Los Angeles

I should be a professional cameraman, Orlov thought, as he drove from the Four Seasons to the Marriott at five thirty on a chilly morning. The video was perfect and the stills he had made from it at a shop in the Valley that specialized in porn films, were crisp and clear.

Briefcase in hand, he knocked on the door of Paul Walters’ hotel room.

“Who’s there?” he heard Walters shout.

“The bellman. I have an important fax from your company.”

“Just a minute.”

The door opened. Walters, with shaving cream on his face, was dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. He was five foot eight and twenty pounds overweight, his stomach protruding over the elastic band, with thinning brown hair and bulky black glasses. Orlov knew from Angie that Walters’s plane back to Washington was leaving at nine twenty this morning.

“You’re no bellman,” Walters cried out. He raced toward the phone. “I’m calling hotel security.”

“Not a smart move, Paul. I was a witness to your fun and games with Angie Sunday night. Three times. I’m impressed. For a fifty-one year-old man, you should be proud of yourself. And then, you had a great time with her Monday and again last night. You must be exhausted.”

Walters grabbed a white terrycloth robe from a chair and hastily put it on. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Orlov pointed to two chairs next to a desk. “We have to talk, Paul. You better be sitting when you hear what I have to say.”

“I have a plane to catch.”

“I know. You’re on the nine twenty to Washington on United. You have plenty of time.”

When they were both seated, Orlov reached into his bag and removed a folder and a DVD.

“This DVD,” Orlov said, turning it over in his hand, “Contains a video taken from a closet in Angie’s bedroom Sunday night. In the folder are some stills that I made from scenes on the DVD.”

Walters appeared too stunned to speak. Orlov pressed on. He opened the folder, removed the top three photos, and spread them out on the desk, close to Walters, who was leaning forward, looking through those heavy black glasses.

In the first, Walters, naked, was standing up and Angie was on her knees sucking his cock. Her face was blocked by her blond hair. Walters’ expression was contorted with pleasure.

In the second, naked Angie was on the bed on all fours, her face away from the camera, her rear end facing toward the side of the bed. Walters was standing on the floor at the side of the bed. He had entered her vagina from the rear, his hands at her waist. He had a wild expression on his face.

In the third, Walters and Angie were both on the bed. She was stretched out on her back. Her face wasn’t visible. Walters’ head was over her bush; he was licking her.

Orlov looked at Walters. He was as white as a sheet and trembling. Orlov hoped he didn’t have a heart attack on the spot.

“I have more pictures if you’d like to see them.”

Walters shook his head weakly.

Orlov continued, “Looks like you had a good time with Angie.”

“What do you want, you bastard?”

“To help preserve your marriage. I know you’re happily married to Claire with two children, Paul Junior at Penn and Linda at Cornell. It would be unfortunate if any of them received these pictures or the video. Even worse, if your boss at Rogers Laughton saw them and knew how you were spending time on a business trip.”

“What do I have to pay you?”

“You have it backwards. I’m willing to pay you one million dollars, deposited into a Los Angeles bank so you can wine and dine Angie when you come out here. Also pay down the hefty mortgage on your Potomac, Maryland, house and cover tuition for Linda and Paul Junior.”

“And in return for that?”

“I want the CDs with the technology for PGS, Prompt Global Strike. And I want them delivered to me at Great Falls in Maryland, outside of Washington, tomorrow at midnight.”

Walters’ jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Get the hell out! Right now! I’m no traitor.”

“No. Of course not. You’re just a man who made a mistake. I’m helping you avoid damage.”

“And if I don’t do it?”

“I’ll destroy your life. I’ll not only deliver these photos and the video to your wife, children, and boss, I’ll put them on the Internet on aerospace sites.”

Walters closed his eyes.

He’s thinking it over, Orlov decided. The brilliant engineer is
trying desperately to find a way out. But there is no solution to this problem. He has to give me the CDs.

Orlov reached into his bag and removed a map with a penciled x in the center. “Here’s the meeting point tomorrow at midnight. You better be there with those CDs. Oh, and open a Los Angeles bank account. A soon as I have the CDs, I’ll transfer the million to your bank account.”

“I’ll be there,” Walters said weakly.

Orlov stood, then added, “Don’t even think about going to the police or the FBI. I’ll sense that when I approach Great Falls and I won’t show. Then I’ll distribute the photos and video. And if I’m caught, I’ll deny everything. You don’t have any evidence. Also, before tomorrow night, I’ll make a copy of the photos and video. If you try to trick me, one of my colleagues will anonymously distribute them. You’re up shit’s creek without a paddle. So be there.”

“I will,” Walters replied in a faint hoarse whisper. “But I’ll want all the copies of the photos and the video.”

“Of course, I won’t need them anymore. We’ll be finished with each other.”

Orlov said it with such conviction that Walters seemed to believe him. The truth, Orlov thought, was quite different. Once Orlov had the CDs, he couldn’t risk leaving Walters alive.