FOUR
With all of Zane’s hired muscle and firepower at his disposal, I was his choice of bodyguards for this Russian billionaire?
What the hell?
“Would you like to explain that?” I asked, still recovering from the shock of Zane’s statement.
“It’s pretty simple. I’m figuring Mordashov getting killed on American soil might cause a bit of an international incident, so we’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
I heard his words, spoken as casually as if we were discussing the weather, but they still didn’t make any sense. Particularly the we, since I was apparently now part of that we.
“Why is that our responsibility? Isn’t there the Secret Service to handle important shit such as keeping high profile visiting foreigners alive?”
Zane shook his head. “US and Russian relations are complicated. The White House can’t appear as if they’re giving preferential treatment to a Russian billionaire attending a party in the Hamptons.”
“No, I guess not. So then what about private security? Hell, this is a job for GAPS.” From what I knew, Zane and his company’s security team could handle this with their eyes closed.
“Exactly. It is a GAPS job. And I’m bringing you in on it.”
I shook my head. “I really don’t understand. I’m supposed to be this guy’s bodyguard instead of you? Why? Just because it’s a fancy fundraiser? You own a tuxedo. I’ll give you my ticket. You can use my name. No one will care.”
“It’s not the dress code preventing me from going in. It’s Mordashov himself.”
As I sat there, open-mouthed, still trying to absorb it all, Zane leaned forward.
“Look, this guy is the son of steel workers. He’s a completely self-made man. He fancies himself a man of the people and he doesn’t think he needs security.”
“But you disagree.”
“I do, and so does the client. So we’re going to provide him with security without him knowing.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean? Why what?”
“Why is his life in danger?” I clarified.
I mean you can’t throw a rock in the Hamptons without hitting a billionaire so why was this Russian any different?
“Mordashov has this idea. Some sort of hi-tech online educational ecosystem that would educate a person from kindergarten to after retirement. Lifetime learning, he calls it."
"How is he going to do that?" I asked, thinking this man's concept sounded interesting.
"I guess it focuses on retraining for different workforce needs at different stages of life . . ." Zane's forehead creased with a frown. "I don’t know the specifics. His mission isn’t the point."
"What is the point?" I asked, still not getting why I was here or why anyone would want to kill Mordashov.
"That he’s already aggressively acquiring the corporations he needs to do it and he’s got his eye on more he’s planning to scoop up in the US. That and his eighteen and a half billion dollar fortune could make him a target.”
“Then if you and your client,” whoever the hell this mysterious client was, “are that concerned, just tell this Russian guy he has to have security while he’s here whether he thinks he needs it or not.”
“Like I already told you, we tried and he refused.”
“So what? Tell him that’s just too bad. He has to have a bodyguard.”
Zane pressed his lips together and shook his head. “It’s not that simple. He’s only going to be in the country a short time. Literally less than a day. It’s just easier to not have him or anyone else know that we’re concerned or that we’re protecting him. I can cover him from his plane to the event and back again. It’s easy enough to have one of my guys replace the driver. But inside the event, an uninvited stranger suddenly showing up with a ticket will stick out. Raise suspicions. You being there won’t.”
Again, I didn’t understand. “But what can I do? I’m not trained.”
“You’ve got two eyes, don’t you?”
I rolled those eyes now. “Yes.”
“And two ears?”
I was getting more than annoyed with him and his game by the second. “Yes, of course.”
“That’s all you need. Well that, and the communications device I’ll give you. As I said, my guy will be parked right outside the house. This thing goes sideways, he can be inside in seconds. All we need is a set of eyes and ears inside the party. Keep an eye on who he talks to. You see anyone or anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary, you let us know.”
“That’s it?” I asked, understandably skeptical.
“That’s it.” He nodded. “I trust you.”
“Do you?”
He cocked his head to one side. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t.”
I had my doubts about that, because Zane’s whole story reeked of bull shit to me. I might not know some of the things he did as a veteran Navy SEAL, but I knew business. And I had my suspicions about why this mysterious client really wanted eyes on Mordashov.
More likely they were watching to see whom he met with while on US soil, perhaps to determine which corporations where in his crosshairs for future acquisition.
That theory made a hell of a lot more sense than this guy refusing security when his life could be in danger.
I eyed my good old prep school buddy and wondered. Was the client lying to him? Was he lying to me? I might have to resign myself to never knowing the truth.
Still, I figured my best chance to find out what was really going on might be to just go through with it. See things with my own eyes.
Jaw set, I said, “Okay.”
“Good. Oh, and I need you to block off an hour or two this week for you and me to go to the gun range.”
My eyes popped wide. “The gun—” I cleared my throat as it tightened. “Why?”
I had a bad feeling I knew the answer before Zane said, “I want to make sure you’re comfortable with a handgun. And I want you to get used to wearing a leg holster.”
A leg holster? Jesus. Maybe I was wrong about this being about business because the corporate takeovers I’d been privy to didn’t involve weapons.
My narrowed gaze met Zane’s. “How do you know I even have a gun permit?”
“That information wasn’t hard to find. Besides, I’ve known you forever. I know your family has a gun collection and I know you got your permit so you could legally inherit that collection.”
“That’s the word you seem to be missing the meaning of. It’s a collection. I don’t shoot them. We certainly don’t carry them around in leg holsters.”
“I happen to know that you do shoot them on occasion. I was there for the skeet shooting competition you set up that summer senior year. Remember?”
Shooting skeet was sport. This, what Zane was suggesting, was—I couldn’t even put a name to it. Or maybe I could. It was crazy.
I shook the idea of this insanity out of my rattled mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Half of the collection is in California. And the weapons here on the East Coast are all antiques and locked up at my parents’ house.”
“I happen to have a weapons room right here in the office. We’ll pick you out a nice small pistol to fit beneath your pants leg.”
Glancing down I eyed the leg of my pants now. When I’d been fitted for my newest purchase of custom-made suits in Italy, the tailor hadn’t taken into account room for a leg holster and gun.
Zane continued, “Luckily for me you’re compulsive about keeping your paperwork in order. I know you have a full carry permit valid in New York State.”
I didn’t even want to ask exactly how Zane knew all that. Was it a matter of public record or was he hacking into the national gun registry? I didn’t know but at this point I believed anything was possible.
But maybe having a weapon in the Hamptons with me wouldn’t be such a horrible thing, given I’d be alone on the inside guarding this Russian guy who Zane claimed had a target on his back.
I sighed and gave in to the fact that he knew more about this shit than I did. “Okay.”
When I glanced up, Zane’s smile was visibly victorious. I hated when he looked like that. It meant he’d gotten his way, even though I sure as hell hadn’t wanted him to. Not in this case anyway.
Me, spying for GAPS, the company full of Navy SEALs and God only knew who else. It was insane. And I felt completely powerless to do anything about it.
But how could I say no? What if I was wrong about my theory and this guy’s life really was in danger. If I backed out and something did happen—
Given the current tense climate of international relations, I could only imagine what would happen if the richest man in Russia was assassinated while in New York.
It could lead to World War III. The scenario was enough to make me think that maybe I should take some of my money and build a bunker.
So fine. I’d do it. I’d do exactly what Zane wanted. Still, I felt like I needed to have some control over this situation. Especially now since I’d be carrying a borrowed gun, making it feel as if my life could be in danger as well as Mordashov’s.
I drew in a breath. “I’ll do this for you, but I want to know who the client is.”
Zane shook his head. “No can do.”
I scowled even though I’d been expecting him to say that. I scrambled to regain some semblance of control over my own life.
“Fine. But I’m paying for my own damn ticket. And I’ll be taking the allowed tax deduction for the charitable contribution.”
Zane laughed. “All right. If that’ll make you happy, go for it.” He stood and moved to a cabinet against one wall. “Now, let’s get you set up with communications.”
That settled, I felt moderately better, as the little boy who lived inside me and loved his tech toys wondered what sort of Super SEAL, hi-tech communications device I’d be getting.