The First Billion

"I'll tell you in a minute. Let's stay where we are for the time being. The photos? You're certain they're fakes?"

"Positively. They're rubbish. I've seen the facilities myself. You're making much too much of the Private Eye-PO's words. He's a pest. If I were you, I wouldn't even bother."

"Oh, someone bothered, I can tell you that."

He really is a pretty decent actor, Gavallan was thinking. And marveling at the man's practiced deceit, he felt his anger rustle and loosen a notch. A hand dropped to the pocket of his windbreaker. Through the fabric, he let his fingers brush the butt of Cate's pistol. He added, "The Private Eye-PO was killed yesterday. His name was Ray Luca. A gunman entered his workplace and shot him, along with nine other men and women. It was a bloodbath. Didn't you read the papers this morning?"

Pillonel's eyes widened in astonishment. "This is the rampage in Florida I read about. This is the Private Eye-PO? They say a man went crazy. That he killed all his friends, then himself. How horrid."

"He didn't go crazy," said Gavallan flatly. "Take my word for it. It was a professional job."

"You're sure the killer was not Luca? The police sounded like they knew precisely what happened."

"Yes, I'm sure. Who do you think would kill nine innocent people just to get at one man?"

"I have no idea."

"You're lying," said Cate. "You know damn well who might want the Private Eye-PO dead. Who needed him dead. We all know. Ray Luca was a friend. He died with nine innocent men and women because what he said about Mercury was true. You had to know it. You told us yourself you visited the Moscow Operations Center."

"Cate, please, you're mistaken," said Pillonel, retreating, his eyes begging Gavallan for an explanation. "Je vous en pris… Please, Jett, you must have a word with her. I don't know what she is saying… My God, this is all so crazy."

"You're the one who's mistaken," retorted Cate. "If you think you can jump into bed with Konstantin Kirov and walk away from this untouched, you're a fool. How much is he paying you? A million? Two million? Ten? Or did he promise you shares in the deal? Tell him, Jett. Tell him about Ray Luca. Tell him about Graf."

The mention of money, its hint of bribery and collusion and all things criminal, sparked a radical change in Pillonel. In an instant, his apologetic stance vanished, replaced by one of undisciplined outrage. "That is enough now," he declared, pulling the sweater a little tighter around his neck. "I hope you haven't traveled all the way from the States just to insult me like this, making these fantastical accusations. This is crazy what you say. Really crazy. You are badly mistaken if you think I am involved in some type of illegal affair with Mr. Kirov. I've said it time and time again: Mercury is fine. It's your conduct that is criminal. I'd like you to leave. Now."

But Gavallan did not move. He remained standing at his place near the balcony, stiller than he'd ever been in his life. If he lifted a finger, if he blinked an eye, if he let out his breath, he'd lose control over the animal rage that was clawing at his neck. All too clearly, he imagined himself hitting Pillonel with his fists, pummeling the man until his features were broken, his face a bloody pulp. He felt the gun heavy in his pocket, full of promise. The muscles in his jaw flinched, and a second later the vision passed.

"After six years, Jett, I thought we had a relationship," Pillonel droned on angrily, self-righteously, a man wronged in his own house. "That maybe we were even friends. I see I was wrong. Now, go. Both of you. Take your accusations and make them to the police. Maybe I'll call them myself."

"Friends?" Gavallan asked, cocking his head. "Did I hear you say you thought we were friends?" He advanced on Pillonel. Something inside was stretching, growing taut, moaning like the hull of a submarine down past its depth limits.

Pillonel took another step back, palms raised as if he were calming an angry dog. "Come now, Jett. You stop there or I call the police."

Gavallan grabbed the phone from a side table and thrust it at Pillonel. "Go ahead. Call them. Or do you have the balls?" He threw the phone on the table. Another step. "We know what you've been up to, and it's not what friends do to each other."

Cate said, "Jett, please…"

Gavallan did not remove his eyes from Pillonel. "We know you faked the due diligence reports. Your men scoped out Mercury's assets. Your men signed off on its physical plant and inventory. It couldn't have been anybody else."

"This has gone far enough," said Pillonel, stopping, crossing his arms. "I've had quite enough of your bullying. You will go. Now. I demand it."

But it was Gavallan who had had enough. Later, he wasn't sure what finally made him break: the insistence of Pillonel's denials, the man's elegant ignorance, or just that he was sick of being lied to and didn't know any other way of making Pillonel admit his sins.