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"I don't think you need to worry about any idea of vengeance anymore. There was an interesting story on CNN on the television this morning. I saw it just before you arrived."
"What was it?"
"I'd really prefer you to see for yourself. We'll go in the study. They repeat these things on the hour." So they sat together and waited, and, there it was, an a
The great Russian novelist, Alexander Kurbsky, suffering from leukemia, had quietly arrived in Florida to seek the finest help available. The President himself welcomed the chance for the United States to offer the very latest in treatment for this truly great man. He was delighted to know how much the government of the Russian Federation had given their support to the move. In the care of his aunt Svetlana and friends, Mr. Kurbsky was recuperating under medical supervision on Heron Island. It had been suggested that he could be a Nobel Prize wi
Malik switched off. "How clever. It takes care of so many things, including you. I'll go and open the champagne. Your troubles are over."
"If you believe that, you'll believe anything," Daniel said.
He went out and walked to the balustrade of the terrace overlooking the harbor, and his Codex sounded. He hesitated, for it could be anyone-Lermov, Chekhov, even Putin himself-but there was no point trying to hide.
"Is that you, Mr. Holley? This is Charles Ferguson."
Ah. Charles Ferguson. Daniel took a deep breath. "How did you get my number?"
"Max Chekhov. I had my people lift him once Monica Starling filled us in on Bolt Hole. He told us all about you."
"The Russians won't like that."
"Then Max will have to keep his door locked," Ferguson said.
"So what do you want with me, now that you know who I am?" Daniel asked.
"I just wanted to thank you for saving Monica's life from that raving lunatic and his sergeant."
"Very civil of you. Any news on Colonel Lermov?"
"Back in Moscow, and, if he's half the man I think he is, he'll have already managed to shift the blame onto the shoulders of the late, unlamented Ivanov." Ferguson paused. "Your plan of attack, Daniel, was really very good. Even Putin will have to admit that. He'll try to pull you back in, you know."
"He can try all he wants. I'm done with him."
"And you think you can survive his displeasure on your own, without friends?"
"Friends like you, General?" Daniel's laugh was short and cold. "You and the Russians-you're two sides of the same coin. There's nothing to choose between you."
"I'm sorry you feel that way. But you know, Daniel, situations have a way of changing. You have my number now. You know where to reach me. Watch your back, Daniel-and, again, many thanks for what you did for Monica."
The line went dead. Daniel checked and, yes, there was Ferguson's number, stored in his phone. Just a click away…
He knew there would come a time when he would have to use it, and he knew he would regret it.
He put the phone down on a small table, lay on the cane recliner, looked up at the sun, and closed his eyes.
His troubles had just begun, and there was much to prepare for.