Yes. He was a cretin, for not moving Imre closer to him. Criminally stupid, for not guarding his weak spot with more care.
“You thought you were too good to serve me?” Novak said. “You are a whining dog begging for scraps, Vajda. And this old pervert gave you scraps, did he not? When he was not buggering you?”
Novak made a sharp gesture. One of the men holding Imre elbowed him viciously in the face. Fresh blood spattered onto Imre’s white shirt, joining the dried spots.
Valery lunged toward them. Several guns swung up, trained on him. Someone wrenched his arms back violently and slammed a metal pipe across his throat. He barely felt it.
He stared at Imre, shaking. Unable to speak, to think.
“So.” Novak caressed Val’s chin with a clawlike hand in a hideous parody of tenderness. “I hope, for your old friend’s sake, that you are not going to tell me you are incapable of undertaking this.”
Blood was filling his mouth again, but Valery could not swallow. The pressure across his throat was strangling him. His ears roared.
“No,” he choked out hoarsely. “I am not saying that.”
“Good.” Novak made a gesture to the men holding Val. The pressure on his throat eased. His arm was released.
“And now, a demonstration of my resolve,” Novak said briskly. “We will remove a piece of your friend—a small piece. A finger, an ear, so we all know where we stand. Keep the piece if you are feeling sentimental. Did I hear your friend plays the piano? A teacher at the conservatory? Once a concert pianist? Charming. A finger, then.”
“No,” Val broke in. “Do not touch him. Or it’s no deal.”
“You do not set the terms of this deal.” Novak’s smile stretched out over his long, discolored teeth. “I set them. All of them. You have forgotten the rules, my boy. A few of his fingers should remind you.”
Val’s mind raced desperately like a rat in an electrified maze. He groped in his shirt pocket with his hand, felt a small, smooth cylinder.
He yanked it out, with a flourish. “The rules just changed.”
The snickering and muttering abruptly stopped. All eyes went to the ampoule in Val’s hand.
“And what is that?” Novak asked.
“Poison gas,” Val said. “If I break this, everyone in this room dies before they can reach the door.”
Novak chewed the inside of his sunken cheek. He shot a look at András. “Whose responsibility was it to search this man before he was brought into my presence?”
One of the younger men’s eyes went wide. He began to back away.
András lifted his gun and shot the man in the face. He hit the wall and slid to the floor, the swath of gore vivid against white cement blocks. Imre made a choked sound. He sagged between his two captors.
“Everyone dies, including yourself?” Novak’s tone was light. “And your friend?”
“Of course,” Val said. “It’s worth it to me. I dislike being bullied. You and I can continue this conversation in hell.”
Novak chuckled softly. “Do you always carry poison gas on your person? What an odd accessory.”
Valery’s eyes locked on Novak’s. “Life is so uncertain,” he said. “Death is much more reliable.”
The chuckles turned to wheezy gasps of laughter. “Ah, Vajda, I have missed you since I sold you on the auction block to those PSS dogs all those years ago,” Novak said, wiping his mouth. “So. Tell me. What do you hope to accomplish with your poison gas?”
“We talk terms,” Val said. “My terms.”
“And they are?” Novak’s voice had a humoring tone.
“The kill fee, to start. Five hundred thousand euro, expenses excluded.”
There were assorted snorts and snickers from the men assembled. Novak looked amused. “You think well of yourself, Valery. But why a kill fee? It is not necessary to kill her. I will take care of that personally.”
“Bringing her to you alive is more difficult than a straight kill,” Val said. “I require no interference, no backup team. Live webcam conversations with him upon request.” He gestured toward Imre. “As well as your solemn word before witnesses that he will not be harmed.”
Novak’s pale, poisonous gaze narrowed. Val kept his face impassive. His heart thundered.
This was a wild gamble. Novak had a pathological hatred of being lied to. There were whispers about what he had done to his wife years ago to punish her for lying to him. It was said he’d cut off his own son’s finger when he was a child as punishment for lying about some trivial childhood sin. The underlying message was brutally clear. If the boss did that to his own son, what might he do to a piece of shit nobody like me? It had been a very powerful deterrent to lying.
But the corollary was that in his own twisted way, he considered himself a man of honor. If Novak gave his word not to harm Imre in front of his men, he would consider himself bound by it. Val hoped.
On the other hand, the man was utterly mad, after all.
“Vajda.” Imre cleared his throat, coughing. “You cannot—”
“Shut up, old man,” Val said harshly. “I did not ask you.”
Tense moments crawled by. Novak pondered, rubbing his chin. “The demand for money is absurd,” he said. “But I do appreciate a man who gives good sport. For this, I will spare the finger—for tonight. And in return…” His voice trailed off, eyes sparkling with amusement.
Val waited, not allowing himself to swallow or breathe.
“You will provide me with video footage of your affair with Steele,” Novak said. “Something juicy and explicitly sexual, something to entertain the men on dull nights. You will have a few minutes of communication with your friend. If at any point the video rendezvous is missed, I will start to remove pieces of him. I require my first installment—let me see—Monday. I am giving you a few extra days of grace, to allow for travel time,” he concluded, his tone magnanimous. “After that, I will expect something every three days.”
Val’s jaw ached with tension. “I cannot guarantee—”
“Then I will start with his fingers,” Novak said lightly. “Do not try to intimidate me, Vajda.” His grin stretched wider. “Look into my eyes. Do I look like a man who has anything to fear from your poison gas?”
Val’s fingers tightened on the ampule. The faces of the other men in the room were rigid with terror. Novak’s was alight with triumph.
“Do we have an understanding?” Novak asked.
Val nodded. Novak jerked and wheezed with laughter. He gestured to one of his men. “Give him his things.”
The man jerked into movement, producing Val’s wallet, cell phone, Palm Pilot. He dropped them onto the table.
Val pocketed the items. He seized the file that held the photographs, and shoved the case that held the torque under his arm.
“I need this,” he said. “For pretexting an approach.”
“As you wish.” Novak’s voice was oily with satisfaction. “Be sure to bring it back when you deliver her. I wish to kill her with it.”
Val gave Imre one last look. The old man’s eyes were hollow and bleak. Val felt helpless. “We will speak on the videophone,” he said.
Imre