Page 102 of Spymaster

“Keep monitoring it,” instructed Porter. “They’re an important partner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, sir,” McGee replied.

“All right, then,” the President declared. “Let me end by stating something I know we all agree on, but that I want to make crystal clear. I don’t want to see another scene like Rome or Istanbul. Full stop. Is that understood?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, Mr. President” before the videoconference was closed. And while Ryan and McGee, by virtue of being back in the States, might have to bear the burden of dealing with Porter face to face, the real weight of his words, and his expectations, fell upon Harvath’s shoulders.

With that knowledge fully in mind, he exited the guesthouse and headed back over to the basement of the main building.

He had lived up to his end of the bargain. It was time for Ivan Kuznetsov to do the same.

And if he didn’t, Harvath intended to make clear that even God himself wouldn’t be able to protect the Russian, or any of the members of his nine-person family.

CHAPTER 59

MINSK, BELARUS

Tomasz Wójcik was sitting in the Crowne Plaza’s trendy Empire Restaurant, enjoying the view over the city, when Pavel Kushner arrived. He was carrying a large, black leather briefcase, similar to what pilots carried.

“You should have started without me,” said Kushner as he sat down.

“I did,” Wójcik replied. “You’re late. I finished eating a half hour ago.”

The Belarusian smiled. His friend had gotten curmudgeonly in his old age. He probably wasn’t having enough sex. He should have taken him up on his offer to arrange a girl for him. A young lady of lower social responsibility would have helped reinvigorate his manhood.

“Did you have the buffet?” asked Kushner. “Or did you order off the menu?”

“I had a hard-boiled egg, toast, and coffee,” the Pole replied matter-of-factly.

“You know what?” his friend replied, eyeing the nearby buffet. “I really think retirement agrees with you. You were much more uptight in the old days.”

Wójcik wasn’t in the mood. Both of the nights that he had been in the hotel, he had slept like crap. The first night that was because his room had been right next to the elevators, which had chimed all night long. And the second night, after they had moved him, there’d been a bunch of drunks stumbling up and down his floor. He couldn’t wait to get out of Minsk and back to Poland.

“So what do you have for me?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you in a moment,” said Kushner. “First, I need to get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

The Pole almost couldn’t believe it. His friend had arrived almost an hour late, and now wanted him to wait while he hit the buffet.

“By all means,” Wójcik replied. “Take your time.”

His facetiousness was completely lost on the man.

Watching as he quickly walked over to the buffet, he had to wonder if Pavel was actually hungry, or if he was just eager to chat up the very large-breasted woman picking up berries, one at a time, with a pair of tongs and daintily placing them on a small white plate.

Signaling the waitress, the Pole politely requested more coffee. He looked at his watch and tried to figure out how long it would take to get home if he was able to leave in the next half hour. Depending on traffic, it was a seven- to eight-hour drive. Kopec had forbidden him to fly. Customs at the Minsk airport was much tougher than at the vehicle border crossing.

Since their meeting Saturday night in Gorky Park, his psoriasis had only gotten worse. No matter how much ointment he applied, it wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it had spread. He really needed to decrease his stress.

Pulling out his phone, he searched for the nearest drugstore. He would pick up some petroleum jelly and slather his affected skin before leaving. He hoped that would provide enough relief for him to withstand the uncomfortable drive home.

“Did you see that woman in the knit dress?” Kushner asked as he sat down, his plate piled high with eggs, pancakes, and bacon.

“How could anyone miss her?”

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