“How would I know?”

I was positive that Petrov and his pals did not have guns with them in the car, so if they needed guns they picked them up here. And Tess knew that, too, so she asked, “Is it possible that one of your guests—or one of your security men—gave something to Petrov and the men with him?”

“How would I know this?”

He was annoying me, so I picked up the heavy silver lighter and shattered the ashtray, startling Mr. Tamorov and even Tess. I shouted, “Stop the bullshit! We know Petrov picked up guns here! And you know it!”

Tamorov didn’t reply and just looked at the mess I’d made.

“You,” I informed him, “are what we call a useful idiot. Understand?”

He understood. Better than being a co-conspirator.

“Maybe an accessory to a crime.”

“No.”

“You’re also an asshole.”

That was not an indictable offense, so he didn’t argue with that.

“Last chance to come clean. Tell me about the ship.”

He insisted, “I do not know of any ship.”

I leaned across the table and looked him in the eye. “Yakut?”

He seemed confused by the word in his own language and replied, “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand Russian?”

“I understand the word, but—”

“Do you own a yacht?”

“No.”

“Do you have friends who own yachts?”

“No. Yes.”

“Did you introduce Colonel Petrov to someone who has a yacht?”

He hesitated a second, then replied, “I do not recall making such an introduction.”

“You need to think about this, Georgi.”

He did not respond.

Tess asked him, “Was it Colonel Petrov who suggested that you have this party tonight?”

Good question.

Tamorov thought so, too, because a yes answer meant that all this was pre-planned, and that he, Tamorov, was complicit in something, even if he didn’t know what it was. So he replied, “No.”

Tess pressed on, “So it was just coincidence that your party was on the same night that a yacht was passing by? A yacht that Petrov had been invited to?”

“I do not know of any yacht.” He added, “As I told you, he said he was going to a party in East Hampton.”

I pointed out, “These people at your party were your friends, from your world. Not Petrov’s. There were no other diplomatic people here. So why did you invite Petrov, Gorsky, and Fradkov?”

“I… Petrov and I sometimes have business to discuss.”

“Yours or his?”

“He is a useful man for me to know. In Russia.”

“Does he whack people for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Georgi, you’re in deep shit, and it’s up to your ears now.” I looked at him. “I want a yes or no answer. Did Petrov ask you to have this party tonight?”

He understood that we both knew the answer to that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say yes, though he didn’t say no.

Well, if I could reverse-engineer this evening, it seemed that it started with a non-Russian ship that Petrov needed to deliver a nuclear weapon to Manhattan Island. It was hard to figure out how all this came about and it was hard to know how much of this was Petrov’s bright idea, and how much was cooked up in Moscow. Probably Petrov had the idea, and Moscow had the suitcase nuke. All they needed were a few clueless idiots like Georgi Tamorov and a ship owner—who Tamorov probably knew—to pull it off, and to be sure there were no Russian connections to the nuclear explosion. Well, but there were—Petrov, Gorsky, and Urmanov—but only if American intelligence could connect those three Russians to a yacht that became ground zero in a nuclear explosion. And there was really no way to make that connection. Or so Colonel Petrov thought.

The plan seemed a bit complex to me, but it also had a certain simplicity to it. If the goal was for Russia to nuke Manhattan and make it look like someone else had done it, like the North Koreans or the Chinese—or an Islamic group, if this was supposed to look like a replay of 9/11—then it was a good plan. Not nice, but good.

I leaned toward Tamorov and said, “Look at me.”

He looked at me and I asked, “What is the name of this yacht’s owner? What country is he from, and what is the name of his yacht?”

“I do not know of any yacht.”

“I know you do. And you know you do.”

Georgi Tamorov took a deep breath, then said to me, “I mean no harm to your country.” He waved his hand around the big room. “I enjoy my time here.” He further informed me, “I am a Russian by birth, but I am a citizen of the world.”

More likely a citizen of Switzerland for tax purposes. But I got his point, though that didn’t mean he couldn’t answer my question. “The name of the yacht. And the name and nationality of the yacht’s owner.”

“I do not know… but I will think about what you are asking.”

Right. Lots to think about. Like, what to get in return. It’s all about the deal. Not to mention who was most likely to ruin his life. Or end it.

He had no idea how serious this was, nor did he know that the clock was ticking and his window to make a deal was closing.

I said to him, “Information that comes too late is no information. Meaning you have nothing to trade.” I asked him, “Understand?”

He nodded, but said nothing.

While I was contemplating inviting Mr. Tamorov for a dip in the hot tub, my cell phone rang and it was Scott Kalish. I took the call and Kalish said, “I have that SAFE boat for you, about twenty minutes from the Shinnecock Coast Guard Station.”

“Okay.”

“And before you ask, still no sighting. Also, I’m asking about all yachts that are due in or have already docked in New York. And I checked with the East Hampton Police and the Bay Constables, and rechecked with my people, and everyone’s sure there is no amphibious craft full of hookers docked at a party anywhere.”

“Right. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up and said to Tamorov, “Here’s the deal, Georgi—if Vasily Petrov blows something up tonight, or kills someone, you are in a world of shit. So think hard about what we’ve asked you, and maybe what we didn’t ask you. And if you think of something, especially about a yacht, you tell a lady named Detective Penrose that you need to speak to me. Not your fucking lawyer. Understand?”

He nodded.

I picked up my Glock, and Tess and I stood. I instructed Tamorov, “Do not move. But before you’re taken into protective custody, you will write a check for twenty thousand dollars to Hampton Catering. Actually, make it twenty-five.”

Money he understood, and he said, “Perhaps I can write a check to each of you for a million dollars.”

“I’ll get back to you with my Swiss bank account number.”

“I am serious.”

“Good. I’ll add bribery to the charges.” I reminded him, “Think about who and what you’re most afraid of.” I looked him in the eye. “Time is running out.”

I was about to leave, but then I decided that this was a situation that was desperate enough for me to break the rules and to share a great secret with this Russian. I moved close to him and said, “We have good reason to believe that onboard this yacht is a Soviet-made miniature nuclear weapon, heading for Manhattan.”

Tamorov looked like I’d just hit him in the nuts.

Tess said, “John—”

I continued, “If this nuke detonates, you can say good-bye to your Manhattan real estate, your Wall Street investments, and also your wife, and your life.”

He stared at me, trying I guess to see if I was lying, but he was smart enough to see that I wasn’t. And smart enough to know that his pal Colonel Vasily Petrov was capable of mass murder.

I said, “The yacht.”

He replied, in a barely audible voice, “I… made an introduction… but…”

“You introduced Petrov to whom?”

“To a Saudi prince. Ali Faisel.”

Right. A Saudi prince. It all made sense now. Our sometimes friends the Saudis take the rap for the nuclear terrorist attack. Or Ali Faisel was complicit. Lots to think about and lots to figure out. And not much time to do either. “And the prince owns a yacht named…? What?”