CHAPTER 1


(Fourteen years later)
An airplane approached in the uncharacteristically blue sky. The temperature had dropped into the forties overnight and the humidity had dropped as well, eliminating the gray haze that normally hung over Washington, D.C. from spring to fall. Bob Sands took it as a good omen. The characteristic hump on top of the fuselage marked the plane as a Boeing 747, like the one carrying the man he’d come to Dulles to meet.
Bob fumbled with his keys in his pocket and lit a Winston, hoping the first meeting would go well. He didn’t understand the Russian culture or language but he knew the universal language—money. It took months to convince the Russians that they could make a lot of it, and their procrastination had cost him hundreds of thousands in sales. Then the man called from Moscow and said that yes, he’d do business, but one of his own people had to be at the receiving end. That same day, a photo arrived by email with Leonid Stilknov’s flight number and arrival time. Bob intended to start building trust as soon as the man stepped off the airplane.
Bob could finally make out the name on the 747—L-U-F-T-H-A-N-S-A—the Russian’s flight. He took one last puff on his cigarette, then dropped it and raced to the international arrivals gates, looking at the picture for the fifth or sixth time to memorize the face. He paced the corridor until the first passengers appeared, wishing that he could smoke in the terminal. Stilknov stood out with his long, silver hair, dark complexion, and head grotesquely oversized for his torso. Bob approached him at a measured pace, trying to appear at ease until he was close enough to extend his hand.
Stilknov smiled in a fatherly way that was clearly phony and gave him a weak handshake. A passerby might have thought Stilknov kindly looking, like a favorite uncle, but Sands could feel the man’s eyes, cold and full of suspicion, sizing him up. No ordinary businessman.
Stilknov went first, instead of waiting for Bob to lead him to the parking lot. He’d been to Dulles before. “Where…is car?” He wheezed, already out of breath.
“In the short-term lot—come this way.” Soon they were in Bob’s Explorer, waiting in a long line of cars that stretched from the parking booths. Damn Dulles! Bob thought. Bad enough to wait, but this asshole smells like stale piss. Sands gagged at the smell and rolled down his window. “Sorry, Mr. Stilknov. Every damn time I come out here there’s a line like this. I hate this place!”
Stilknov’s foul odor permeated everything. Bob hated him already and decided to push him even though the man had just flown halfway around the world and clearly needed sleep. “When can I expect the first shipment? Korchev said you’d decide.”
Stilknov frowned and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “I must get settled.” He glared at Bob, the icy blue eyes piercing.
An unmistakable message and Bob softened his tone, realizing he’d pushed too hard. “I have buyers waiting. If we don’t get some product to them soon, they’ll go elsewhere.”
“Such is the way of things. Shipment from Russia is not easy to arrange, and I am directed to assure that you are ready first. I must inspect your operation.”
Bob had to force himself to ignore the remark. No use pissing him off even more. “This relationship will be very profitable for us. I can sell as much product as you can ship.”
“We can ship a lot.”
“I can sell a lot.”
Both men smiled, and this time their smiles were genuine. They were about to make a lot of money.