But apparently so.
“You do realize,” one of the Russians said, “that we have lots of money, too.”
“Then spend it,” Bunch said. “Two hundred and fifty million euros is America’s bid.”
“Three hundred,” the Russian said, his face defiant.
“Three fifty,” Bunch countered.
“Four hundred,” the North Koreans said.
Which momentarily jarred the room.
Cotton wondered where the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea would get nearly half a billion euros. That was a substantial sum for anyone.
No one countered.
“What’s the problem?” he whispered to Bunch.
“It’s getting out of hand.”
“You think?”
“Four hundred and fifty million,” the Russian said in a calm voice.
Something was wrong. The bidding was progressing in unusual leaps. No one was interested in inching the price upward. Instead they all seemed intent on preempting the others with outrageous numbers. He stared at the participants hoping to transmit some of his own suspicions to them.
“Five hundred million,” Bunch said.
Silence reigned.
The two Russians stood from their chairs. “We are done. Have a car brought for us.”
“I must conclude this auction first,” Olivier said.
“This auction is over for us.”
“What’s the matter,” Bunch said. “Sore loser?”
The taller of the two Russians glared at Bunch, then said, “Mr. Malone. You met a man in Bruges. Did he not tell you what our intent would be.”
We not know where auction will occur. But when we do, we will act. Tell Stephanie Nelle that I do not bluff.
Ivan’s words right before he fired the Taser.
“That intent has not changed,” the Russian said.
Cotton caught another pinprick of trouble in the man’s cutting black eyes, a spark that flared a warning.
Not good.
“We wait outside.”
The two Russians marched from the hall.
“Are there any more bids?” Olivier asked.
No one replied.
“Last chance.”
More silence.
“Then I declare the United States the winner.”
“Hot damn, Malone,” Bunch said. “We did it.”
But what exactly had they done?
* * *
Eli had listened to the entire proceeding.
Half a billion euros.
Jonty must be ecstatic.
There was talk coming from below as the auction wound down. He glanced out the doorway and saw the two Russian bidders who’d exited the hall appear at the top of the staircase.
He motioned for them to wait there, out of sight.
He and Munoz lifted an Uzi from the bed, then fled the room, staying away from the railing and easing toward the staircase, where they handed over the weapons. The two Russians then stepped across the second-floor gallery to the balustrade—
And opened fire.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Czajkowski reentered the Sheraton Grand Kraków through a back door that the hotel had made available for his exclusive use. Two of the hotel’s security men staffed the entrance and opened the metal door for him as he approached. He was taking a huge chance lingering. His ruling coalition teetered on collapse almost every day, one faction or another always demanding something. His job was to keep them all happy and his chief of staff had already told him that people were asking questions. His answer was that he was working on the next election, cementing what would be needed to carry Kraków and Małopolskie province. Which was not far from the truth. That should hold them off for another day, which was all he needed. This would be over, one way or another, soon.
He took an elevator up and walked back to the Royal Wawel Suite, his two BOR security men in tow. Once inside, he’d have privacy, which he’d need if Sonia called. His watch read nearly 1:00 P.M. and he wondered what was happening at that auction. Frightening that his entire future was being decided by strangers trying to outbid one another for the chance to destroy him. He flushed all that negativity from his mind, reentered the suite, found his phone, and called Sonia.
“I only have a moment,” she said. “I’m inside the castle.”
“What’s happening?”
“Trouble. A car arrived a few moments ago. I could not see who it was, but I followed it in on foot.”
“Have you seen the auction?”
“Not yet. But I’m going to find it now.”
He heard rat-tat-tat through the phone.
Then more.
“Is that gunfire?” he asked.
“I have to go.”
* * *
Jonty’s emotions went from a mountainous high of five hundred million euros, and how his life was about to irrevocably change, to the horrifying fear that his life could be over.
Gunshots.
From the upper gallery.
A deafening volley raked the hall.
He looked up and saw the two Russian bidders, who’d left, firing automatic weapons below. The people remaining in the great hall reacted to the attack and sprang from their seats, scattering, but with no cover they were simply cut down. One after another. The bodies of both Chinese erupted in splattering wounds, their muscles contorting in a drunken dance that ended with them smashing facedown to the stone floor. A similar fate met the French and Iranians.
Jonty stood, frozen with indecision, a nauseous feeling of panic surging toward his throat. Running seemed stupid.
But he should do something.
Fright welled in his throat and forced his breath to come in choppy gasps.
He dropped behind the big-screen TV and its wooden support, seeking cover.
* * *
Cotton reacted with reflexes that had been trained and conditioned long ago, springing from the chair and reaching for Tom Bunch. They were totally exposed in the center of the hall, at least fifty feet between here and where they’d be beyond the shooters’ angle above. He yanked Bunch toward the right side of the hall, beneath the upper gallery.
But Bunch resisted and pulled away. “Olivier. We have to get to him.”
Two new sounds entered the hall.
Gunshots from a different weapon.
A pistol.
Which momentarily stopped the Uzis.
His head whipped to the right and he saw Sonia rush into the hall, firing upward. He took advantage of the moment she’d bought him and lunged left, through an arch beneath the overhead gallery, out of the line of fire. The gunmen above resumed their attack, cutting down three more of the auction participants. Bunch foolishly moved toward Olivier, who was nowhere to be seen.
Above, Cotton caught sight of the two gunmen, at the railing, their weapons aimed downward.
The two Russian bidders.
“Halt,” one of them yelled out.
Bunch froze.
He heard clips being ejected and fresh ones inserted. Everyone else who’d been part of the auction lay dead in ever-growing pools of blood. Only he and Bunch were unharmed. Along with Jonty Olivier, whom he now saw was crouched behind the TV. Sonia was across the hall, with no shot upward as the gunmen were directly above her. One of the Russians above let him know they were watching by unleashing a short barrage of rounds that obliterated the stone supporting the arch he was using for cover.