CHAPTER 45
John dabbed a cold, wet cloth to both sides of his head.
Monica had slapped his temples hard enough with the gun that he’d blacked out for a few minutes.
They’d carried him from the street in Sigtuna to a waiting boat where, under cover of darkness, they’d sped across Lake M?laren back to the island where Lysa was being held.
Along the way he’d somewhat revived, his head spinning and sore from the two blows.
So far everything was proceeding according to plan.
They’d made an attempt on Stephanie Nelle’s life on the streets of Stockholm as a way to garner her attention.
Then they used Vitt at the circus to establish that he was not part of the SVR—or at least create enough confusion that no one knew for sure—which had allowed him to stay on the inside and steer things along.
On the call he’d made outside the Grand H?tel, Monica had conceived the idea of bringing Vitt to Sigtuna and taking him off the board.
She was anxious. A bit unusual for her. Her oligarch friends wanted the deal with the Czechs to go through.
Of course, not a one of them wanted to be openly attached with that effort in any way.
Not a single fingerprint. So they were doing what they could to disrupt, including murdering active SVR assets.
A fine line existed between an oligarch and a Russian mob boss.
Money was no object to either one. Morality did not exist with either.
And there were absolutely no rules that applied to anything they did.
Like dealing with so many devils all at one time.
The bedroom door opened and Monica stepped inside. “How is your head?”
“You hit me bloody hard,” he said from the bathroom.
“It had to be real. You know that.”
He had a knot at each temple that was sore to the touch. Monica came close and lightly took the rag from him, rinsing it in fresh cold water from the sink, then gently dabbing the bruises.
“Better?” she asked.
“For someone who can be so brutal when need be, you have a loving touch.”
She kissed him softly on the lips.
In the beginning he’d thought of her as just another of his many dalliances, one more woman of little to no consequence, but she’d proved to be much more.
When another SVR asset was caught by the Americans and revealed a link into the Swedish royal family, Monica had approached him with an offer.
Take the blame and use the estrangement from the royal family as a way to end his marriage.
He’d debated going to the authorities and reporting the whole thing, but Lysa would have been ruined.
So he played along.
Lysa was told his self-imposed banishment was to appease Wilhelm, who simply did not care for her husband.
She’d not liked her brother’s hostile attitude but, characteristically, kept her dislike to herself.
It all should have led to a divorce. But Lysa, being the dutiful wife, had told him that was out of the question.
She’d turned, like always, to the Bible.
Matthew 19:6. So they are no longer two, but one flesh.
What therefore God Has joined together, let not man separate.
Then 1 Corinthians 7:10–11. To the married I give this charge: the wife should not separate from her husband, but if she does, she should remain unmarried or else be reconciled to her husband, and the husband should not divorce his wife.
And finally Luke 16:18. Everyone who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery, and he who marries a woman divorced from her husband commits adultery.
Perhaps sage advice two thousand years ago.
But not today.
Lysa had been accommodating and conciliatory.
Only she would return to Sweden from time to time.
Alone. We can live a wonderful life in England.
So he’d accepted the new reality of making money and having a Russian consort.
The Swedes and Americans had been stymied regarding him, without proof.
Then Wilhelm stepped in and demanded a secret resolution.
Which happened. He was not prosecuted and Lysa kept listening and gossiping and talking, no one suspecting her of a thing.
“You do know, Tomte,” Monica said, with a smile, “after today, we will be making some needed adjustments in our relationship.”
“I was unaware of that.”
She softly pressed the cold cloth to left side of his head and held it there. “Where before I tolerated your incessant need for sexual variety, that will no longer be the case. I will be more than enough woman for you.”
“I never knew you to be the jealous type. And does this new rule apply both ways?”
“I have decided to devote myself to you alone. What about you?”
He did not immediately answer her.
She pressed the cloth hard into the knot on his head.
He winced in pain. “Okay. Just kidding with you. Of course, I shall do the same. You and you alone. This tomte is in total agreement.”
She went back to softly dabbing his head. “I need to tell you some new information. We have an SVR operative here, in Sweden, who has made unauthorized contact with the Americans. My superiors fear that he may be defecting.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is. The SVR does not tolerate traitors. They want him dead. But this defector could prove useful to us.”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked her.
“I may be able to assist Moscow in finding this defector. That will not go unrewarded.”
“And the codex?”
“I can help them with that too.”
He caught the glint in her green eyes. “You have a source?”
“I do, which should be able to provide us a way to exit this scenario in one piece.”
He was concerned. “Is where we are located now compromised by the defector?”
She shook her head. “I rented this on my own. It has no connection to Moscow. Just you, me, and the three men we have here know this place.”
Good to hear.
She stopped applying the cold rag. “That leaves us with just one other issue to deal with.”
He knew.
“Your wife is upstairs taking a bath. She expects you to arrive here soon. We both knew when this started what the end result would be. How we got there? That was flexible. But the end? That was a given. We are now at the end.”
Yes, they were.