The crowd that had surprised Leticia shocked Alexandra, and that was when she first wondered if they were out of their depth. They had known of four or five companies that used Northwell’s services, but here were—she did a quick estimate—over sixty men and women in suits, filling the seats to overflowing, all focused on Anthony Halliwell at his podium, and then turning to look at the unexpected half-dozen visitors. They were multitudes, these Northwell clients—Africans and Asians and Arabs and Europeans. There was a face she recognized as part of Jair Bolsonaro’s entourage, and in the front was the unmistakable face of Gilbert Powell, his head swiveling to take them in. In the second row, Sergei Stepanov was sitting with his English banker, Oliver Booth. The lamps in the low ceiling were dark, but plenty of light came in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door that led to the small, snow-covered courtyard between the Congress Center and the Congress Hotel.
“What is this?” Halliwell asked through his mic.
“Sorry, Tony,” Foster said, sounding entirely casual. “Something unavoidable came up. But it won’t take long.”
She led them up to the front, while Halliwell looked like he wanted to shout—he wasn’t a man who liked surprises. On the screen beside him a color-coded pie chart chronicled the expansion of operations into each of the continents. How simple a chart could make all this look.
At the mic now, Foster took Halliwell aside and whispered. His flushing face did a poor job hiding his shock and anger. Foster then turned to the mic and said to everyone, “This man over here is Milo Weaver. You’ll know the name because of the numerous Interpol Red Notices out for him. He is a known criminal, but one with powerful friends. Which is why we’re letting him have five minutes of our time. Once he’s had his say, the meeting will continue.”
She stepped back and offered the podium to Milo, who suddenly looked unsure of himself. Though she felt a flash of frustration, Alexandra could understand. This wasn’t the kind of crowd they thought they would have to win over. A dozen, maybe twenty, but this? The others—Francis, Li Fan, Oskar, and Vetrov—looked equally surprised, and Li Fan leaned in to whisper to Oskar, who nodded.
Milo cleared his throat and said, “The people I’ve brought with me represent the intelligence communities of the UK, Germany, Russia, and China. All four countries are aware of your relationship to Northwell, and the criminal acts you’ve hired them to commit. Each of you, in the next week, will have warrants out for your arrest. Unless you hereby sever your relationship with Northwell.”
God, he was bad. Alexandra had never seen Milo before a crowd, because he’d never needed to talk to any group larger than the twelve patrons. His stilted speech was like trying to heat a large room with a single match. As she watched, Li Fan whispered to Oskar again, showing him her wristwatch, and Oskar approached Milo from the side. Li Fan also moved, getting closer to wide-eyed, scarlet-faced Anthony Halliwell. Francis and Vetrov, watching all this, fidgeted with what was plainly secret anticipation. Whatever they were planning, it was happening now.
“The fact of the matter,” Milo went on, “is that no country can afford this kind of lawlessness, and so you have a choice. If you choose to not act, then in a week you will be imprisoned and your companies will be taken away. Many of them will collapse. A deal is being offered. I suggest you take it.”
Oskar whispered to Milo, who nodded and stepped back. Oskar moved to the mic and said, “My friend states the facts plainly. Let me put it more simply: This ends today. Each of you will play along, or you will share the fate of these two leaders of Northwell.”
Halliwell shook his head and barked, “Really?” He sounded ready to laugh.
That was when a low, staccato series of booms sounded. They came from out in the courtyard. The glass trembled slightly, and all heads turned to see smoke fuming from holes in the snowy ground, rising to obscure the hotel. The noise and smoke surprised everyone, except, she noticed, the four intelligence officers. As if on cue, Li Fan reached into her coat, took out a pair of blue latex gloves, and slipped them on.