that Ingrid left in my room the morning she left for Russia.”
“The one that said she wouldn’t let you down?”
Gabriel nodded.
“She won’t,” said Lavon.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Eli.”
49
Rublyovka
At the conclusion of her workout, Ingrid swam a few laps in Magnus’s indoor pool, then headed upstairs to shower and dress. Her clothing for the evening was laid out on the bed. Stretch jeans, a black pullover and jacket, low-heeled suede boots. Her black Givenchy handbag, which she had purchased earlier that day at the Barvikha Luxury Village, was large enough to accommodate an extra ring of keys, a screwdriver with a tape-wrapped grip, and a Russian-made Vektor pistol and suppressor.
At present the weapon was locked in the cabinet in Gennady Luzhkov’s game room. He was expecting Ingrid and Magnus at eight o’clock for a light supper and a final run-through. Ingrid wasn’t looking forward to it. She didn’t believe in last-minute rehearsals, and she never ate before a score. Food weighed her down, doused the flame. It had been building in her all afternoon. Her skin felt feverish, her fingertips were tingling. She took no steps to alleviate her symptoms. They would subside when the document was hers.
The mundane chores of drying her hair and applying her makeup usually provided some relief, but not tonight; she was possessed.Afterward she regarded the finished product in the looking glass. Her shoulders and thighs were taut and hard. Her honey-colored skin was flawless. Not a drop of ink anywhere. Nothing that could be used to identify her. The invisible girl.
She dressed without a sound, then took up her handbag and went downstairs. She found Magnus in his woolen overcoat, pacing the rooms of his Russian palace for a last time. His hand shook as he checked the time on the Piaget wristwatch given to him by the Russian president.
He remembered to say a few words for the sake of the Thought Police. “Are you ready, Astrid? Gennady is probably wondering where we are.”
Magnus had already loaded their bags in the back of the Range Rover and topped the tank with petrol. A few flakes of snow fell through the glow of the headlamps during the drive to Gennady’s timber-and-glass chalet. Inside, he led them straight to the game room and closed the heavy door. The Vektor pistol was lying on the red surface of the billiards table with the suppressor screwed onto the end of the barrel. Next to it was an aluminum-sided attaché case.
“Open it,” said Gennady.
Ingrid popped the latches and lifted the cover. Inside were tightly packed bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“A half-million-dollar down payment on the money I owe you,” explained Gennady. “I’ll wire the remaining sum to a bank of your choosing.”
“It wasn’t a real bet, Mr. Luzhkov.”
“That’s what the loser of a ten-million-dollar wager is supposed to say, not the winner. If nothing else, please accept the money as payment for what you are about to do. You deserve every penny.”
“In my line of work, we generally get paid at the end of the job. And only if we’re successful.”
“Nevertheless, a bet is a bet, Ms. Sørensen.”
“Banca Privada d’Andorra. My account manager is a man named Estevan Castells.”
Gennady smiled. “I know him well.”
Ingrid closed the attaché case and checked the combination settings on the locks. The latch on the left was set to 2-7-1. The latch on the right was 1-5-5.
“Do you recognize the numbers?” asked Gennady.
They were the same six digits as the combination for Nikolai Petrov’s safe. Twenty-seven, eleven, fifty-five. Ingrid locked the briefcase and scrambled the dials. Then she unscrewed the suppressor from the barrel of the Vektor and slid both into her handbag.
“Please place the bag over your shoulder,” said Gennady. “I’d like to have a look at it.”
Ingrid did as he asked. The gun weighed nearly a kilo, but the bag was sturdy enough in structure to conceal its presence.
“Most people would never be allowed to get near Nikolai Petrov with a gun,” said Gennady. “But because this is a social call, and because you will be with me, a trusted member of the Russian president’s innermost circle, I’m confident Nikolai’s security detail won’t insult you by demanding to search your bag.”
“Is he expecting me?”
“Actually, he insisted you come. For all his ultranationalist bluster, Nikolai can be quite charming, especially in the company of attractive young women. But under no circumstances will he discuss business in front of you. Nor will I, for that matter. After a few minutes of pleasantries, I will suggest that we find a quiet place to talk, leaving you free to make your way to his office.”
