Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I imagine that van will be driven to the nearest chop shop and disassembled within the hour, no trace of it remaining for the police to find.
Bogachev straightens, pointing toward the door the Russian had just exited. “Good guy. Owe a lot to him for pulling this off.”
“Good guy?” Bebe snarls in outrage. “He blew up a cafe. Probably killed innocent people.”
Shaking his head, Bogachev gives a faux expression of shock. “Oh, he didn’t drop the bomb. Another one of my trusted good guys did that, creating the necessary diversion so you two could be snatched.” Moving his attention to me, he adds, “But Karl was the one who confirmed some suspicions I’d had about you.”
“How’s that?” I ask between gritted teeth, clenched partly from anger and partly from pain.
Bogachev moves to stand right in front of Bebe and me. He’s dressed in a designer suit in a light gray, complete with a blue silk tie and a matching kerchief in his pocket. His wavy hair is styled to perfection, his manicured hands clasped at his front.
He gives me a tight smile. “It didn’t sit right with me when you came to New York last week to tell me you’d killed Bebe. I mean, I bought it at first. I thought you taking her out with a fake overdose was brilliant. I was quite proud of you actually. But you should have left it at that. If so, I probably would have been none the wiser.”
“Left it at that?” Bebe asks.
Bogachev doesn’t even spare her a glance. His attention stays focused on me. “In the three years you worked for me, you’d never showed that kind of initiative. I mean, you did your job and did it well, but you always flew under the radar. Did anything I asked of you, but nothing more or less. You did the things I hired you to do. You had my back. You protected me. But you never gave me more. Now, of course, I realize you were just trying to get in deep, get me comfortable with you while waiting for the right time to strike. So when you told me about Bebe’s kid and how you should go after him, it struck me as… odd.”
I hold back a groan of frustration. Just that one little move—to gain more time away from Bogachev so I could work with Jameson to bring him down—was ultimately the downfall in my cover. It was a stupid mistake, and I should have known better.
“It didn’t make sense to me,” Bogachev continues. He seems to have a need to make sure I understand just how smart he is, and I’m okay with that. The longer he talks, the longer Bebe and I stay alive until I can figure out how to get us out of this mess. “I was suspicious, but I really couldn’t put my finger on anything. But then Karl told me that you’d stayed in my house after our meeting. He said you’d told him you were using the bathroom and well… some people wouldn’t think that was odd. People use the bathroom all the time.”
I can tell he’s enjoying this. The story of how smart he is and how he can’t ever be taken for granted. This is all true, of course, but I don’t regret anything. We made the decision to go in and have me attempt to plant that USB knowing we could be caught. It was a risk that was approved all the way up the FBI chain of command.
But I am getting a bit tired of hearing his pompous retelling, so I make him skip forward. “Blah, blah, blah,” I taunt. “So you got suspicious. I’m guessing you decided to look at the camera feeds and saw me go into your room?”
Bogachev flushes red with anger, his eyes narrowing. “Manners, Griff, or I might have to put an end to this sooner rather than later.”
These words are not shocking, because I know how he wants this to end. But Bebe makes a distressed sound. She’s terrified, and I hate I can’t take the time to comfort her. It’s good I’ve got Bogachev focused on me as I try to figure a way out of this.
“So you saw me plant the USB in your room?” I say, wanting to engage him in conversation.
Buying time.
There was a GPS on the van. It’s standard procedure to have one. Perhaps it will lead to our rescue.
Except I know that’s unlikely. The bomb was a brilliant diversionary tactic. There would be so much chaos caused from that it would have taken way too long for anyone to know we were missing, particularly with our liaison, Ken, potentially hurt or killed in the blast. My gut swirls with emotion over the thought.
“Admittedly,” Bogachev says in response to my question. “I was a bit shocked over your actions. Planting something in my room. You can imagine the betrayal I felt, realizing you weren’t who you said you were. What was the device supposed to do anyway?”