Page 9 of Obsession of the Egoist
“Can it be that Ahmad is playing a double game and has already closed a deal with the ILO?” Greg’s low bass boomed in the room.
Yugo shook his head, doubting the idea. “The ILO’s influence is strong in Syria, Iran, and Iraq. Check if any of them offered diplomatic recognition.”
Tobias side-nodded. “Ali was his favorite son. Ahmad’s insecurity and paranoia grow day by day. He wants to make sure no one will ever touch what’s his again; this is why he is doing all this. His hatred for the foreign presence grows too. He can’t forgive the foreign involvement. His intelligence works day and night to discover who sent the soldiers to kidnap Ali. He doesn’t trust anyone, even us. Honestly, I don’t think he would deal with the ILO.”
Yugo picked up the lighter from the desk and flipped it around his fingers. “Who will support their war? Any promises?”
“Uslan, the Chechen Separatist Leader, agreed to provide soldiers and weapons. Ahmad promised to support them in their fight for independence from Russia. The vice-president of Pakistan agreed to supply soldiers, weapons, and medical assistance, as long as his involvement remains hidden and, when the time is right, he expects the favor returned. That’s all I know for now,” Tobias said.
Pushing his chair back, Yugo got up and approached the window. A heavy veil of impenetrable clouds enclosed the sky. Shuttering the sun, it mish-mashed the dull colors of the passing winter. Occasional birds hurried toward the forest, fighting the gusts. The first, heavy raindrop crashed against the window with a dullTHUDand slid down the glass. Fetching a cigarette from the pack that lay on the windowsill, Yugo lit it up. Sucking in the thick cloud, he closed his eyes, enjoying the bitter-sweet taste of strong tobacco and vanilla.
“Greg, find out what’s going on with the ILO, and I want to know who else is in the game. Which countries promised support, which countries are considering the offer, and what was promised to them. If someone rejected Ahmad’s proposition, I want to know.” Clearing his throat, Yugo turned to Tobias. “How soon can you fulfill their order?”
“Armor and weapons within two weeks. I can get five Russian tanks and two Mi-6 helicopters by the end of the week. I don’t know why they want a jet, but it will take a month.”
“Give them yours,” Yugo said.
Tobias stabbed him with an acute glare of mistrust. “No. The rest of the military hardware wouldn’t be a problem. But even with the plane, they don’t have pilots. Finding the right people will take time.”
“Work on it. But tell Ahmad that no chemical weapon will be delivered. This is suicidal. The United Nations might overlook a civil war if Ahmad is being reasonable and cooperates; that will never happen if he uses chemicals. Move the pickup points to Turkmenistan. Make sure Ahmad understands that we make no permanent commitments, and will be handling every order as a separate deal. We won’t be openly involved, but we will keep supplying the Al-Amin, as we did before. Also, the deal with heroin stays. Don’t rush with the answer. Give it at the end of the week, as we agreed. And start working on recruiting his secretary. Threaten or promise him money—I don’t care, but make sure he works for us. If you get any more information by the end of the week, let me know ASAP.”
“Got it,” Tobias got up from his chair. He made a first step toward the door but froze. Half-turning to Yugo, he tapped his cheek with his index finger.
“What?” Yugo asked, disliking the evil sparks flickering behind the pale eyes.
“Your puppy…”
“Save it.” Shooting his palm in the air, Yugo cut Tobias off. “I’m not interested.”
“Is that so?” Lips stretching in a predatory smile, revealed a white row of crooked teeth. “Even if…”
“I said, I don’t care.” A pang of irritation twitched in Yugo’s chest as he crushed the unfinished cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “If you’re done, get the fuck out.”
When the smile grew bigger and Tobias’ lean frame tilted to the side, as if he listened to something with his whole body, Yugo clenched his teeth.
A second passed, then another, before Tobias’ spine snapped upright. He squinted, opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. Humming, he passed Greg and slapped his wide shoulder with his palm, before slipping out of the office.
Yugo turned to the window as his hand grabbed the cigarette pack, crumpled it, then tossed it back at the windowsill. The mental turmoil he’d been fighting for the last two weeks returned with the bitter taste of defeat. Despite making the final decision of letting Kuon go, he felt robbed of his choices, and every day, the growing dissatisfaction poisoned his blood.
“You too,” Yugo said, but no rustle, no footfalls reached his ears. Subduing the first impulse to throw something at Greg, he bypassed the desk and approached the bar. Entering the hidden, rounded niche, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the nearest shelf before picking up a square glass.
“Boss…” The low, booming voice radiated concern. “Tobias is right. Why don’t you check on Kuon?”
“Have you nothing to do? Go. Now.”
When the sound of a closing door shuttered the silence, Yugo pushed a breath out of his lungs and slammed his palm against the polished surface of the bar.
A LONG WEEK HAD PASSEDsince Tobias closed a new deal with the Al-Amin. A silent, boring week, filled with occasional minor news and monotonous preparations for another delivery. The week where Yugo couldn’t keep his mind occupied with his business anymore, as the rush of inevitable thoughts he had been trying to fend off for the last four weeks stormed back into his mind.
He couldn’t help remembering the sleepless nights, filled with torn breathing, suppressed moans, and dark eyes glistening with emotion … the sweet smell of Kuon’s skin … the softness of his insides. Then the piercing wind and the brief triumph in Mio’s eyes, as he stood on the pier watching Kuon bleed.
Squeezing the glass in his hand, Yugo swallowed the rising anger. Many years ago, he had promised himself that no one would take from him ever again. That no one would ever walk away from stealing from him. Now, he couldn’t even punish Mio. One year with Tobias wasn’t nearly enough to make Mio pay for the old, open wound in his chest. Making the best, logical decision had never been this hard before, as his blood boiled with the need for vengeance.
Sitting in the ostrich leather chair, in the darkness of his empty bedroom, he picked up a bottle that stood on a small coffee table on his right and refreshed his drink. He hoped that the alcohol would keep his mind off Mio and the dark haunting eyes he couldn't forget.
The door of his bedroom opened, showering the floor with a bright light, then closed.
“Boss?” Greg’s rusty voice disturbed the silence.
