“Bullshit.”
“I can call all those dealers you helped me put away. I’m curious as to how fast they can get to you from behind bars. My guess is between two to three hours.”
Dratshev’s eyes widened so much he looked like a cartoon. “That’s not our deal.”
“So?” Monty shrugged. “Who cares?” he repeated with Dratshev’s flippancy.
The Russian seemed to consider his alternatives for several seconds before he spoke again. “Why do you want Jack?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Do you know her?”
“None of your business.”
Dratshev stared down at the vodka in his hand. “I don’t know where she is.”
“You’re lying.”
Dratshev took another long swig. “I tried to find her for a job.”
“What job?” Monty asked.
“I don’t know. A business associate asked me to find her.”
“And?”
“I left a message. Jack called me back. I gave her the number of my associate, told her it was big money. Jack always works for big money. I didn’t hear from her again.” He seemed to be telling the truth.
“Let’s start with you giving me the contact number you gave Jack.”
“It’s no good now, for sure. Only for Jack,” the Russian replied.
“Who’s your associate?”
Dratshev shook his head. “I can’t talk about that.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“No. I mean I can’t.” The Russian sounded nervous. “Listen, I don’t know if you ever met Jack. I don’t know if you want to kill her or make hits for you, but I like her. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You like her,” Monty repeated dubiously.
“Da.” Dratshev met his eyes. “She is a cold executioner, but there is something good in her heart.”
“I think she’s in trouble,” Monty said.
“Maybe. She is not exactly a libra.” Dratshev snorted. “But why do you care?”
“A what?”
“You know, woman who works with books.”
“Librarian.”
“That’s what I said.”
Monty willed himself not to roll his eyes. “Did she take the job for your associate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“If she did, you don’t want to get involved.” That meant a lot coming from the Russian, since he was aware of what Monty was capable of and what power he had. Monty had told him years ago that he worked for the Agency.
“That’s for me to determine,” Monty replied.
“If Jack is with her, you can’t do anything about it,” Dratshev said. “She will have to stay there, probably forever.”
“So your associate is a woman.”
He looked away and didn’t answer.
“Arms dealers, drugs, prostitution, organs, terrorism. I’ve handled them all,” Monty said. “Which one is it?”
Dratshev looked at him and simply nodded.
“I see.” The woman he was referring to apparently liked to dabble in a bit of everything.
“What would Jack have to do for her?”
“What she does best, I think. Find and kill.” Dratshev laughed. “Why do you care? It was her decision to take the job. Find someone else.” He took a big gulp of vodka and gargled with it.
Monty slammed his hand on his armrest. “I don’t think it was her decision.”
Dratshev choked on the liquid and broke out in a horrendous cough.
“Who is she?” Monty yelled. “Who is Jack working for?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you afraid of her?”
“Also.”
“Also, what? Do you work for her?”
“With her, for her.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell.”
“Arms?”
Dratshev glanced quickly left, then right, almost unconsciously. “This is a big deal, Pierce. No one can know.”
“Big money?”
“Big stakes. What I did this time can put me away for the next ten lives.”
“That’s your business. I’m not here about that.” Monty sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Remember how you and I used to work together? You would give me a name and I’d make sure no one ever found out. I got what I wanted, and you got to stay on top and keep the buyers to yourself. If this person is involved in the arms trade, which is your main financial source and occupation, you get to keep her clients.”
Dratshev coughed again, placed his tumbler on the coffee table, and leaned forward. “I can’t do it. The suka will find out I told you. I know she will. And when she does, my whole family will go down the shitter, liter…literary…”
“Literally,” Monty finished for him.
“She will cut us up in pieces and flush us down the shitter.”
“I got that.”
Monty had seen the Russian hesitant, scared, and uncooperative before, but he’d never seen him petrified at the mere thought of giving a name. Who had that kind of power over a kingpin like Dratshev? He wasn’t the brightest light on the tree, but he was good at what he did, and everyone feared him in the arms business. Dratshev didn’t need more than a simple dirty look to put a bullet in someone’s head.
Maybe this woman—who wasn’t exclusively in the same line of work—had the upper hand in some other business. But how many women headed multiple, dubious enterprises? Monty tapped his fingers again on the armrest, a nervous habit. He could only come up with two names: one had been imprisoned last year on racketeering charges, and the other…
He stopped tapping. “I’m going to mention a name.” Monty wanted more than anything, more than any other time in his life, to be wrong.
Dratshev nodded once.
“Is the woman Jack is working for called TQ…the Broker?”
Dratshev stared at him intently, the prominent vein in his forehead throbbing to the beat of his heart. Suddenly, without a word, he got up and left the room.
Monty’s hand went numb. He sat back and stared at Dratshev’s empty chair for a long time. “I told you she’d come after you, Jaclyn.” He rubbed his face. With unsteady hands, he grabbed Dratshev’s expensive notepad and pen off the coffee table and wrote: Your cat is safe. Come home. 19 8 1 4 5. He folded the paper, wrote For Jack on it, and left it on Dratshev’s desk, hoping the mob boss would pass it on if possible. “Please, be alive. I’ll find you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The White House
Next day, March 6
Shield entered the White House Press Room and surveyed the throng of reporters assembled for the impromptu press conference. Many were speculating on the reason for the gathering, and she herself was curious about what event might have transpired to prompt this last-minute addition to Thomas’s schedule. Something was brewing—the president had taken breakfast in her bedroom that morning and seemed even more preoccupied than usual during their silent journey from the residential quarters to the main floor.
They hadn’t talked at all since yesterday, when Thomas had told her to leave, and Shield honestly didn’t know what to make of her plea. Was she being asked to leave because Thomas was angry with her and didn’t want her prying in White House business? Or was it a warning? She had a feeling it was the latter.
But if the president was trying to warn her off, then why was Thomas so adamant about keeping dangerous secrets? And why was she so upset with Shield wanting to protect her?
Under other circumstances, when confronted with an attitude or lack of cooperation from some overinflated diva, Shield would have asked for a replacement. She had done it once before. But she couldn’t let go of Thomas. Something about this enigmatic president made Shield want to protect her out of personal concern, not duty. If only Thomas would let her.