Minotaur

6

Favorov watched Chapel’s face very, very carefully. He took his time before he opened his mouth to reply. “You didn’t come here to arrest me.”

Chapel didn’t reply. Let the traitor sweat for a while, he decided. Let him work it out on his own, if he could.

“No one goes to the trouble of getting invited to dinner just so they can arrest a man,” Favorov said. “You want something from me. You want information.”

Chapel nodded.

“You want names. You want to know my contacts, you want to know where the guns come from, and who I have dealings with.”

Chapel decided to give him a little something. “It’s simpler than that. We need to know if this arrangement you have, this connection, is official or not. If the Russian government is behind this, then we have an international crisis on our hands. If, instead, you got those guns from the Russian mafia, say, or from rogue KGB agents, then it’s just a criminal matter. I need to know whether the State Department or the Justice Department is going to handle this.”

Favorov’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m the last chance you have to be honest,” Chapel said, with a sigh. “I need the truth. I need the truth before lawyers and courts and the press get involved. I need to make sure I know exactly what I’m dealing with. Once you lawyer up you have the right to remain silent. Your lawyer will coach you on what to say. I’ll never know the actual facts.”

“So you’re here to make a deal. A deal, I assume, no one else will ever hear about.”

Chapel nodded. “You worked in intelligence. You know about secrecy, and about plausible deniability. The Pentagon can’t be seen negotiating with traitors. But sometimes we have to do it anyway. I need your information and I need to keep it quiet that we have that information. We’re willing to cut you a break in exchange.” Though if it were up to Chapel, this man would be hanged from the Washington Monument. He hated double agents—and Favorov was something even worse, an actual triple agent. But he knew how to follow orders, and Rupert Hollingshead had been very clear on his orders this time.

Clearly surprised, the Russian licked at his lips with a dry tongue. “You’re going to offer me immunity?”

Chapel shook his head. That was definitely not going to happen. “I’m afraid not. You will be arrested. You will go to jail, or worse. But in exchange for your testimony—testimony that I can verify—I can have you arrested as an illegal arms dealer, not as a traitor and a spy. You’ll probably get twenty years in prison, but that’s better than the alternative.”

A dry, sardonic chuckle came out of Favorov’s throat. “If I give you this information, I’ll be killed by the Russians.”

“If you’re found guilty of treason you’ll be executed by the Americans.” Chapel sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Your choice.”

Favorov started to reply.

Chapel didn’t hear what he was going to say, though. Because just then a sharp burst of pain hit him at the base of his skull and he slumped forward, unable to see anything, unable to think straight.

“Chapel?” Angel called from his earpiece. “Chapel? I’m getting really weird data from your hands-free unit. Chapel? Are you okay?”

Someone grabbed the hands-free unit out of his ear. He heard it drop into the tureen of soup with a terrible plopping sound. And then Angel was gone.