Point of Contact

66

Worry was Zvezdev’s best friend.

He hadn’t survived KGB handlers, CSS purges, or criminal syndicate killers by being overly optimistic. He always assumed everybody at all times was trying to fuck him.

Because they usually were.

Which was why Zvezdev sat in his private office in his expansive estate, drumming his fingers on the gilded desk, worrying.

His call to Ri fifteen minutes ago was quite satisfying. Thanks to Wolz, the mission was complete. Zvezdev held no illusions about his relationship with the North Korean spymaster. If he had failed, Ri’s agents would have already stormed into his house, killed his guards, and bundled him off to a safe house for some gruesome fate he didn’t even want to contemplate.

Instead, Ri assured him that the second half of his enormous payment — in gold bullion, no less — would be deposited into a Cayman Islands bank vault within twenty-four hours, per their arrangement. Zvezdev confirmed by phone with his English banker that the transaction was pending. All good.

What worried Zvezdev was Wolz’s earlier call, asking for permission to kill Jack Ryan, Jr., and Lian Fairchild. Zvezdev told him that killing Jack Ryan would only bring the wrath of his father, a capable and violent man. His orders from Ri were explicit: the mission was to be accomplished on time, and with no way to trace the crime to him. Zvezdev had done the best job he could to cover his tracks, and he assumed that the impending collapse of the world’s stock markets would cause further confusion and delay for any investigators digging into the matter. But murdering the President’s son would bring the full force and attention of the entire U.S. federal government into the case, and that was to be avoided. So Jack Ryan, Jr., lived.

And that’s what worried him.

Zvezdev scratched his gray beard. Leave it to a worm like Rhodes to shield himself behind another man. It was actually a smart play to get Jack Ryan, Jr., involved in his scheme, Zvezdev admitted. But Jack Ryan, Jr., was a real pain in his ass now.

Wolz’s listening devices planted inside the guesthouse revealed that not only did Brown know the real purpose of the USB, but also he had informed Ryan and Fairchild.

Zvezdev sighed. He should’ve let Wolz kill them both. That was a mistake. Brown was dead, at least. Besides his fee, Wolz insisted he be given free rein with the fat accountant. It was a small price to pay, as far as Zvezdev was concerned. He laughed.

“But a big price for Brown.”

Of course, there was nothing that Ryan could do about the situation now. The virus was planted. All Ri had to do was wait for less than seven hours and his plan to collapse the world economy would be realized.

But Jack Ryan, Jr., would run his mouth. The line would be drawn back from the virus to Rhodes, and then to him, if Rhodes rolled over.

And he would.

Even if he killed Rhodes now, he was still in danger of being discovered. Ri wouldn’t like that.

Now Zvezdev really worried.

Ryan and Fairchild had to die.

Zvezdev called Wolz again.

And again his sat phone didn’t pick up.

Was the satellite service down because of the storm? No. Sat phones were designed for things like storms. If Wolz and his team weren’t answering, it meant something was wrong.

And that something was Ryan. He was still alive. Had to be.

Did Ryan know about the seven a.m. launch?

No. How could he?

But what if he did?

Ryan would call for help. But he hadn’t called the U.S. embassy or the CIA station in Singapore up until now; otherwise, they would be involved.

Perhaps Ryan couldn’t make the call. And if he couldn’t, what would he do?

What would I do?

I’d drive to somewhere where I could get help.

Zvezdev opened up his laptop and pulled up the storm tracker and latest weather report, then opened a second window and pulled up Google Maps.

Zvezdev swore bitterly.

He hadn’t told Ri about the presence of Jack Ryan, Jr. The less Ri knew about the affair, the better. But now he had to know. It would be an awkward exchange. But necessary.

He picked up his phone and called Ri, worried that the American was about to cross into Malaysia and fuck them both hard.

Ri had to stop Jack Ryan.

Now.