Maksim—the restaurant Roman Vyhovsky owned as a cover for his illegal activities—was doing steady business despite the hard winter weather. At least from the sidewalk it looked like there were several people inside, some at the long bar along one side of the room and the tables and booths scattered about.
Normally a bouncer was stationed outside the main entrance, but because of the frigid temperature, the bouncer had planted himself on a stool just inside the door. Even so, he was still wrapped up in a winter jacket, a wool cap on his head. When I stepped inside, he stood from the stool and blew on his hands as he rubbed them together and asked if I had a reservation.
I shot him in the foot.
As the bouncer fell to the ground, he attempted to pull his piece out from its place near the small of his back. The bulky jacket slowed him down, and within a second I took possession of the gun.
Now with a weapon in each hand, I headed deeper into the restaurant.
Inside, everyone heard the shot. All conversations halted. Some men rose to their feet, pushing their women to the floor as each reached for weapons.
A quick scan of the room showed me five men in total, including the bartender who had a shotgun. I took out the bartender first, two bullets to the shoulder. I moved as I fired, weaving through the tables, using both guns to fire at the four other men. None of them were kill shots—I had no intention of killing them—and the bullets ended up in either their shoulders or their legs. Some of the men managed to squeeze off a few rounds, but none of them were within a yard of me.
The whole thing took less than seven seconds from the moment I shot the bouncer in the foot and then, once the men were down, all was silent.
I shouted, “Roman, I need to talk to you!”
Heavy pounding on the stairs near the back of the restaurant. Two men appeared, both with Heckler & Koch MP5s strapped around their necks. For a second they took in the scene, their fallen friends, and then they aimed the MP5s at me.
I set the guns on the nearest table, raised my hands.
“I’m here to see Roman.”
As if all it took to summon him was uttering his name twice, Roman appeared. He didn’t scramble down the stairs as quickly as his men. He took his time, one slow, steady step after another. He held a gun in his hand, but it was at his side, as if an afterthought.
Like his two men, Roman took a second to drink in the scene before focusing his attention on me.
“Kill him.”
I kept my hands raised.
“Wait.”
The men paused.
I said, “Roman, if I had wanted to kill any of your men tonight—or even you last night—I would have done so. You know that.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful to you?”
“I’m here to talk business.”
“The only business I have with you is to see you dead.”
“Maybe so, but what I have to tell you may cost you millions. You’re a businessman, Roman. Tell me that doesn’t worry you.”
He stared at me for several long seconds. The room was completely silent except for those men on the floor, groaning in pain.
Finally, Roman said, “Bring him upstairs.”
The men with the MP5s led me up the stairs and down a hallway to Roman’s office. It was located near the back of the restaurant, with a wide window overlooking the street on that side.
Roman’s desk, just like Roger’s, was much too big and bulky for its intended purpose other than to show those who sat in front of it that the person who sat behind it was important.
Roman lowered himself down into his leather chair, leaned back, placed his hands behind his head.
“Now tell me why I shouldn’t have my men kill you right now.”
Besides the two men with the MP5s, there were two other men in the office. One of them was Viktor. He sat on the leather couch, his arm in a sling, his leg wrapped. His glare burned into me.
I said, “Like I told you—business.”
Roman sighed.
“I have no business with you.”
“No, but what I’m currently involved in will affect your business. It will most likely affect all business in the city.”
“Why should I care?”
“Like I said. You’re a businessman, Roman. You know exactly why you should care. How did your men find you, by the way?”
He held up his gold Rolex.
I said, “Nice watch. What does that have to do with anything?”
“There is a GPS tracker inside this watch. My men always know where I am. In case—”
He stared at me blankly.
“—someone decides to abduct me.”
“That’s helpful.”
“Just so we are clear, you are not leaving this building alive. My men will kill you, and they will drag your dead body down the stairs so that my guests will see who ruined their evening.”
“Maybe you should offer them free drinks to make up for everything.”
Viktor said, “Let me do it.”
I looked at Viktor for a second, then turned back to Roman.
“I don’t have much time. I need to be in Central Park in a half hour.”
“You will not make it.”
Roman nodded at Viktor.
Viktor jumped up from the couch, or at least jumped up as fast as his wounded leg would allow. He wobbled for a second, steadied himself, and then pulled his gun out from the small of his back.
I held up a finger.
“Point that at me and you’ll never walk again.”
Viktor grinned. Started to chuckle. Aimed the gun at me, and the window behind him cracked as a bullet tore through it and then tore straight into the base of his spinal column.
He cried out, hit the floor, and I stepped forward and sat down in one of the two leather chairs facing Roman’s desk. These chairs weren’t as nice as the one Roman now sat in, but they weren’t meant to be.
“There’s a sniper on the rooftop across the street. She’ll take out you and the rest of your men if I give her the signal. I don’t want to give her that signal, Roman, but I will if I have to. Because time is running out. I now have twenty-eight minutes to be in Central Park, and I can’t be late.”
Behind me, Viktor screamed in pain.
“Have I taken out some of your men? Yes. But I didn’t kill any of them. If you want to continue doing business in this city, you’re going to listen to what I have to tell you.”
Roman said nothing.
“Tell me, Roman, what was business like directly after 9/11? I imagine it wasn’t good. I imagine your business suffered for months. Shipments of your product into the city alone were probably stalled for weeks, if not longer. Am I right?”
Roman glanced past me at Viktor on the floor, then at his other men stationed around the room, before focusing on the bullet hole in the window and the building across the street where Agent Njeim was positioned, her sniper rifle focused on him.
Finally, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop.
“I’m listening.”