12. Alexei #2
“Oh, don’t pretend you actually want to go back to that festering swamp of yours.” He plucks a prawn from the platter and dexterously undresses it. “And just to labor your favorite metaphor,” he goes on, “when was the last time you saw a gator take a flight to Europe and stake out a Paris hotel?”
“We both know that Paris wasn’t the Novikovs, Mak.
They’re one family, with limited resources, and Kiril is a murderer, not a businessman.
He’s the muscle who gets paid to kill, not the mastermind who hires a team to do it for him.
” Feeling in need of something harder than beer, I pour a vodka.
“It’s this John Owens fucker who’s the problem. ”
“Agreed,” he says readily. “Which is why I did some digging on him.”
“Ha.” I shake my head as I toss the shot off, already knowing what’s coming.
“And nothing.” Mak’s mouth twists. “He doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah.” I turn the shot glass upside down on the table, resisting the desire to have several more, in quick succession. “I figured.”
“Your friend Dima covered every base on the ground looking for him. Admirably discreetly, I might add. But Owens disappeared from Miami Airport like smoke. Even the security cameras were wiped clean.” Mak takes another prawn from the platter.
“I have enough contacts, both official and unofficial, to access any name I choose to, even those operating entirely off book. Let’s face it—when it comes to off-book operations, the official sources usually come to me anyway, even if they don’t realize I’m the person they’re talking to. ”
I can’t help but smile at that.
“My point is,” he continues, dipping the prawn in sauce and popping it into his mouth, “if Owens was an operator from a government agency, I’d know. He isn’t. Nor does he belong to any known crime family or syndicate.”
“What about the Paris team?” I put the vodka aside and reach into the cooler for another beer as the steward replaces Mak’s Negroni. “Do we know where they came from?”
“Definitely not French intelligence, but you already knew that.” Mak swallows an oyster.
“Unfortunately, however, whilst French intelligence might not have known so much as your name before, after that shoot-out in the street you’re definitely on their radar now.
And not just their domestic security. DGSE are also asking questions.
And much as the CIA hates to admit it, the French Directorate-General of External Security is the best and most lethal in Europe.
” He watches me with the inscrutable half smile that always has me torn between smiling back and the sneaking suspicion that he might be here to kill me.
“Whoever sent that team after you is a lot more dangerous than your average swamp creature, Alexei. The Paris operatives were all ex-special forces, from various countries. Top-tier operators who were organized, efficient, and going by their equipment, extremely well funded. In short, they’re as professional as any team I would send after a target.
They’re certainly out of the price range of your drug-addled Miami congressman.
Which means that somebody far higher up the food chain than the Novikovs or Marty Jr. pulled the trigger on this one—and that if they had actually wanted you dead, you’d be dead.
They were sent to intimidate you so that you’d run, Lex, not kill you. ”
Fuck.
“So who is it?” I glare out at the glittering sea, talking to myself as much as Mak. “Government, bratva, or corporation?”
“In this case,” he says meditatively, “we could be dealing with all three.”
“Unfortunately, I agree.” I frown. “Bureaucrats generally just offer quid pro quos in exchange for a check for their candidate of choice. Whoever we’re dealing with is bent enough to not only get their hands dirty, but whitewash a gutter rat like Marty Hunter Jr. for public consumption.
That’s someone who doesn’t just want a piece of the Keys—they want the whole fucking swamp. ”
“Not the whole swamp.” Mak gives me a sideways look. “They’re smart enough to know there are some parts that take a certain . . . skill set to manage, which is why Mr. Owens came to you.”
“Yep. Told me I was his, quote, first choice to run Miami. Even offered to whitewash my business as clean as he has Marty Hunter Jr.”
His mouth twitches. “I take it you declined his offer.”
“I don’t work for other people.”
“I imagine the Luccheses felt the same way,” Mak says lightly. “Now their heads are gator food. As a betting man, I’d lay good money that Renata’s Colombian relatives are about to suffer a similar fate.”
“Owens made it clear that if I don’t play ball, he’ll replace me with someone who will.
” I stare out over the railing, the memory of his bland smile making my trigger finger itch.
“But if he thinks I’ll stand by while he tries to install Kiril Novikov in my place, the fucker is sadly deluded.
These pricks want a war, I’ll give them one so nasty the gators will be fat for a decade. ”
“I’d advise against that. For now, at least.”
“Oh, would you, now?” I give him an annoyed look. “What do you suggest, then, Mak? That I let the Novikovs take my turf while I sit around waiting for the next fucking bullet?”
“I think we both know that Dima is more than capable of Novikov disposal, should it be required.” Mak dips his fingers into a bowl of lemon water and wipes them delicately on a linen napkin, then settles back with his drink.
“And in relation to bullets heading your way, I’d say you’re in the clear, at least for now. ”
“In the clear?” I frown. “How do you figure that, after Paris?”
“Teams as good as that one in Paris don’t miss, Alexei.
If they’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.
I went through all the Paris footage and listened to the comms. That team knew exactly where you were at all times.
The only time they got nervous was when you were in the hotel stairwell and they didn’t have eyes on you.
And after you ditched the van, they made no effort at all to chase you.
Like I said before, I don’t think they were there to kill you, Lex.
I think they just wanted to get close enough that you thought they did. ”
I think back through the entire encounter. “The woman in the van,” I remember. “She didn’t so much as flinch when I put a knife to her.”
“Don’t take this personally.” Mak’s smile would piss me off if it came from anyone else. “But if she’s part of a team that good, I’d say she’s seen far worse than you in her time. I imagine she and her team were also aware of the bratva’s reputation for leaving women untouched.”
Not all of them. For a moment I see Vilnus Orlov’s fat face and narrow, mean eyes, staring down at my mother’s bloodied, beaten body like it’s his own private plaything.
“Forgive me.” I glance up, rather surprised, to find Mak studying me with a grave expression. “That was tactless.”
I dismiss the apology with a brief movement of my head. I’m not sure what’s worse—the memory itself or the fact that I let my guard slip.
Either way, I don’t argue when he pours us both a shot of vodka.
“You said that they wanted me to run.” I take the glass he hands me. “Why?”
“My personal opinion,” Mak says, screwing the lid back on the bottle, “is that the person or organization that Mr. Owens represents wants you, specifically, to run Miami. Or perhaps they need you.” He touches his glass to mine. “Za zdorov’ye, Alexei.”
I return the toast, and we drink.
“Ah.” He puts his glass down with a smile. “Graf. I’d almost forgotten the taste.”
Awkward moment having been safely packed away, he continues our earlier discussion.
“Installing a new player to control Miami’s underbelly, particularly a deranged psychopath like Novikov, would take time, not to mention a lot of unfortunate mess.
The airport meeting was an opening gambit, an interview if you like, to assess you in the flesh.
I’d say their plan was to make the offer.
Then, if you didn’t immediately play ball, to get you out of the way until the governor’s race is won and they’ve consolidated power. ”
“Opening gambits are only as good as the strategy that comes afterward,” I say coldly. “And chasing me to Paris doesn’t strike me as great strategy.”
“On the contrary,” Mak says, “Paris is the kind of professional touch I can’t help but admire.
Clean, without risk of immediate retribution or anything that might spark the attention of local law enforcement.
Not to mention having the distinct advantage of forcing you into hiding far away from Miami.
They cleared the way to take out the Luccheses, and anyone else they’d prefer not to deal with, without you looking over their shoulder.
A turf war might also have worked, but it would have been messier.
Claiming that Hunter has run you out of town altogether is an even better win.
One that will probably get him across the line, come election day. ”
I should be furious. At the very least, I should be planning how to dispose of Mr. Owens, Kiril Novikov, and whoever else has set up camp in the swamp.
Instead, I’m highly tempted to have another drink.
The breeze is almost still. The only sound, when Mak stops speaking, is the peaceful lap of water against the hull. The sun glitters off the deep blue Mediterranean, and far above the yacht a seabird arcs across the sky, its wings spread wide.
It’s the kind of peace I’ve never known in the swamp, where rustling saw grass and constant subterranean movement keep me perpetually on edge.
It’s the kind of peace a man could get used to.
I shove that thought aside. This peace is a lull, a temporary hiatus.
Nothing more.