Chapter 13 #3
Armed, Kyle pulled the nanotech strips out of his pocket and slapped them onto his face as he headed at a dead run for South Kensington Station.
The tunnel that ran under Exhibition Road linked the Underground station to the Victoria and Albert Museum and terminated near Albert Hall by Hyde Park.
There was a fifty-fifty chance Kyle was running in the wrong direction—maybe Pavluhkin had a pickup ready to go near Hyde Park—but if there was one thing Kyle knew about the enemy, it was that they liked to hide.
If you wanted to get lost in a crowd in London and hide your tracks, the best way to do that was by taking the Underground.
* * *
The central garden courtyard of the Victoria and Albert Museum was surrounded by the four wings of the museum, the red-bricked facade appearing burnished in the soft glow of the lights floating in the air.
Usually the garden courtyard was open to the sky and the daily elements, but during winter, the museum erected a biodome roof over it.
The panels were anchored to the museum’s own roof edges and arched over the garden courtyard, programmed to showcase the Milky Way in a clear night sky.
Environmentals worked to chill the air and create artificial snow, turning the garden courtyard into a miniature winter wonderland.
Jamie left Donovan behind in the sculpture gallery with all the other bodyguards hovering at the garden doors while their charges mingled out of sight.
The cold hit him in the face, the abrupt temperature change chilling, but not precisely uncomfortable for him.
He’d slogged through worse during training.
Snow fell in a soft dusting onto the guests who merited a meeting with the man who’d brought them all together tonight, though several didn’t seem enamored of the cold.
Jamie followed Niko around the oval pond situated closest to their side of the museum, the water iced over, though no one was skating on it. Several couples stood near the edge for pictures beneath the snowfall, indulging in the rare element, not caring that it was faked.
A white canopy erected in the corner provided some shelter from the falling snow and warmth out of the cold, courtesy of discreetly placed heat lamps that doubled as poles. Men and women mingled within, all of them trying to garner and keep the attention of one man.
“Mr. Pavluhkin,” Niko said in a smooth, deferential voice as they approached, a path opening up for them. “Allow me to introduce to you Jamie Callahan.”
Stanislav Pavluhkin wasn’t as tall as Jamie, nor as broad, but the confident way he held himself made him seem a little larger than life.
The pictures Jamie had studied at MDF headquarters didn’t quite do the man justice.
Sharp features provided a symmetry to his face gained by genetic enhancements done in vitro.
Light brown hair was expertly styled, and the blue eyes that met Jamie’s revealed nothing at all.
“It’s not often we see a man with your impeccable credentials,” Stanislav said as he extended a hand in greeting. His English was pretty much perfect, but Stanislav’s Russian accent still came through, hanging heavy on every word.
Jamie accepted the handshake, letting Stanislav attempt to find the pressure points on his hand and squeeze down in an intimidating way before Jamie returned the gesture with far more strength than Stanislav could match.
A faint twitch of the man’s lips was the only tell he’d lost that fight.
Jamie let go with a genial smile. Stanislav was too aware of his position to shake out the ache in his hand from Jamie’s superior grip in front of an audience.
“The Marine Corps kept me busy for years, but as my father is running for president, I thought it was time to put family first over the nation. I gave up my commission two years ago and have been keeping myself busy,” Jamie said.
“Yes, with a company owned and run by one of your former Marines. Root Source, Inc., I believe it’s called?”
“My second-in-command’s brainchild. She saved my life in the field once or twice. I consider this payment for her loyalty.”
“I know few people who would bankroll a multimillion-dollar effort like that without demanding an ownership stake.”
Jamie smiled pleasantly, taking a champagne glass off a floating drinks tray.
“I know quite a few people in my social circle who find sinking money into profitable ventures a good way to do business. You earn people’s loyalty that way and recoup your investment when it takes off.
Besides, I don’t need an ownership stake in her company. ”
The subtle dig at Stanislav’s money status didn’t go unnoticed, either by the man himself or their audience.
Everyone knew the Callahans were one of the richest families in the world, if not the richest under certain measurements.
Stanislav’s wealth came from Russian state-sponsored contracts and ties to the Kremlin that lived or died on whichever corrupt faction of oligarchs managed to gain traction in that government body.
Who you knew in Russia was just as important as what business a person owned and operated.
Jamie’s family wealth was born out of the private sector and not strictly beholden to politics.
With money from ownership stakes in legacy unicorn tech companies, real estate, water rights, and Empyrean, they weren’t lacking for money in any way.
Giving back to the country by way of philanthropy, military, and political service, managed to deflect much of the public scorn other wealthy families had to deal with in the American media sphere.
Stanislav’s current conversation companion shook his head, mouth curling in a faint sneer. “Some might say that’s bad business, not taking your fair share.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion, Mister—?” Jamie let his voice trail off in a bored, questioning manner, despite knowing exactly who the man was.
“Emmet Doyle,” came the snapped reply, his Irish accent not nearly as thick as Tomas’ had been.
“Sorry, I’m unfamiliar with your name. Are you a businessman?” Jamie asked with a casualness that said more clearly than words he didn’t care about the answer.
Emmet was too good at the game to give in to his anger, though Jamie could see by the twitch of his hands against his glass that Emmet wouldn’t be averse to punching him for that insult.
“Of a sort,” Emmet replied through gritted teeth.
“Well, I’m here to have a business conversation with Stanislav.
Stick around. You may learn something.” Jamie switched his attention from Emmet to Stanislav with such a rude dismissal it was impossible to miss the opinion he had for the Irishman.
Jamie smiled politely at Stanislav, taking a sip of champagne.
“Niko here should have delivered the results of the test you put us through. I don’t care what use you have for the business in question you want us to handle cybersecurity for, but the fact that we provided you with what you wanted, in a timely fashion, should prove we can do the job and do it right the first time. ”
“I don’t base my opinion on one job, no matter how well it was performed,” Stanislav said mildly.
“And I don’t make it a habit of being strung along by someone who thinks he knows the business world better than I do.”
“You said it yourself. You’ve been deployed for a decade. That’s a lifetime in R&D, in boardrooms, in business.” Stanislav smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “You’re new to the game, no matter your family name.”
“I’m not new to war,” Jamie drawled. “And out of everyone here tonight, I can guarantee I know more about that than anyone—yourself included.”
“Most men would hesitate to make such a claim.”
“I’m not most men.”
“I can see that,” Stanislav said slowly, his sharp eyes never leaving Jamie’s face. “I would think, with your father running for the American presidency, that war would not be something you’d wish to align yourself with.”
“War is big business. The threat of it, and the reality of it, will always exist. There will always be an enemy to fight. If you don’t think I’m not prepared to cash in on that, then perhaps we were wrong to reach out to you.”
Jamie was careful to keep his tone more curious rather than accusing, knowing he had to walk a fine line so he didn’t insult Stanislav.
Jamie had to hope the arrogance people expected of him wasn’t going to be a harsh enough insult that Stanislav would walk away from the partnership they needed.
Begging wasn’t something Jamie would or could do because someone of his status didn’t beg.
But they could question an idea until it turned into an offer both parties could accept.
“I think we can come to an agreement on how to use your company. Good work is difficult to find, after all,” Stanislav said after a long moment of silence. “Good people are even rarer.”
Jamie allowed himself to smile. “I’d heard you’re a decisive man, Stanislav. I’m glad to see I wasn’t disappointed. It’s always so refreshing to work with people who understand what it takes to run things.”
Stanislav pulled a slim tablet out of his inner tuxedo jacket pocket. “As I was telling Emmet here before you arrived, I unfortunately must deal with a business emergency and need to leave. I will reach out to you in the near future if tonight doesn’t overwhelm you.”
“When you’ve taken mortar fire from insurgents, a gala full of rich people is child’s play,” Jamie said with a shrug. If he wasn’t damn sure of the oncoming attack, it definitely would be.