Except the smile.
“You come see me in person, I guess I’m moving up the ladder.” Wells figured he’d take his best shot first. “You work for Aaron Duberman.”
She shook her head, not so much denying what he’d said as declaring it irrelevant.
“For money, or because you’re crazy?”
She muttered in Hebrew and a pistol appeared in the guard’s right hand. That fast. Too bad. At least now Wells knew what he was up against.
“Be more polite,” Salome said. “Who looks out for you? A broken-down CIA man and a senator no one trusts.”
“I’ll worry when I see you throw carrots on the carpet to distract me.”
Wells saw she didn’t get the reference. So she hadn’t been at Buvchenko’s.
“I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of seeing you again,” Wells said. “Salome? That’s your name?” A biblical reference, but Wells couldn’t remember the details. “Your real name?”
“As real as any.”
Ask a stupid question… Still, Wells was content to joust for the moment.
“And you’re Israeli?”
“Why do you keep bothering me about this?”
“You’re asking why I’m trying to stop a war?”
“I don’t want war.” She winked.
Wells couldn’t read her at all. She was playing with him like a cat batting a mouse. “If you’re worried about bugs, I never got here last night.”
“I’m not worried. You know, my friend here thinks I shouldn’t talk to you at all. He wants to shoot you in the face and be done with it.”
“Lucky for me you’re in charge.”
“It seems so.”
They looked steadily at each other, the only sound the rumbling of the bus outside. Wells couldn’t deny the truth: He felt connected to this woman. They were both endless travelers, perpetual outsiders who had spent their lives in crummy hotel rooms, giving fake names to anyone who asked. They both knew how easy lying became after you’d done it too much, how boring the simplicity of truth became.
“You came all the way to Volgograd to tell me you weren’t going to shoot me in the face?”
“And see you for myself, the man who killed five of mine. But mainly I came to tell you it’s over.”
The fact that she felt the need to say so suggested otherwise. “Buvchenko told you I was here.”
“Of course.”
Had the Russian supplied the uranium, then? Wells thought not. Then he would be a prisoner at the mansion, or more likely another target on the firing range. No, Salome had asked Buvchenko to watch out for Wells, and if he appeared to find out what he knew. No matter which direction he went, she was a step ahead.
“Last night, after dinner, he called you, told you I was asking about you. You said, hold me overnight, you’d come to Russia.”
“I appreciate your”—she hesitated, trying to remember the word—“perseverance, yes? But understand, you only make trouble for yourself and your family.”
Family. The magic word. What she had come to say. Wells stepped toward her. The guard lifted his pistol.
“Listen,” she said. “You promise Buvchenko a million dollars? I pay ten. You don’t know anything. Not even my name. You think these men in Washington look after you, but if Mason hadn’t been a fool, you would be dead already.”
“Concrete shoes.”
“A joke to prove your bravery. What I tell you, bravery doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe I came here knowing you’d come for me. Maybe there’s a Delta squad one room over.”
She smiled, but this time her eyes stayed cold. “You’re not that clever. You run here and there, hoping for a clue. How does the song go? Know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em—”
“If you’re so confident, why threaten my family?”
“Don’t you see they mean nothing to me?” Her voice was level, a teacher trying to stay patient with a not-very-bright student. “A whole country is in danger if Iran gets the bomb. I mention Evan and Heather only to remind you that you have something to risk, too. Because I know your life doesn’t matter to you. Only the mission.”
What she was really saying was that she felt the same. That they were the same. But they weren’t. She was a fanatic. She saw the world in abstraction. Us. Them. White. Black. Who would close her eyes to reality if it didn’t agree with her mind’s vision. Wells was the opposite. He lied to the world, yes, but alone he drank truth until it filled his belly and choked his throat.
“Everything I read says Iran doesn’t even want the bomb anymore,” Wells said. “They’re giving it up. All this for nothing.”
“If you believe that, I don’t know how you’ve survived so long.”
“If I could get to my gun, I’d show you.”
She laughed.
In the distance a siren whistled, ooh-ooh, ooh-OOH. Then another. Wells wanted to believe the sirens were a coincidence. He knew better.
No wonder she wasn’t in a hurry.
Salome murmured something to the bodyguard. He didn’t answer. She spoke again, a tone that brooked no argument, and this time he tucked his pistol away.
“You think the Iranians are nice people? You know they shot down that plane.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s true. You should help us, John. These men, they’re your enemy, too. Look how they made the United States bleed in Iraq. How they treat their own people.”
The sirens rang louder. Wells saw two police cars swinging into the parking lot. A black SUV followed. Now more sirens in the distance, a beat that needed remixing.
Salome pushed herself off the bed. Two quick steps to the window. She tipped her nose to the glass like a cat that had spotted a particularly tasty bird.
“Your welcoming party. A Muslim convert comes to Russia to meet an arms dealer? FSB will love that. So fortunate for the motherland that Buvchenko did his duty, told them you were here. Or maybe you tell them you’re American, ex-CIA? Even better. They’ll hold you a month, more, before all this gets sorted. So, good. You stay here, your son is safe.”
She had him. Running was impossible. He had nowhere to go. He would have to give himself up, talk the FSB into letting him call home. Duto still had Kremlin contacts. Once the Russians knew who he was, maybe they’d figure a one-way ticket to the border was the easiest way to deal with him.
Maybe.
The guard muttered.
“My friend asks you to step into the bathtub while we take our leave.”
Wells shook his head. The guard pointed the pistol at Wells’s feet.
“A Russian jail with a hole in your foot. No fun.”
Wells knew she was serious. He went to the tub, his muddy shoes staining the white plastic. At least she hadn’t made him turn on the water. This woman had outplayed him twice now.
“Good luck.” She smiled, the real smile, the one that warmed her face. She stepped into the bathroom, raised her right hand to his face, ran her fingers along his chin. Then touched her flat palm to his chest. The warmth of her skin stunned him. “Allah will protect you, I’m sure.”
The words lifted the spell. Wells didn’t like the glancing reference to his religion. Or the intimacy she’d presumed. He pulled her hand from his chest. “Touch my son, I’ll kill you.”
“Of course you will.”
Then she was gone.
The room door closed. Wells waited a few seconds before going to the window. The police didn’t seem to be in any rush. They stood in the parking lot, rubbing their hands against the cold. Wells counted nine in all, plus a German shepherd, sniffing the air as one of the uniformed officers stroked its head.