Holding his breath against the wake of musky cologne and garlic, Charlie followed Grudzev up a narrow flight of stairs to an empty private functions room. Charlie smarted in nine or ten places from the “pat down” Karpenko had administered in search of a wire, resulting in the temporary confiscation of his new cell phone.
They sat at a table and Grudzev opened the shopping bag from Yuri’s, the convenience store up the block, where Charlie had bought the prepaid cell phone. The Russian dumped out the stack of hundreds and flicked through it with the practiced dexterity of a bank teller. An hour ago the money had been in a Chinese take-out container. He grunted his approval.
“And now, how about a way to make that seem like chump change?” Charlie asked.
“This better no be a fucking horse.”
“I’m totally over that action.” Charlie paused to look around the room, as if wary of snoops himself. “Here’s the story: My father, who has Alzheimer’s, gets out of bed at four yesterday morning. He forgets he’s on sick leave and goes to the office. Perriman Appliances.”
“Cheap crap.”
“I know. That’s why they’re way the hell up in Morningside Heights. So, anyway, nobody’s in yet when Dad shows up. He’s sort of in a daze, and he goes down the stairs to the basement and opens a closet that’s supposed to be locked. It leads to another flight of stairs, then into a tunnel and, next thing he knows, he’s in the old Manhattan Project complex. I don’t know if you know, but during World War Two-”
“Yeah, yeah, I saw thing on History Channel.” Grudzev slid his chair closer to the table. “I thought that place was sealed off.”
“It’s supposed to be. But some Columbia scientist types have gotten in. Evidently they’re planning to moonlight as arms dealers. My dad’s an old physicist. He could tell that they’d put together a ten-kiloton atomic demolition munition. You know what an atomic demolition munition is?”
“Of course, ADM.” Grudzev’s flat nose twisted as if he smelled a rat. “Why you telling me this?”
“You deal weapons. You could retire on this, right?”
“Or get killed before I can spend this.” Grudzev patted the sweatpants pocket that contained his new stack of hundreds. “What’s in it for you?”
“Dad wandered out and went home a little while later, before anyone saw him. But they snatched him back tonight-to sweat him would be my bet. When he talks, he’ll be in real trouble. And so will I.”
“So why you come to me instead of cops?”
“I didn’t think the cops would give me a twenty percent finder’s fee.”
Grudzev flicked a dismissive hand. “Craziness,” he said, as if announcing a verdict.
Charlie had anticipated the Russian would be drooling by now. What had gone wrong? Poor acting? Was the tale just too preposterous? Despite Karpenko’s frisk, did Grudzev suspect a sting? Perspiration sprung from Charlie’s scalp.
Grudzev said, “ Ten points, maybe.”
“Twenty is fair,” said Charlie, hiding his delight at being back in the game. “You’d never figure out how to get into the place without me. Also, I could take the deal to Bernie Solntsevskaya.”
Grudzev was impassive at the mention of his rival. “Thing is, if I am these Columbia guys, I worry you out blabbing now, so I close up shop, like, now.”
Charlie placed his chin between thumb and forefinger, striving for the appearance of the pupil contemplating the wisdom of the master.
“If I can get men and guns- if,” Grudzev said, “I give eleven points.”
For reality’s sake, Charlie argued for fifteen and caved on twelve.