Grodovich recalled how long it had been for him, as well. How long he’d been incarcerated, and how long it had been since he’d had a woman. Soon that would be rectified...for both of them.
Stieglitz had initially balked at the idea of releasing Mikhal, but Grodovich countered that the condition was non-negotiable. It had been a risk, that was certain, but one worth taking. Grodovich had sensed that it was one of the rare instances when he might have the upper hand. Stieglitz had not journeyed all the way from Moscow to not bring back the prize his superiors wanted. Grodovich also knew his ability to dictate terms would fade quickly once he was out and under a new form of control. Thus, having someone at his side, someone he could trust, would be Grodovich’s only real assurance. He knew that if the time came when his new masters decided they no longer needed him, the payoff would probably be a bullet to the head. With Mikhal, he stood a fair chance of survival beyond the completion of this scheme. In the meantime, he had only to enjoy his newly found freedom.
Relax, he thought as he watched big Mikhal squirming in the seat as the flight attendant’s hand rested on his shoulder.
She wore jeweled earrings that glistened under the cabin’s lights, and this brought Grodovich back to the original question he had posed: What exactly must he do in exchange for this pardon?
“We would like you to renew your old contacts on the international front as you go back into the diamond business...and with the Robie Cats,” Stieglitz had said.
What exactly did that mean? The Robies had sprung up the last two years, mostly while he’d been imprisoned. They were essentially an instrument of his former partner, who’d formed the group and sponsored them. They had become as adept at stealing jewels as their fictional inspiration, John Robie, from that old movie.
Grodovich turned and peered through the oval window at Stieglitz, who had yet to board the plane. He was still standing on the tarmac by the stairway talking on his mobile phone, and from the man’s body language he was obviously speaking to whoever was in charge of this farce. Initially, Grodovich had wondered if the Chechen stooges had been sent by Stieglitz to add an incentive to accept the offer. The transfer from Ariyskhe could have been designed to produce the same effect. Those in control had obviously arranged the chess pieces on the board in a particular manner and planned their moves well in advance. He wondered which one he was. The intricate manipulations indicated he was far more than a pawn... A knight, perhaps? Or maybe even a bishop?
The flight attendant tugged Mikhal’s seat belt snuggly across his hips and the giant responded with a foul-smelling burst of flatulence.
The woman’s head jerked back and she smiled before scurrying off.
Grodovich laughed. As rancid as it was, he and Mikhal were both breathing free air. And he intended to keep breathing it, despite any temporary effluviums that might drift his way.
“I am sorry, Alexander,” Mikhal said. “I could not help myself. Have I offended her?”
Grodovich placed his hand on the giant’s meaty thigh and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
“Do not concern yourself,” he said. “Soon we will be in Moscow and partaking in pleasures you have only dreamed about.”
The huge face twisted into a smile. “I have been thinking about that.” The giant licked his lips, and then his massive visage took on a serious expression. “I will never forget that I owe you for my freedom.”
Grodovich squeezed the enormous leg again. It was like the trunk of an oak tree. He nodded in reassurance but said nothing.
A knight or a bishop, he thought. It matters not when I have my own loyal rook.
* * *
STIEGLITZ STOOD SHIVERING in the cold wind that blew along the length of the airfield as the voice on the other end of the connection spoke with slow deliberation.
“I assume that everything went as I instructed?”
“Yes, sir,” Stieglitz said. He felt the pressure growing in his bowels. Just hearing the other voice did that to him. He knew he could be exterminated in the blink of an eye.
Should he tell his superior about Grodovich’s condition, the release of the giant, or keep that to himself? He’d been under orders to enlist Grodovich’s cooperation using any means necessary. But Stieglitz had not been prepared for the intrusion of the giant, nor had he anticipated the audacity of Grodovich.
“Are you there?” The voice was petulant.
Not wanting to incur any wrath, Stieglitz answered quickly. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m on the airfield and they’re fueling the plane now.”
After a few seconds of silence, the voice came back on the line. “How much have you told him?”
“Only that we have a special assignment for him involving diamonds.”
“We? You told him of my involvement?”
“No, no, of course not.” Stieglitz felt himself almost lose control and void himself. “I was merely using a figure of speech.”
More silence.
“As far as he knows,” Stieglitz continued, “I am the one in charge.”
Stieglitz heard nothing. Had the connection been lost? Was his death being ordered? Then, “Very well. Tell him what I instructed you to tell him. I have arranged for Rovalev to meet your plane in Moscow.”
Rovalev, the Black Wolf. He would most assuredly report the matter of the giant being released. Stieglitz had to do the same, lest it seem as if he were concealing something.
“There is one more matter,” he said nervously.
“What?”
Stieglitz tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly very dry, his hands so wet he was worried the special phone would slip from his grasp. “Grodovich wanted another convict, his...his companion, to be released, as well. I...uh...did that to appease him.”
He listened to dead air for several seconds until the voice spoke again.
“His companion?” A harsh laugh. “Perhaps it will make him more amenable. After all, a happy man is an efficient one. And if there are any problems, Rovalev can handle it.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Stieglitz said, thinking of the subsequent reaction to the giant.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, nothing, sir,” he said. “Everything is as you instructed. Everything is under control.”
“It had better be.” The voice sounded cool, efficient, merciless. “Call me when you land.”
Stieglitz felt relief flood through him as he terminated the call. He glanced up the metal stairway leading to the open door of the plane and debated whether or not he could ascend it without voiding. He decided against it and began a shuffling walk back toward the gate. They would not take off without him.
As he continued toward the structure he caught a glimpse of a face watching him through the window of the plane.
Grodovich.
It was a mistake to show weakness in front of this unctuous gangster, and Stieglitz hoped his truncated steps would not betray his anxiety.
Perhaps he will assume I am a nervous flier, he thought.