Arkadi Zimin, who had come out of the bathroom as Bykov was making the call, was grinning. “We’ll make another tidy profit on the side bet, and Leonid gets to do the real work.”
Bykov smiled. “If you can’t fuck your friends, who can you fuck?”
He phoned Butch Hardy’s personal cell phone number. “The help we need from Brooklyn will be here within the hour.”
“Can we trust them?”
“I wouldn’t subcontract to anyone else,” Bykov said. “If the broad tries to leave before my people get here, slow her down.”
“No sweat,” Hardy said.
“I’ll need the pictures of her before then. And I’m going to need an extra five hundred thousand.”
“We agreed on half of the two million, which has already been paid into your account in the blind, and half when the job is done.”
“These guys will only work for cash. I need five hundred now. Send it here by runner along with the photographs. One hour.”
Hardy hesitated for a beat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Just do it,” Bykov said, and he hung up.
He called his people into the kitchen, where he poured each of them a chilled vodka in small glasses. “Gentlemen, nostrovia,” he said and drank his down, slamming the glass on the counter.
The other three did the same.
“Our next drink will be on the plane back to Moscow,” Bykov said. “Do we understand each other?”
They were professionals who’d been together for a number of years, working mostly out of Moscow and mostly for mob bosses who wanted someone eliminated, or an establishment blown up with all its employees inside, and there was no need to tell them something like that. But it was ritual, and they all nodded.
“Let’s go over the drill one last time. Two operators from Brighton Beach will be arriving within the hour. It will be their job to handle the woman from the bank. How they deal with her will be their problem, and we will not get involved.”
“Will they be bringing her here?” Zimin asked. He was their bomb expert.
“No,” Bykov said. “And a word of caution: They know that we are here to do a job, but they will not ask what it is. If they do, say nothing. In any event they’ll only be with us for a short period until the woman is on the move.”
No one said a thing, waiting for Bykov to continue.
“We’ll leave here at 0830. Viktor will be driving the van, with Arkadi in the rear taking care of baby.” Viktor Kolchin had come up the ranks in Spetsnaz a couple of years behind Bykov, and his was a steady hand. He and Zimin made a competent team.
“Work traffic will be heavy at that time of the morning, but most of it will be coming into the city, so there should be no problems in the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey. Alexei and I will be right behind you in the Mercedes for the pickup once you’re in place.”
The New York Stock Exchange backup computer was located in Union City on the second floor of a nondescript office building, the first floor of which was the World Wide Destinations Travel Agency.
“Viktor will park in front at 0930. Once Arkadi has set the timer for 0945, the two of them will dismount and walk one block south to the corner, where Alexei and I will be waiting. We will drive immediately to JFK for our 12:10 flight home,” Bykov said. “Questions?”
“What if we’re stopped by the police?” Kolchin asked.
“No reason for it to happen, unless you drive erratically or exceed the speed limit.”
“It’s not as bad as Moscow, but everyone speeds here,” Alexei Mazayev said. He would be driving the Mercedes. He’d been a military intelligence junior officer before transferring to the Spetsnaz, where he’d come to Bykov’s attention. The two of them had become friends over the past several years, and had been mistaken for brothers because they looked so much alike.
“Go with the flow,” Bykov said. “Just don’t stand out.”
Kolchin, who at six feet and just under a stocky one hundred kilos was the hothead of the group, started to raise his hand, but Bykov cut him off.
“We will do everything within our power to avoid getting into a gun battle with the local cops.”
“I won’t leave my weapon here,” Kolchin said.
“None of us will. All I’m saying is that I want this to go down easy and clean. But if we’re backed into a corner, we will defend ourselves, and if need be, separate and execute the exfiltrate plan.”
Kolchin nodded.
“You have your kits including money and papers, as well as alternate airport routes. You know the escape, evade, and disperse drill.”
No one said a thing.
“Once we reach the parking garage at JFK, we’ll leave the weapons in the trunk of the car, along with all of our secondary papers in a burn bag that will be set to go off if tampered with.
“Inside the terminal we’ll separate and go through security at our planned intervals. At no time will we attempt to communicate with each other until we’re off the plane at home.”
Still no one said anything.
“Are we clear, tovarisches?” Bykov asked.
“Yasno.”