Lying and Kissing(59)

“We are going to do for guns what McDonalds did for hamburgers and what Starbucks did for coffee,” he said. He described a complex network of distribution, with legitimate, Russian-owned businesses trucking the guns across America to exactly where they were needed. “No more big deals,” he said. “A million small ones. Too small to track, too small to trace. If one shipment gets caught…”—he shrugged theatrically—”so what?”

As I listened, my blood ran steadily colder. It wasn’t just the audacity of the plan he was outlining. It was the way he sounded just like his dad. Not quite as slick or polished as Vasiliy’s showmanship, but he was getting there. In a year, maybe two, he’ll be just like him.

This was why I needed to be his salvation. But how? How could I save him when my whole purpose here was to take him down?

When Luka had finished, the Americans looked at each other. Eventually, one of them spoke up. “It sounds good,” he said. “But what about Ralavich? Most of us buy our guns from him. You’re taking a big slice of his business. What about repercussions?”

Vasiliy stepped forward. “I’m not scared of Olaf fucking Ralavich. His operations in the US are a mess. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long. It’s time for a change.”

Luka called for the guards and they trooped in, carrying the crates I’d seen on the yacht. “A sample,” said Luka. “To show we mean business. Yours to keep—a crate each.” He picked up a crowbar and cracked the top off one of the crates. It was filled with gleaming assault rifles.

The Americans exchanged glances, impressed. Meanwhile, I was reeling. A sample?! This huge pile of crates was just a sample?! There must have been hundreds of guns there.

I understood, now. Luka wasn’t setting up a gun deal; he was setting up a business. A steady, poisonous flow of guns into my country.

Luka handed out loaded magazines and the men slotted them into the rifles. The guards placed some of the old cardboard cartons that littered the place on top of the machines to serve as targets.

A second later, the air erupted into a deafening roar as the men test-fired the guns. The huge room was lit up with flickering white fire and the windows shook from the noise.

Luka looked at me, worried. Then he put his big hands over my ears, blocking out the sound. It helped but, as I looked up into his eyes, I couldn’t find the man I knew there. You always knew he was an arms dealer, you idiot, I told myself. But, somehow, I’d been imagining him selling a few handguns to some far-off country or maybe a tank to a Middle-Eastern regime. Not this. Not crime on a corporate scale.

I stared at him in the near silence, the thump of the guns just a vibration through his hands. My eyes pleaded with him and, just for a second, I saw the conflict start again in his face. The wish that things could be different.

I was starting to realize, with horrible certainty, that things could never be different. He was trapped in a role and so was I. He had to do what his father expected of him, just as I had to follow orders from Adam.

The guns finally ran out of ammunition and Luka gently lifted his hands from my ears. I turned to look. The men were laughing and grinning, high on adrenaline. All of them were nodding that they’d take Luka’s deal.

I looked at the cartons they’d been shooting. The cardboard had been shredded by the bullets and inside—

It had been a doll factory. Naked plastic carcasses were piled in the cartons, their heads and arms and legs ripped off by bullets, holes punched clear through their bellies and chests. A thousand tiny murders, a warzone in miniature.

I turned around and threw up all over the floor.#p#分页标题#e#

“Who the hell is that?” asked one of the Americans

I could feel Vasiliy’s eyes burning into me with disgust. “No one,” he muttered.





Outside, the Americans filed into a fleet of black SUVs, still laughing and joking. Luka embraced his dad before the older man climbed into a limo with blacked-out windows. I guessed it was probably armored, too.

Vasiliy waved and gave me a big, fake smile as he got into the car. Then he pulled Luka close and I heard him say, in Russian, “She’s trouble, Luka. You’ve fucked her—now break it off.”

Luka didn’t nod...but he didn’t argue, either. He just closed the car door and watched as the limo pulled away. What did that mean?

It hit me that I now had the perfect excuse to end things. My mission was done, after all. I knew all about the deal and had enough information for the CIA and the Russian cops to bust Luka’s business wide open. When we got back to Moscow, I could break up with him and it wouldn’t seem at all suspicious. Hell, he might even break up with me before I could do it.