Borchardt again screamed from behind the tape, then yanked against the flex cuffs, as Dewey took small sips from his coffee cup and made satisfied purring noises.
“I wonder if those Chinese guys liked coffee?” pondered Dewey. “What do you think?”
He looked at Borchardt.
“Oh, that’s right, you can’t talk, can you?”
Borchardt again screamed, his face turning beet red. For several seconds he screamed, though it was muted.
Dewey took another sip.
“You never know with those Chinese guys. I mean, they like some weird shit. Take for example sushi. I mean, raw fish? Who wants to eat a piece of raw fucking fish? Why the hell do they like sushi so much, Rolf? Actually, now that I think about it, that’s Japan who likes sushi, isn’t it?”
Dewey smiled, staring into Borchardt’s eyes. He took a last sip from the coffee mug, then hurled it over Borchardt’s shoulder. It struck the wall and shattered, dropping pieces of the mug all over Borchardt’s head and shoulders.
“Sorry,” said Dewey, watching as Borchardt tried to shake shards of the mug from his shoulder. “I was aiming for the dishwasher.”
Dewey reached for his ankle, pulling out his knife. He took it and thrust it toward Borchardt, who screamed, flinched, and yanked at his cuffs, all to no avail.
“Relax.”
He stuck the tip of the blade next to Borchardt’s ear, under the tape edge, then ripped the blade up, cutting the tape. Dewey grabbed the tape and ripped it from Borchardt’s face, which made a loud noise, though not as loud as Borchardt’s scream.
Dewey sat back and let him finish his wailing.
“Don’t say anything you’re going to regret,” said Dewey. “There’s an entire roll of tape, and I’d be glad to put some more on.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“You know what I want, asshole. I explained it to you. I want help getting these fuckheads back.”
“Then you kill me?”
“Maybe. But unlike you, I’m a man of my word. If you help me, there’s a chance I won’t kill you. It’s not a promise, because sometimes I’m just in the mood, know what I mean? Even though you attempted to fuck me back at your house, Rolf, I still really actually don’t care if you live or die. You and I are professionals. We know the drill. We understand the risks. But Jessica was innocent.”
“I’ll help you. I give you my word.”
“Spare me, will you? You don’t have a ‘word’ to give. You’re a fundamentally dishonest human being, which is how I knew you’d rat me out. Just shut the fuck up, answer my questions, and do as you’re told.”
Borchardt nodded. “Got it.”
“Now, my first question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Something I’ve been meaning to ask you since I first met you.”
“What?”
“What the fuck is the deal with your hair? You’re a wealthy man. Buy yourself a toupée. Or better yet, do what real men do: go bald. Be a man about it. It looks like a dead rat.”
Dewey leaned forward and grabbed the end of the long bunch of hair that dangled to the side of Borchardt’s head. He took his knife and put it next to Borchardt’s scalp and sliced the entire piece of hair off, then tossed it into Borchardt’s lap.
“There we go,” said Dewey, sitting back, nodding slowly, assessing his hairdressing skills. “Much better.”
Borchardt looked sadly down at the clump of hair on his lap.
“Okay, next question,” said Dewey. “Weapons.”
“Enough for whatever you want to do. A full cache of military-grade combat equipment. You’re welcome to inspect it. It’s in the cargo hold.”
“Explosives?”
“SEMTEX, PBXN, gelatin, C4. Enough explosives to blow up Buckingham Place, or … the Ministry of State Security?”
“Good one, Rolf. What about shoulder-fired missiles?”
“MANPADs, RPG-7s.”
“What sort of MANPADs?”
“Javelins.
“Oldies but goodies.”
“There are also half a dozen Alcotán-100s.”
“What are those?”
“Portable antitank missiles. Very easy to use. No recoil. Very effective too. I sold a bunch to Syria last year. They couldn’t afford all of them, so I kept a few.”
Dewey nodded.
“Okay, next question,” said Dewey. “Tell me about Fao Bhang.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you have a relationship with him?”
“I’ve never met him. Few have.”
“Where does he live?”
“I have no idea. Presumably Beijing. If he’s like all of the rest of the State Council, he also has a house somewhere, Hong Kong, Macau, Shanghai. But I don’t know.”
“What do you know?” asked Dewey. “Because I can tell you right now, your life span is directly correlated to how much you can help me.”
“He’s a buyer of information. Loves information. What sort of weapons system so-and-so bought, what sort of satellite setup this or that government has. That sort of thing. Very price agnostic. Big spender.”
“What else? What’s his deal?”
“His deal?”
“Yes, his deal. What’s his fucking deal?”
“Bhang is the brains behind whatever nasty thing China does. He’s the strategist and the implementer. He was without question the one who sent the team in to kill you last night. He would’ve been the one to organize the wet work down in Argentina.”
“What about his brother, Bo Minh?”
“I know Minh. I know him quite well, as a matter of fact.”
“How?”
“He’s on my payroll. Bo Minh is the top technologist at the ministry. He designs various cryptographics, eavesdropping, profiling algorithms, lie-detection devices. He’s as ruthless as Bhang, but a recluse, an introvert; he doesn’t have the political skills or ambition of Bhang. But he’s brilliant.”
“Why is he on your payroll?”
“He keeps me apprised of developments within ministry weapons programs. He helps ensure I continue to play an active role in their decision-making process.”
“Bribery.”
“Something like that.”
“How much have you paid him over the years?”
“Tens of millions.”
Dewey stared at Borchardt.
“You really are a scumbag, aren’t you?”
Borchardt smiled.
“I’m a businessman.”
“Are they close?”
“Who?”
“Bhang and his brother, shitbrain.”
Borchardt’s eyes grew sharp.
“I’m not sure.”
“Rolf,” Dewey said, shaking his head, scolding in his voice. “Remember our discussion a little while ago about answering my questions? There is one individual on the entire planet you need to keep happy. And right now, that individual is a little upset. He’d like nothing better than to fire one of these Alcotáns up your constipated German ass. Answer the fucking question.”
“Yes, they’re close,” said Borchardt, sighing. “Very close.”
“What’s ‘very’?”
“Very. Bhang protects him. Minh is smart but weak. Bhang is not weak. They say even Li has a healthy dose of wariness about Bhang. His people are everywhere. Bhang watches out for Bo Minh. Minh was once caught in a Ponzi scheme. This was in Shanghai, several years ago. There were two men. They were caught and convicted, sentenced to thirty or forty years in a labor camp. The day after arriving at the camp, both men were shot in the head.”
Dewey nodded. He sat back, pausing, then smiled.
“Well, you better hope I succeed then.”
“Why?”
“Because Bhang’s going to be mighty pissed off at you after his brother dies.”
52
MI6 HEADQUARTERS
85 VAUXHALL CROSS
LONDON
Calibrisi, Katie, and Tacoma grabbed a few hours of sleep at the American embassy, then were driven to MI6 headquarters on the banks of the Thames. They were escorted to the top floor, to a glass-walled conference room whose windows were lined with copper mesh, designed to prevent eavesdropping.
It was 5:00 A.M. Chalmers was already seated when the three Americans walked in. With Chalmers was Veronica Smythson, who ran paramilitary operations for MI6.