The Accidental Existentialist (3 page)

“
Relax, O’Reilly. I’ve
changed nothing. You’ll still get to talk with Khrenikov. But if
you’ve done
your
homework, you’ll know that he never meets anyone without his
lieutenants clearing them first.”

That he’d come this far was no small
feat. Chris knew and appreciated the magnitude of it. For years,
Masterson had come up empty handed and frustrated. No one could
ever track Khrenikov’s movement, much less get within a dozen or so
miles of him. Now, if Yuri was being truthful, all that Chris and
Masterson had planned would pay off. If he succeeded, he’d be able
to return to Marlena and Robbie, get a new identity, move to
Montana and start a new life.

But if he failed…

And there was plenty that could go
wrong. Things Chris never quite trusted Masterson with because of
those wild suspicions, his misgivings that teetered on the razor’s
edge of paranoia.

There was that sickening feeling
again.

The boat was moving. And
fast.

“
Where are we
going?”

“
Tell me about the deal
you will propose to Khrenikov.” Yuri blew a stream of choking fumes
towards Chris, which made his eyes water. He wanted to cough, but
willed himself not to. All this he had to endure. For Marlena, for
Robbie.

For Ben.

“
I’m sure you’d like to
know. Look. I told you several times: you bring me to Big-K and
I’ll give you your cut.”

Stogorsky scoffed. “You think I am
like Boris, like Rayshkin? Like eight million dollars impresses
me?”

“
That’s what we agreed
to.”

“
That is
walnuts!”

“
You mean
peanuts.”

Stogorsky swore and started to laugh
sardonically.

“
So you don’t want
it?”

“
I want my cut, O’Reilly.
But the money is not all. I spend eight million on my cars and
women in three months. I want something more.”

Chris got up, stretched his aching
neck and clicked his tongue. “Forget it.”

“
No, listen. I get my cut,
you get yours.”

“
Khrenikov hears you
talking like that and you can say goodbye to your stick
shift.”

“
You are a funny Man,
O’Reilly. I like you.”

“
I’m dead
serious.”

“
Interesting choice of
words.”

“
Take me to Khrenikov, or
I’ll see to it he finds out how you were trying to skim off the
top.”

“
Skim?” Stogorsky opened
his hands and stretched them wide. “I have all this and more, what
else do I need?” The question—presumably rhetorical—conjured up the
Tin Man’s aria, from
The Wizard of
Oz
. “I am talking about an
opportunity.”

“
You have no idea what
I’m—”

“
K42 drones. Only the
United States will have them. But then, you Americans always had
the unfair advantage. I have clients who believe it our moral
obligation to…” Stogorsky grinned so wide, his gold tooth flashed
behind his canines, “…to even the playing field.”

Chris feigned ignorance, but the truth
was, it caught him off guard. How could Stogorsky know the details
of this deal? “K…what?”

“
Don’t insult me.”
Stogorsky snuffed out his cigarette, though he’d only smoked about
a fourth of it. “I know you’re trying to sell Khrenikov the plans
for the prototype. But if you will just hear me out—”

It was as he feared. There had been a
leak in intel. Had always been. Chris got up and started for the
door. “We’re done here.”

“
We’re too far from shore
to swim, O’Reilly.”

“
I’ll take my chances.” He
turned and went for the door. But the sound of a gun’s hammer
cocking stopped him.

“
You’ll want to sit down
and talk some more, I think.”

The package in his jacket’s breast
pocket tempted him to use it now. But it was not the right time.
Still, this unexpected discovery had changed everything. And his
worst suspicions were all but confirmed. “All right.” He returned
to the sofa.

“
Come now, we’re both men
of opportunity.” Something in Stogorsky’s tone smacked of
overconfidence, advantage. It hollowed a pit in Chris’ gut, as all
the possible explanations began to emerge. “Surely we can come to a
mutually beneficial agreement.”

“
Surely not.”

“
Listen. In five minutes
we will be meeting Khrenikov. I am offering you a chance to change
your life forever. The opportunity to change the world we live
in.”

“
What, are you recruiting
me for the freakin’ Peace Corps or something?”

Yuri Stogorsky rolled his chair over
and sat directly in front of him. He leaned forward and looked
directly into Chris’ eyes. “I know a bit more about you than you
realize. And I know we have a mutual interest.”

“
Is that so?”
I’ve been compromised
.
The only question now was, to what extent?

“
Yes. We both want to take
Khrenikov down.”

There must be a hidden camera
somewhere in the cabin. Or a recording device. Chris was not about
to drop his cover. “I couldn’t care less about Khrenikov,” he lied.
“All that matters are the terms of the deal, which you, my
unfortunate friend, are cutting yourself out of.”

“
This is not just some
capricious whim of mine. I’m supported by powerful people both here
and back in Moscow.”

No doubt. “You’re insane. No one can
take down Khrenikov single handedly.”

“
Who says I’ve only got
one hand?”

“
Interesting.”

“
The way I see it, with
the support I already have in place, we can use this opportunity to
take out Khrenikov and transfer his resources to a more
progressive, more enterprising leader.”

“
Such as?”

Yuri slapped Chris on the back. “Me,
of course!”

“
So what’s in it for
me?”

“
Billions of dollars, full
access to the Russian Syndicate as well as—”

“
Whoa, back up a minute.
What makes you think you can suddenly mobilize an operation of
thousands spread out across the globe?”

“
I am just missing one
piece of the puzzle—an arms broker at the level of the Legendary
Mark O’Reilly. What do you say?”

He needed time. Time to think ahead,
anticipate the next move, now that the proverbial monkey wrench had
been thrown into his mission. And worse still, he was truly on his
own now. “I’ll think about it.”

Yuri stood and went to the port hole.
“Think fast. We’re coming up to Khrenikov’s boat.”

“
You just sprung this on
me.”

“
It’s very simple
O’Reilly. Work with me, become a billionaire and international
power broker. Otherwise, I leverage someone else who will make you
irrelevant to myself and Khrenikov. And we both have no use for
people like that. Okay, we’re here. Time to choose.”

Chris went to the porthole and could
not believe what he saw. He gazed at Khrenikov’s yacht with mixture
of awe and disgust. Its slick white hull looked sharp as a blade,
its very angles made the ship look like it was in motion even when
still. The tinted windows concealed whatever shady transaction was
about to take place. But how many millions did this cost? How much
blood did this floating altar of murderous decadence represent?
“All right. I’m in. Let’s go.”

Yuri grabbed Chris’ hand and pumped it
enthusiastically. “Wonderful!” He pulled out his Blackberry and
typed in a quick text message. “I’m just letting my contact know
that you’re with us.”

But Chris agreed to this plan only to
keep his mission on track. No way in Hell he’d lock arms with this
dirt bag. He just needed to buy enough time to complete what he’d
set out to do.

They stepped out onto the deck.
Anchors cast, both ships floated side by side. Boris and Rayshkin
had already crossed over a long wooden plank to the deck of
Khrenikov’s ship.

The sun had cut a blue swath through
the clouds offering an almost ironic sense of hope in the brine.
The expanse of the sea stretched forth in every direction for as
far as the eye could perceive. There was no turning back now. Not
when the game plan had been changed. Now more than ever, Chris had
to succeed. Not even his faked death would protect Marlena and
Robbie, if he failed.

The sun hit his eyes, making him
squint. He pulled his New York Mets baseball cap from his rear
pocket, unfolded and put it over his head. His beard itched like
the Devil, and he wanted to scratch at it madly. But that would
draw undue attention. “Some Yacht he’s got there.”

“
Lazzara LMC 76. Just one
of Khrenikov’s many ships.” Yuri Stogorsky gestured to the
makeshift bridge between the two boats.

“
Makes yours look like a
canoe.”

“
Size doesn’t
matter.”

Chris followed him onto the plank.
“She lied.”

Yuri turned his head back. A wicked
grin cracked across his features. “I like you, O’Reilly. You are
very funny.”

When they boarded the aft of the
Yacht, Yuri and the other Russians began to speak in hushed tones.
Trying to conceal his anxiety behind a granite demeanor, Chris
looked around the ship. Three decks, light wooden floor boards,
shiny chrome, padded seating around a rectangular table within the
covered area of the main deck. All he wanted was to study his
surroundings as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

“
All right.” Yuri took a
deep breath. “Let’s go. He’s waiting.”

“
Lead the way.”

One deck below, two armed men wearing
silk shirts of purple and navy blue along with black pants, stood
at either side of a walnut grain door. Neither made any effort to
hide the guns tucked behind their belts. Yuri muttered something to
them and the both stepped aside.

“
This way,” Yuri said and
opened the door for Chris.

Upon entering the expansive room, the
first thing he noticed was one end of a long cherrywood boardroom
table. But as the door opened wider, before he saw the face of the
person sitting down at the opposite end, he heard his
voice.

“
Hello
Christopher.”

The back of his neck prickled like a
thousand ants nibbling on his skin. It shouldn’t have surprised
him, but the very confirmation of his suspicions sat there in a
black leather executive chair.

His nightmares manifested.

“
Colonel Masterson. I
didn’t want to believe it.”

Yuri lifted a finger, his eyes darting
back and forth between the two. “Hold on. Christopher?” To
Masterson: “Don’t you mean O’Reilly? Mark O’Reilly?”

Masterson pointed to a chair by the
table. “Sit down and shut up.”

“
Right.” Yuri obeyed, his
eyes still squinting in confusion.

“
I’m sorry I couldn’t have
let you in on this earlier, Lieutenant.” Masterson straightened his
red necktie and leaned back cockily. It must have been the first
time Chris had ever seen him in civilian clothes, much less a fine
Italian suit. “The truth is, I wasn’t sure you would
agree.”

“
To sell military secrets
to the Russian mafia?”

“
I had a feeling that Yuri
would persuade you, this was the only way.”

Chris remained standing. His stomach
sank as whatever vestige of respect he once held for the colonel
evaporated into something that resembled steam from a cow pie on a
hot summer day in Pennsylvania. “You’ve left me little
choice.”

“
Come on, Chris. With all
the intel we’ve gathered, we’re in the perfect position to take
this over. The potential is without limit.”

He wanted to launch a diatribe about
Masterson’s despicable betrayal of the very nation he professed to
serve. But he had to keep a level head. Navigate through the
twisted shards of his own goals and motivations, some of which were
sickeningly entangled with Masterson’s. He had to play along just a
bit longer.

“
The way I see it, the
three of us have one goal in common.” Chris said and touched the
package in his jacket pocket. He hoped it didn’t protrude enough to
draw any attention.

Yuri looked to Masterson, who gave him
an acknowledging nod. “If I’m not mistaken, we are all still on the
same page?”

Just then, the door behind Chris
opened again. Right away, Masterson and Yuri stood. Chris turned
around and saw the man he had been chasing for all these
years.

Mikhail Khrenikov.

Holding a glass of some hard drink, he
stood even larger than the pictures portrayed—about six and a half
feet tall and built like a bulldozer. He black hair was slicked
back with something straight out of the 1950’s. Deep wrinkles
etched subway maps on his face. His fleshy pink lips seemed to be
in a permanent state of pucker, reminiscent of Charlie the Starkist
Tuna, but with the teeth and ferocity of Jaws.