Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8)
But because Florin had hatched the plan, because he had taken the lead on the negotiations, and because the Kremlin had laid ultimate responsibility for the project at his feet, he was the man everyone had turned and looked at when it went off the rails.Mikhail took another sip of his scotch. “I know that this turn of events is unexpected, Florin. It was for all of us. But can you imagine my surprise when I arrived at your office only to be informed that you were not there and that you would be unavailable for the next several days? And imagine also, Florin, my surprise, when my people discovered that you are enjoying a relaxing stay on the French Riviera.” Mikhail shook his head. “Such a thing reminds me of the Director of the Russian Athletics Federation taking a holiday the moment the allegations of doping were brought to light.”
Florin would not be brought to intimidation. “You know how I work, Mikhail. You of all people know that I could not stay in that pressure cooker any longer. Many people, including yourself, are expecting sound and expedient solutions. I am here seeking a clear mind.”
“Even so, optics are everything. Especially in our line of work. You come here to France at a time like this and the wrong people find out… It leaves me in a difficult situation having to explain to my business partners why you are not treating such a matter with the gravity it deserves.”
Florin did not respond. He had nothing else to say. The fact was, he understood with absolute precision what the ramifications were, what the outcomes would look like if he did not repair the frayed wiring of this enterprise. Mikhail’s business partners were not ordinary investors hoping to recoup their initial stakes with a little interest. No, they were some of Russia’s richest, most influential people, every last one of them with deep ties to the Kremlin.
“Florin, do you remember not long after we first met, and I invited you to go ice fishing in Siberia?”
“How could I forget? I almost lost my toes to frostbite.”
“This problem. It is not dissimilar to that.”
“How so?”
“I am thinking of the man who cut his ice hole not far from us. The man who had been drinking too much vodka.”
Florin remembers like it was yesterday. The real horror of it all had never really diminished. “And what about him?” he asked.
“You are that man, Florin. You get Mother Russia on your hook, land her perfectly, and then fall into the hole yourself.” Mikhail shook his head. “I can only hope that, like that man, you don’t get stuck under the ice and drown.”
Florin had a sudden urge to get off the boat. To get his feet on solid ground and go for a long walk. Perhaps that’s what he needed. He would go for a walk in the city. It would help to loosen his legs—his thighs were already tightening—and ponder for the hundredth time a viable way out of his dilemma.
“You are still having the party here on your yacht next week, are you not?” Mikhail asked.
Florin’s gaze found the coastline again. He had planned a soiree to celebrate the most recent milestone of their project—and to break the news of the next phase of the project. But now there was nothing to celebrate. He forced a smile. “Yes. Of course.”
“Everyone is expecting it to be in Naples. Yet, here your yacht is in France?”
“It will be in Naples as scheduled.”
“Excellent. This is a challenging time for you, Florin. For me as well. I gave you a tremendous amount of my capital as well. And I vouched for you with the other investors. But the party will be a good chance for you to talk with them, to set things straight and set their mind at ease.”
“I have nothing to set their minds at ease with,” Florin snapped. “Do you think a solution is going to just fall out of the sky?”
Mikhail offered a thin-lipped smile. “Something will assert itself. I will not claim to know what. But stay the course. Things will work out. And if not, well… We’ll talk about that when the time comes.”
Florin stood up. Teto materialized from around the corner. “Teto, have Miren prepare the tender. And I will take it out myself. Tell him I do not need him to drive me. And let Saria know that Mr. Ivanov will be requiring a massage.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” Mikhail said.
“Stay as long as you wish,” Florin said. “I am going into the city for a while. Teto is at your service. If he can get you anything or have the galley make something for you, just tell him.”
“Thank you, Florin. I think I will do just that.”
Florin set his glass down and walked across the deck.
“Florin.”
He stopped and turned around.
“You are a smart man. You will find a way.”
Teto had the tender ready within minutes. Florin climbed aboard and got underway, trying to enjoy the easy ride over the smooth water of the bay. The vessel was beautiful. It was a Boesch 750 Portofino de Luxe, twenty-four feet of brown mahogany that gleamed like dark honey in the sunlight. The boat featured a rambling sundeck, a spacious cockpit for up to six people, and a wraparound L-bench with an air-cushioned, height-adjustable pilot’s seat.
The bimini was down and the breeze cool as he eased the throttle up and got the boat up on plane. He was at the marina in less than five minutes. An attendant was waiting for him, and Florin tossed him the bitter ends of the lines and waited for them to be secured to the dock cleats before turning off the engines. He climbed out, handed the attendant the key, and provided a general reference for when he might return.
Florin took his time walking into the city, strolling its cobbled streets with his hands in his pockets with no particular sense of destination. Soon enough,