Page 94 of The Collector
“Nor do you, Ms. Sørensen. Or so I’m told.” He looked at Magnus. “Why such a small ring for so beautiful a woman?”
“It’s four bloody carats.”
“Here in Rublyovka we refer to such diamonds as accent stones.”
The interior of the home was thoroughly modern. Gennadyled them into the great room and with an unsteady hand filled three glasses with Domaine Ramonet Montrachet Grand Cru, one of the most expensive white wines in the world. The small talk he made was for the benefit of any listening devices that the FSB—or perhaps one of his business rivals—had managed to slip past his defenses. He seemed in no hurry to get to the business at hand.
“I hope you realize, Magnus, that I was joking about the ring. It really is quite lovely.”
“I would have preferred to purchase it at Tiffany or Harry Winston, but they’ve closed their stores in Moscow.”
“So have Hermès, Louis Vuitton, and Chanel,” said Gennady. “Another unintended consequence of our so-called special military operation in Ukraine.”
“I’m afraid DanskOil is next.”
“I’m told you had a rather unpleasant conversation with your minister for business this evening.”
“Told by whom?” asked Magnus. “Volodya?”
“Actually, it was Nikolai Petrov.”
“Petrov?”
Gennady closed his eyes and nodded once.
“Why is the secretary of the Security Council monitoring my phone calls?”
“Because the secretary requires your assistance on a sensitive personal matter, and he wants to make certain you’re trustworthy.” Gennady turned to Ingrid and regarded her carefully for a moment. “Do you play billiards, Ms. Sørensen?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She smiled. “You shouldn’t, Mr. Luzhkov.”
The game room was on the lowest level of the chalet. The door, when closed, emitted a solid, coffinlike sound. Ingrid checked her phone and saw there was no service.
The room was a safe-speech facility.
Gennady was racking the balls on his billiards table, a beautiful William IV mahogany model with a red baize playing surface, perhaps early nineteenth century.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Ingrid.
“Essential.”
“Why?”
“Because I have no intention of placing my life in your hands unless I know you’re up to the task at hand.”
“What does billiards have to do with stealing a document from a safe?”
“Everything.” Gennady carefully lifted the antique wooden rack. “Care to make things interesting?”
“Trust me, Mr. Luzhkov. They already are.”
“Financially,” he explained.
“What did you have in mind?”
